~Astra~
ANTHONY GOLDSTEIN EXECUTED
We all saw the headline before Colette could even pick up the Quibbler from where the owl had dropped it. With the drop came a heavy silence. I got the feeling it was all over the room, in little pockets around other kids who were paying attention, other kids who were finding out.
There, on the front of the page was a smiling man, surrounded by a small, laughing family. Caleb, a fifth year who was not at breakfast today, was still all over the hall, looking up at us from the cover of the magazine, hugging his father with his two much younger siblings. His father looked like the type of father I would have dreamed about when I was younger, all smiles and love and fun. Not at all the type to murder a politician in cold blood.
I knew appearances could be deceiving, but I also knew Faith had picked a humanizing picture on purpose. Because the Prophet had only given his mugshot, not even mentioned his family. And Caleb deserved to have his father shown in a better light. His father who was murdered, just as much as Patagonia Monez.
"Well, that's a downer," James said, breaking the silence but not the heaviness. He picked up the magazine that we'd all been staring at, and flipped it over. In response, Colette rolled her eyes and snatched it up.
"I can't believe they actually did it," Albus said, blinking. "I can't believe they're actually going to get away with it."
"They won't get away with it forever," James said. "Everything will be put right eventually."
"How long is it until eventually?" Wren asked dully. James gave her a confused glance, but I understood. Things had been wrong, and getting worse, for a long time. Every time people said it couldn't get worse, it did. How long would this spiral last? I wasn't too hopeful.
"Well, I don't know," James was saying. "But not forever. I know that. As long as there are good people in the world, evil can't take over completely."
"What happens when there are no good people left?"
Now we were all frowning at Wren. Pessimism wasn't really her style so much as it was mine, or Colette's. James touched her arm softly. "Are you all right?"
"Is anyone?" She closed her eyes and leaned her head into hands, resting on the table. "Sorry. There's just a lot on my mind. This is all so much bigger than it seems."
"We know," James said. "I'm not discounting that, I promise."
"It kind of seems like you are, when you're talking about hope and how it'll work out in the end," Albus said, an edge of irritation in his voice. "We don't know if anything's going to work out at all."
"If you think having hope discounts what you're going through, Albus, maybe you're mad," James snapped. Albus put his hands up in mock surrender, and rolled his eyes as soon as James had looked away. Wren had looked up again, and was watching them both warily.
I sighed. "Let's not talk about it, then. Not the future, at least."
"I agree," Colette said, looking up from the Quibbler. "The present is heavy enough."
For once, we had a little more information than the Quibbler. Katreena Predatel had confirmed that Russey himself had been the murderer, but of course Wren couldn't tell Faith that. Faith had printed several theories about what had really happened, including the closest: the idea that Russey had had people take Monez out.
Of course, knowing the truth wasn't comforting when a man had been killed for a crime he didn't commit.
The next week was rough. There were many people in school who had decided that they supported the prime minister, even if he was a bit extreme. There were others who thought it was insane, couldn't believe no one was doing anything about it. The vast majority of people I saw, though, seemed a little saddened, but after a day or two, it was a thing of the past. A shame, of course, but what could you do?
"You could do a lot more than sticking your bloody head in the sand," James and I would mutter, but Mr. Potter had told us not to make a scene, not to draw attention to ourselves about it all, so we didn't actually do anything.
With so much I couldn't control, I was throwing myself completely into what I could. Colette and I wrote to Teddy, asking him to look for the case files of the missing children. We also spent all of Valentine's Day tracking down Gideon and Vinnie in Hogsmeade, while Albus and Wren were off with their respective dates. It was a long shot, maybe, but we asked them to try and look into it, too. There had been a disappearance nearby a few months ago, anyway, so they were already slightly invested, right? They both seemed very excited to help.
And when that well ran dry, and we'd catalogued all the information we could and found every article in the Quibbler and the Prophet, I convinced Albus or James to go down to the Quidditch pitch with me as often as possible and practice, race, do something rather than let my mind try to process all the things it couldn't process. I threw myself into practices, into training, into everything. We won the match against Ravenclaw, and I just worked harder.
Midway through February, posters started popping up in the entrance hall and the common rooms for apparition lessons. They were required if you wanted to test for your apparition license. Of course, this sent everyone into a frenzy. Excitement and fear and anticipation and so many other things. So much so that I could take a step back and melt into the background, and not mention that I had no interest in taking the lessons or the test, and no one noticed.
It wasn't that I didn't want to learn how to apparate, really. I did. It was like learning to drive a car for wizards, the mark of adulthood. It felt very important, and if you couldn't do it, well, that was a little childish, right?
But every time I'd tried side-along apparition for the past two years, I'd been thrown back to Gringotts, staring at Professor Pouri's limp body, hearing Stillens' taunting, the chaos and terror of the Quidditch pitch. I hadn't been able to face all of that without being physically sick.
