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forty two
a funerary birthday
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Wind howled painfully in Ottilie's ears, and the world was a dizzying pattern of indistinct colors. Finally, everything slowed down until she found herself struggling for balance in a dimly lit, dusty living room.
The room was decorated in a distinct sixties style. There was a horrendous dark orange shag rug, floral furniture, and asbestos-filled swirly Artex ceilings.
The memories of this house filled her with dread.
The earliest was when she was newly interested in prehistory and was reading a book on humans and mammoths coexisting in the Pleistocene Epoch. The book was meant for a general audience, but not really for children, let alone four-year-olds.
Ottilie remembered sitting at the kitchen table, listening to her grandmother tell Kanna that Ottilie's behavior was not normal. According to some article Eleanor had read, letting Ottilie get too advanced compared to her age group would make it nearly impossible for her to successfully socialize with children once she began school.
While she wasn't wrong about that, Ottilie didn't think it was very appropriate for Eleanor to call her weird right in front of her.
Kanna had been quick to assure her that Eleanor was just close-minded and intimidated by her intelligence, but when she was later called weird and creepy by her classmates, it only confirmed to her that there was truth in what Eleanor had said.
And certainly nothing she had learned about her relationship with the Dark Arts disconfirmed it.
"Hello?" Ottilie asked aloud. The house felt unsettlingly empty.
When no one answered, Ottilie entered the kitchen, which had scuffed, orangey-beige linoleum floors. They were unspeakably ugly. Ottilie had no idea what gave Eleanor the right to criticize Kanna's taste in interior design when her house looked like this.
On the kitchen table, she saw a piece of paper taped to a water glass that had her name written in pen at the top. She went to pick it up. It was directions to the hospital, including Eleanor's floor and room number.
It took Ottilie about five minutes to battle off an intense compulsion to stay at the house to wait for her family to come back. They knew next to nothing about how wizards traveled; she could make up anything.
But, since her mother had consulted the Macmillans, there was a chance they told her that she'd be able to travel by Apparition if not by Portkey. Her father would kill her if she didn't show up on purpose.
So, she brought her stuff into the room where Adelaide's things were. Before venturing outside, she changed into Muggle clothes and put on her puffer jacket. She locked the door behind her with a spare key and started on her way.
The walk only took her about ten minutes, though it felt longer. It was unusually cold that day, and she was bitterly dreading what would surely be a slice of hell.
At least, this time, Satan was in a coma.
Once she entered the hospital, it took another ten minutes to find Eleanor's room because she accidentally missed the right one and had to walk all the way back down the hall (that is, after a bit of contemplating life at one of the windows first).
She stood outside the door, nauseated with dread. It was slightly ajar.
After a final, steadying breath, she lifted her hand and gently knocked. A moment later, it opened to reveal Simon. He looked horrific, with a sickly grey face, dark purple half-circles below his eyes, and reddened scleras. His hair was lank like he hadn't washed it in a while.
He stepped forward and wrapped her in a tight hug. Ottilie held him back lightly. His jacket smelled like hospital, but he was warm. She couldn't remember the last time he had ever hugged her.
He ushered Ottilie into the room, where she was met with a new wave of disquiet.
Ottilie hated hospitals. She hated them ever since her sister's diagnosis, after the many times since then she'd been in the emergency department after Adelaide had been admitted for all sorts of things like kidney problems, serious urinary tract infections, or when the calcium levels in her blood had gotten too high and she'd been throwing up all day.
Ottilie hated how artificial they looked and how the antiseptic in the air never quite overpowered the scent of sick and dying people underneath. She hated all the tubes and lights and noises. She hated the way doctors treated their patients like symptoms on a page rather than human beings. Ottilie swore half of Adelaide's doctors wouldn't even look at her.
Eleanor's hospital room was dim. The lights were off, and the curtains were partially closed. She lay still, half-propped up, looking like a corpse already. Her skin was paper white, her head lolled unnaturally to the side, and face saggier than Ottilie remembered, like gravity had been stronger around her lately.
The only hint that she was still alive was the subtle movement of her chest, though her breaths were unnaturally far apart and sounded rough. Equipment loomed around her silently, though she was connected to none of it.
This was the hospital room of a dying person.
"You told me she wasn't going to be here, Simon," hissed a ragged voice to Ottilie's left. Her grandfather looked about as awful as his son. Henry was sitting right next to the bed, fingers threaded in his wife's limp hand, glaring at Ottilie with hatred plain on his face.
"Eleanor wouldn't want her here."
"Dad! How could you say that?" cried Willa, who'd been slumped over with her head on Kanna's shoulder. Adelaide was fast asleep with her headphones on, curled up on Kanna's lap, even though she was getting too big to fit comfortably.
Aunt Willa's curly blonde hair was a version of Simon's, though longer. Her normally bright blue eyes looked dull, and the usual air of aloof, effortless beauty that hung around her was missing.
Henry ignored Willa. "Get her out of here."
"Dad, please," Simon said in a weak voice.
"She said she never wanted to see her again," said Henry.
Simon swallowed hard. "She said that in a moment of distress and disorientation."
"What are you talking about?" asked Willa. "She's her family!"
Henry suddenly rose to his full height. "She's not my family. She's a witch!" he shouted, leaving the room in ringing silence. Kanna gasped and adjusted her knee so she could press Adelaide's earphones over her ears, although it wasn't working, and Adelaide began looking around in confusion.
"You don't know what you're saying; you're sleep-deprived!" said Willa.
"It's your fault!" Henry bellowed at Ottilie. "You killed my wife! You are demonic! Evil!"
Ottilie was paralyzed. However awful she was expecting this visit to be, it was turning out much worse than that. She stared at her grandmother, the only person in the room who looked even slightly relaxed.
Suddenly, there was a forceful knock on the door, and a nurse came in looking horrified.
"What's happening? Do we need to call someone?" she asked.
In her periphery, Ottilie saw that Simon had taken his father by the shoulders to restrain him. "No, I am so sorry. He's just exhausted, and he woke up a bit foggy a moment ago."
"Okay," said the nurse in a slow, unsure way. She was probably wondering who the supposed killer demon was supposed to be.
Then, the nurse's eyes landed on Eleanor van der Hoeven's unmoving form. In silence, she approached the woman's bed and pressed a stethoscope to her chest.
"Right," said the nurse uneasily, her brows knitting. She looked at the watch face on the inside of her wrist. "Time of death, five twenty-two p.m."
It was about an hour and a half after Trelawney's prediction. Ottilie thought she ought to let her know—that woman really needed this win.
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Henry wouldn't stop looking at Ottilie murderously, so she was sent off home shortly after.
About halfway back, Ottilie realized she would be here for another six days, stuck in the same house as a man who apparently thought she was evil.
Back at the house, she locked herself in the guest room. It was impersonally decorated with generic-looking watercolors of the beach. The bed was extremely springy. But, it did feel nice to lay back with a book and try her best to purge that horrific scene from her memory.
Her family returned hours later. It took approximately another hour before anyone knocked on Ottilie's door.
She opened it, surprised to see not only her mother but also Willa.
"I really hope you won't get in trouble for this, but we had to tell your aunt about your being a witch. Your grandfather essentially told her everything himself while we were in the hospital."
"The orderly asked Simon and me how long our father had been suffering from dementia," said Willa with a feeble smile.
Ottilie tried to smile back and waved for Willa to follow her into the room. She went over to shuffle through her bag of textbooks, picking out the ones from her favorite classes to let Willa look through.
"I don't know if my mum told you, but I can't do magic out of school, so I don't have any real way to prove it to you. I proved it to your parents with a book of magical photos—they move on their own when you develop them in a special solution."
There was a canny shine in Willa's smile. "I don't need you to prove it to me, Lottie." She accepted the armful of books Ottilie handed her and sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor.
As she flipped through her textbooks, she asked Ottilie all sorts of questions about her classes, her teachers, what Hogwarts was like, what her friends were like. They could have sat there for hours, Ottilie reckoned, but eventually everyone was summoned back out to the kitchen for a dinner of Chinese takeaway.
Henry went to bed without eating, which was for the better because Ottilie didn't want to be in the same room with him anyway.
No one said much to each other. Simon and Willa had some color back in their faces. It was now Adelaide who looked terrible. If Ottilie were to guess, she was distressed about what their grandfather said about Ottilie.
The family decided it was best to have Ottilie stay out of the house as much as possible for the week. So, after dinner, she went with Willa in her Vauxhall Astra to the small, cheap hotel she was staying at until after the funeral.
Both of them exhausted, they got ready for bed in silence and went right to sleep.
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Ottilie spent the next few days locking herself in the guest room to do her homework throughout the morning and, in the afternoon, letting herself be dragged around Southampton as her parents scrambled the funeral together.
Her grandfather often stayed home with his eyes glued to the television, so she rarely had to interact with him. But, judging by the strained neutrality in his voice, she knew her father and her aunt had done a great deal of convincing him to tolerate her.
Evenings with Willa were a breath of fresh air. They spent most of them laughing at reruns of Blackadder on the hotel's tiny television. One night, however, they had stayed up until around two in the morning, talking all about Ottilie's life as a witch.
Ottilie hadn't seen Willa much since she was a little kid. They'd always got on very well, but, now, it almost felt like she was talking to a friend. It had never really occurred to her how close they were in age. Willa had been around Ottilie's current age when she became an aunt.
On the morning of December fifth, Willa woke Ottilie early so they could stop at a bakery. They got a box of colorful macarons that they shared in the Astra before they were supposed to meet the family for breakfast.
"Just to add a little extra happiness to your day. I'm sure your parents will find time to fit something in to celebrate your fifteenth, but I'm sure it won't be like a typical birthday."
As it turned out, her parents could not find time to fit in something for Ottilie's birthday. They were planning to take her to dinner but ended up stuck at the funeral home for hours because Henry, Willa, and Simon were arguing about everything—what flowers Eleanor would've liked, which pictures of her to have on display, which song Adelaide should perform on the piano...
Ottilie and Adelaide spent this time in the lobby. Adelaide, at least, had her Walkman to listen to, but Ottilie was trying and failing to entertain herself with the stack of Horse & Hound magazines. They were extremely boring, but looking through them was much less uncomfortable than staring at the taxidermy pheasant on the wall across from her.
At around six, Willa burst into the lobby from the office.
"I have been released from my planning duties. I offered to get the Ouija board out of my car so my brother and my father could ask Mum herself whether she gives a damn about having lilies rather than orchids at her funeral. Don't know why they were so upset with the suggestion. It'd be much simpler if she could talk to the funeral director herself."
"No need. She would definitely choose lilies. Liked to be traditional, didn't she? Orchids would be too unusual," said Ottilie, closing the magazine on the story about Beagle Bay's 1984 win at the Badminton Horse Trials.
Willa grinned appreciatively. "Exactly! That's what Simon and I were trying to tell your grandfather, but he won't listen. Went on and on about an orchid she had in their kitchen a few years ago."
"God, that sounds miserable," said Ottilie. "If you're leaving, please take me with you."
"Ahead of you already. Let's get dinner, just you and me. And Adelaide, if she wants."
Ottilie was on her feet, pulling on her coat before Willa had even finished her sentence. Adelaide decided to stay, so Ottilie and Willa walked out into the cold night and got into Willa's car.
They ended up at a small, unassuming Italian restaurant on High Street with dark wood floors, white tablecloths, and a hectic atmosphere. It was, according to a very drunk man walking out of a liquor store near where they parked, the best restaurant in Southampton.
"It does smell really good," said Willa.
They were seated in a corner near the window. Ottilie ordered cacio e pepe, and Willa the tagliatelle with crab and a glass of the Sangiovese that she let Ottilie try a few sips of throughout dinner.
"So," began Willa, speaking in an undertone so only Ottilie could hear her, "are ghosts real?"
"Yes. One of my teachers is a ghost, actually," said Ottilie. "But, Muggles can't actually see them, and also can't become ghosts after death."
"Are you sure?" asked Willa. "Because I have definitely had some unexplainable experiences."
"I mean, as far as I know, it is possible. Although, not sure what a wizard would be doing in your university's engineering building." Ottilie grinned jokingly at Willa, whose family regularly teased her for her stories of the paranormal. She especially loved the one about hearing whistling when no one else was around, and the one about being haunted by a man who supposedly drowned in an indoor pool when the building used to be a recreational center.
Willa scoffed. "It's possible! You just said so yourself!"
Ottilie shrugged while Willa took another sip of wine and pretended to be offended.
She set down the glass to swirl the wine. "You know, you're the reason I believe in ghosts and supernatural things. Before you were born, I was quite the skeptic. I mean, I'm a chemical engineer—we tend to be rationalists."
"Really? My parents didn't believe it until they were outright told."
Willa smiled. "They didn't experience the things that I did. I think what you did around them freaked them out—faucets turning on, things going missing, doors opening. When I babysat you, what I watched you do wasn't so scary."
"What did you see me do?"
"Only a few things, but I can remember them like I witnessed it yesterday." Willa's eyes were unfocused on something behind Ottilie as though seeing her memories reflected in the window panes.
"Once, I went with you and your parents to an art museum. You weren't even nine months old. I followed you to a different room while your parents were looking at something, and you went straight up to this impressionist painting. It was of these two laughing children walking along a snowy country road, and there was a dog following after them. I picked you up so you could get a better look at it, and the painting started to move. The snow was falling, the wind picked up the children's scarves, the dog's tail was wagging, and, when you waved at the children, they smiled and waved back at you."
Willa smiled to herself. Ottilie wasn't sure what to think—no one in her family had ever looked joyous when discussing her magic.
"It was almost as though you loved the scene so much you willed it to be real. I'm not sure if I was in shock, but I didn't even really freak out. It didn't happen with any of the other paintings, and I've never told anyone what I saw until now."
"Hopefully the painting went back to normal."
"It did as soon as you walked away," said Willa. "Before we went back home, I excused myself to check it again, just in case. It almost made me sad to see those children and the dog standing still again. They looked so happy when you gave them some life."
Ottilie grinned at her pasta.
"But, my favorite thing you ever did was when you were even younger than that, I think. You must have been about five months because it was in May, and I took you for the day because your parents were scouting wedding locations. We went to the park. You were wearing this little butterfly bracelet Kanna gave you."
Ottilie remembered it—it was a thin cuff bracelet with an enamel holly blue butterfly. It was sitting in her room in a box of jewelry her mum put on her when she was little. She couldn't find it in herself to get rid of any of it.
"You were sitting on a blanket in the grass when some butterflies landed on a bush nearby. I was showing you how the butterfly on your bracelet looked like the one on the bush. You lifted your wrist, and the butterfly on your bracelet suddenly came to life and started to fly around. It landed on your knee, and you laughed, and then it landed on your bracelet again and transformed back into glass. It was the first time I ever saw you do magic."
Ottilie tried to imagine the scene in her mind. Perhaps, if her mother and father saw her do things like that, they wouldn't have been so frightened of her.
"Why didn't you ever say anything?"
"I know your parents were unnerved by what you did as a child. I know it hurt you to think they were afraid of you. Maybe I should have told them. I thought I was helping you by keeping it to myself, but, looking back now, it might have been misguided." Willa reached out to take Ottilie's hand and squeezed it. "I don't know if telling them about the beautiful things you could do would have changed anything, but I'm sincerely sorry if it would have."
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Eleanor van der Hoeven's funeral was grey and solemn.
It took place in a small, musty Protestant church Eleanor and Henry attended. All of the pictures surrounding the room showed Eleanor with a strained smile. During the eulogy, the pastor spent a strange amount of time talking about all the incredible scarves and sweaters she would have time to knit with the finest wool in heaven (a strikingly depressing sentiment in Ottilie's opinion—that Eleanor would spend her eternity in paradise knitting).
At the end, Adelaide's haunting rendition of Chopin's Nocturne in E-flat major was punctuated by their great aunt crying.
Ottilie rode with Willa to the cemetery. Everyone was sniffing, noses red—some because they were crying, and others simply because it was a very cold day. Eleanor was laid to rest against a grove of trees, her existence summed up as Beloved Wife and Mother.
The reception was even worse, as no one seemed to leave Ottilie alone. Guests, most of whom she'd never met before in her life, would stop by to pester her about whether she was feeling okay. The more annoying of the bunch would foist upon her some stupid sentimental story about her grandmother. She even had to spend time guarding the guest room so her young second cousins didn't break in and mess with her Hogwarts things.
Finally, around four o'clock, the mourners left. Simon and his father watched television in the living room while the women cleaned the kitchen after the reception.
When they were finished cleaning, Kanna put her hand gently on Ottilie's shoulder. "Come along with me, my love." She led Ottilie to another guest room she and Simon had been using and shut the door behind them.
Kanna kneeled on the carpet before the bed. She reached under it to pull out a present with butterfly-themed gift wrap.
Still kneeling, she held the present up to Ottilie. "I'm so sorry we couldn't do much for your birthday yesterday. It's a big gift, so it's for both your birthday and Christmas. I know it's a weird time, but I thought this might cheer you up."
Ottilie sat down across from Kanna and started to open the present delicately. Underneath the wrap was a little cardboard box, and inside the box was a rectangular piece of paper with the words British Airways at the top. Ottilie's eyes widened as she picked up the ticket.
"London to...Sofia, Bulgaria?" Ottilie said, confused.
Kanna was beaming. "Take a look at the letter beneath it."
Ottilie opened the white, trifold letter and read:
Dear Ms Ottilie van der Hoeven,
We are pleased to tell you that you have been accepted into the University College London's student archaeology summer program. From August 13 to August 27, 1995, you will join other secondary school students with a similar passion for human prehistory at a Roman site in the Bulgarian Rhodopes. Expect to excavate large structures, tools, ceramics, and more.
Kanna smiled uneasily. "I know you've been dreaming of something like this for a while. Last summer, I found the application you started a few years ago. I thought I'd finish it and send it in—give it a shot on your behalf. But, the plane tickets are refundable, and I haven't sent in a final confirmation to secure your spot, so you don't have to go if you don't want."
Ottilie was unsure what to say. She gazed breathlessly at the letter. "No, I definitely do. Mum...whoa...thank you. This is the best gift I've ever been given."
"It's a prestigious program, Ottilie. They take only about two dozen kids out of thousands who apply. You just needed a recommendation, so I managed to get in contact with Mr. Reed. Remember your history teacher with a background in paleoanthropology? He was thrilled that I asked. I'm sure his letter was very helpful in getting you accepted."
"Wow..." Ottilie scanned the rest of the letter as her mother continued to talk in excitement.
"You'll get to dig, of course, but there are also classes and lab experiences. It'll be amazing!"
"Am I traveling by myself?"
"We drop you off at Heathrow, where all the other kids will meet up with your chaperones. I hope that's okay. I figured you wouldn't be too anxious. You've always done well on your own."
"No, no, I won't mind," said Ottilie. After venturing into a new world of magic on her own, traveling in a foreign country with a bunch of strangers for a couple weeks sounded easy.
Kanna leaned forward to wrap Ottilie in a hug. "I know you don't have a future in Muggle archeology, but perhaps this can give you some ideas on how to apply your passions to whatever you do in the magic world." There was sadness in Kanna's eyes when she let go of her.
"Thank you again, Mum. This is incredible," said Ottilie softly as Kanna once again pulled something out from under the bed. It was a wooden jewelry box with a floral inlay on the lid.
"And...your grandmother left some personal effects to you and Adelaide in her will."
"Must not have had enough time to write me out before she died," Ottilie said.
Kanna ignored this.
"She left all her jewelry to you and Adelaide. She designated specific pieces to you, probably to divide up their worth evenly, but we think she wanted you two to choose the pieces you want." Kanna opened the top of the box and then pulled out some of the small drawers. "Adelaide has already made her claims—we've made sure that the worth is still about even—but if you want something she chose, we can discuss it."
Ottilie frowned. "I don't want any of it. Adelaide can take it all."
Kanna leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "I understand, but you are going to greatly upset your father and grandfather if you don't at least pretend to take the gift. Plus, your lot will be worth at least a thousand pounds. Think of it as an asset you can liquidate in the future."
Begrudgingly, Ottilie chose her pieces, switching a golden ring studded with rubies for a sterling silver ring. It seemed more fitting.
When they returned from the guest room, Simon was sitting at the kitchen table with Willa. They were watching Adelaide sketch them.
"Where's Henry?" asked Kanna, going over to ruffle Adelaide's hair.
"We think he snuck off to the pub," said Willa. "Figured if he's not back within the hour, we'll go to check on him."
Kanna frowned. "Hopefully he won't get too drunk. He needs to be in control of himself when Ottilie's teacher comes by to take her back to school."
A drunk, tall, and domineering Henry confronts a surly Snape after he suddenly pops into existence in the middle of the living room. The mental image was hilarious to Ottilie, though she knew it was best it didn't happen.
Ottilie sat next to Adelaide, but her mind was elsewhere. She only had about an hour before she would be rescued from this hell and taken back to Hogwarts.
She thought about how, when she got back to Leeds for the Christmas holiday, the very first thing she would do would be to get that jewelry appraised and sell it. She wanted nothing to do with anything that reminded her of Eleanor. She even resented having to go out of her way to sell it and thought about what she could buy to spite her. A Firebolt, perhaps, in honor of Eleanor's epic freakout after seeing a picture of Ottilie on a broom.
At a few minutes past six, a glassy-eyed Henry stumbled through the door with a bottle in a brown paper bag.
He planted himself at the kitchen table and spoke to no one, leaning back in his chair and occasionally lifting the bottle to his lips. Ottilie could tell that her parents—and Willa—were fast approaching a state of panic.
Who was to say where in the house Snape was going to appear? It would not be a good idea to have Henry, in his current state, witness it.
"Dad, I understand you're grieving, but you've had too much to drink. Why don't you go sleep it off in your bedroom?" said Simon, gently trying to take the bottle out of Henry's hand.
Henry violently pulled away from Simon, some liquid sloshing onto the table. "I won't be pushed around by my son in my own house."
"Let him drink the rest of it. He'll be passed out when he gets here," said Ottilie, receiving a searing look from Simon.
"When he gets here? When who gets here?" Henry said, starting to stand up. Simon pressed on his shoulders to keep him sitting.
Simon exchanged fearful looks with Kanna. "Don't worry about it, Dad."
"I see what this is! Someone from that school is coming here!" Henry's face reddened.
"We'll make sure he doesn't stay for long," said Kanna pleadingly.
"I won't let any more of them into my house!" cried Henry. "I won't stand for it! If I were you, Simon, I'd have moved out and signed the divorce papers years ago!"
Simon's face blanched as he and the other adults tried to convince Henry to go sleep off the alcohol. At one point, he did stand up to go to his room, stumbling into the wall on his way. Simon and Kanna looked immensely relieved for about thirty seconds before he returned to the kitchen, holding a Bible. He plopped right back down on his chair.
Ottilie had to pinch herself hard to get herself not to laugh.
"Despite what some Gryffindors may think, Snape is not actually a demon," Ottilie said unhelpfully to her grandfather.
"Ottilie, please be quiet," said Simon, who was pale and sweaty. His eyes were darting around the room as though expecting Snape to step out of a kitchen cabinet any second.
A few seconds after the clock showed half-past six, the doorbell rang. Ottilie was standing near the front door with her things ready to go.
"Don't let him in! Don't you let him in!" cried Henry as Kanna got up to open the door. The kitchen was in a separate part of the house from the foyer, so Henry wouldn't have to actually see Snape, but they'd be able to hear each other.
Henry was busy reciting a Psalm when Kanna opened the door. Simon was staying with him to keep him there. Adelaide, sitting on the stairs, was eyeing the door in dislike. And Willa stood excitedly behind Ottilie, clearly looking forward to meeting a wizard.
Behind the front door, Snape was standing in his black wizard robes.
"Good evening, Mrs. van der Hoeven. Is your daughter ready to go?"
In the silence before Kanna could answer, Henry's voice rang clearly from the kitchen:
"...if you make the Most High your shelter, no evil will conquer you; no plague will come near your home..."
Snape stared into the hall in astonishment.
Ottilie was trying very hard not to laugh, but Kanna and Willa looked extremely embarrassed.
"I am so sorry. Just ignore it," said Kanna. "The idea of magic doesn't sit well with my father-in-law. My husband is in the kitchen with him, making sure he doesn't chuck a crucifix at you or something."
"He's had a pretty rough day." Willa made a drinking gesture to indicate he was using alcohol to cope, which was unnecessary because the slurred prayer was hint enough.
Snape looked like he didn't know what to say for a moment. "We will go now, then. Miss van der Hoeven, are you ready?"
Ottilie nodded, giving it her all not to laugh at the disgust on Snape's face. She hugged her mother and aunt. Adelaide ran over and hugged her very tightly.
"Please come home for Christmas soon, Lottie," she whispered.
"Hang in there, girl," said Ottilie, ruffling Adelaide's hair. She went over to Snape.
"I would ask you to stay for tea, but...," Kanna began sheepishly.
"But your father-in-law may start throwing crucifixes, yes," said Snape flatly. He offered Ottilie his arm to Dissaparate, and she wasted no time. Her world began spinning out of control.
The smell of the cold mountain air was an immense relief when Ottilie regained her footing. She wasn't even as nauseated as she usually was after Apparition.
They were standing near Hogsmeade Station, lights glowing gently in the village down the path. It was a quiet, sleepy Sunday evening—the sky was clear, and the stars shone brightly. The frost bit at Ottilie's exposed skin.
Snape conjured a lantern as they made their way down the snowy drive. She enchanted her clothes with a Warming charm to stop herself from shivering. Once they got to the gate, Snape tapped the heavy padlock, and the gates opened for them.
They walked in silence until reaching the oak doors to the castle. Ottilie removed the charm once they walked into the brightly lit entrance hall. It was never exactly warm inside Hogwarts, but Ottilie shivered as the mild air greeted her frozen skin.
Snape walked into the Great Hall without another word, leaving Ottilie to return her things to the common room before she went to dinner.
When she did walk in, no one paid her much attention, though she did notice that the Weasley twins from the Gryffindor table looked at her. Her Hufflepuff friends from their table did, too.
She went to the Slytherins, her three friends watching her with concern.
"Where were you this week? You just disappeared!" said Graham. Sitting a bit farther down the table, Millicent leaned forward to listen in on Ottilie's answer.
"My grandmother died," said Ottilie. "I went home for the funeral."
Viktor's brows furrowed.
"Chiyo?" asked Graham, horrified.
"No, no, my dad's mum," said Ottilie hurriedly. "It's okay, you guys. It's sad she died, obviously, but we weren't close at all."
She changed the subject, asking instead about what she had missed while she'd been gone. According to both Graham and Viktor, not much.
After dinner, as she left the Great Hall, her Hufflepuff friends caught her before she started down to the dungeons to ask what had happened. Graham didn't wait up for her. He found the Hufflepuffs tedious.
She explained quickly about Eleanor, doing her best to assure them she wasn't upset, though Hannah still insisted on giving her a hug. While Ottilie awkwardly patted Hannah on the back, she noticed some Gryffindors leaving the Great Hall as well.
George and Fred looked over at her, the worry on their faces plain, but they seemed to decide it wasn't the best time to talk to her. They continued to the staircase while Lee chattered excitedly about how much money they were making on those Canary Creams Ottilie had helped the twins develop over that summer.
Out of the twins, George had looked at her a bit longer and appeared a little more concerned. Ottilie tried not to let herself ruminate on that too much.