Maybe this was just another instance of me being weak, and not able to control myself. I mean, I couldn't control my mind, so why would I be able to get over myself and apparate? If that's what it was, fine. I was weak. That didn't change the fact that I didn't want to try.
Wren was the first one to ask me, a week into the craze, if I was going to take the lessons.
"Wasn't planning on it," I said, shrugging. I didn't bother to glance up from my charms textbook to see her reaction. That same concerned, I need to fix this look that she accused me of all the time, I was sure. After a moment, my suspicions were confirmed when Wren cautiously asked, "Why?"
"Why should I?" I glanced up, shrugging again. "I'm not really interested."
"I mean, it's a big deal," Wren said. "I don't know."
"I don't really care about it, honestly."
"Is that all it is?"
I thought about saying no. I thought about telling her that every time someone apparated with me, I had nightmares for weeks. I thought about telling her how terrified I was at the thought of having to do that on my own.
But I just shrugged once again. "Yeah. It's just not a priority."
She didn't say anything to that, but I don't think I convinced her. After a few minutes, she closed her book and left, saying something about monitoring detention. By dinner, I'd caught all of my friends whispering and giving me concerned looks. I was too tired with everything to confront them about it.
~~~~
About the time most people had firmly settled into the monotonous routine of the term, and Albus and James had finally started to refuse to spend every spare moment practicing Quidditch with me, I'd taken to alternatively flying around the pitch alone, or wandering the less-frequented floors of the castle. I don't know why I did that. I know wandering empty halls sounds like something you'd do if you were upset, or angry, and wanted to be alone. But I didn't feel particularly upset or angry anymore. I was getting tired of everything. I guess I wandered the halls because I was restless, and if my feet weren't moving, I knew my mind would be.
Sometimes, when I was wandering, Wren or James would appear and walk with me. This happened often enough that I was beginning to suspect they were watching me on the marauder's map, making sure I didn't go off and do something stupid. I didn't know how to feel about it, whether to be outraged at the invasion of privacy, annoyed at the pity, or touched by the care, so I decided to just not feel anything.
Wren sometimes tried to talk to me when that happened. Sometimes, if it was about classes or her prefect duties or other mundane things, I would respond. We might end up having a conversation, and sometimes I even started to feel something instead of numbness. Happiness, maybe. At least the sense of someone caring for me.
But sometimes she asked how I was, or what was on my mind. I wasn't anything particularly, and there wasn't anything on my mind. That was why I was wandering. To not be anything, and to keep things off my mind. So I wouldn't answer those questions, and eventually she'd sigh and ask if I'd done the Charms homework. Once we were safely back in the realm of Questions I Could Answer, I would start talking back.
James didn't really try to coax anything out of me. Most of the time, we just wandering quietly together. When he talked, it didn't feel like he was expecting a response. He would just rattle on about the prank Roxanne pulled on Colin a few days before, or Quidditch strategies he was thinking about for the match against Slytherin in a few months, or how he'd heard a rumor that Lily had been seen snogging some Hufflepuff. Normal things, the life that was still going on even under the dark umbrella of impending war. Or a war already started.
Sometimes, the very fact that James really didn't seem to expect anything from me in return to his chatter made me start chattering, too. Whatever I was thinking, or feeling, or not thinking or feeling, I would say. He would listen, and nod, and let me talk as long as I wanted to. When I'd run out of things to say, he would pat me on the back and ask if I was feeling any better. For some reason, I always was.
It was one of those wandering days where James had found me. We were exploring the second floor, because it was a Saturday and no one was around for classes. The only professors who had offices on this floor were Haverna and Professor Edwards, and I didn't really care if they saw us up here.
"It was really weird, honestly," James was saying. Apparently, Marcus Dillam had approached him in class the day before and asked if he thought I would speak to him. "I told him to sod off, of course, but he wouldn't go away. Just asked if I thought you'd even speak to him. Or let him speak, even. I told him you were completely capable of making your own decisions, but I guessed they would start with an f and end with an u." He chuckled, then shook his head. "Kind of weird, all in all. Just thought I'd give you a heads up. Dillam might be headed your way. I'll hex him for you, if you want."
I hoped he wasn't. Though if he did, I'd hex him myself. I had too much on my mind to worry about Dillam trying to get me back again. If he thought he still had any power over me, he was completely wrong.
"The weird thing was, he didn't seem super cocky like he normally is. You know, that swagger he used to have? Thought he could have anything he wanted? It wasn't there. I guess that's what happens when your dad is outed as an agent of Stillens and you can't rely on him to publicly slander everyone who disagrees with you. Honestly? I think he's a wuss. Just a little—"
Just then, a loud explosion further down the hall cut him off. We both stopped where we were, blinking in the direction of the sound. "What the heck?" I whispered. We glanced at each other, then took off down the hallway.
Around a corner, there was smoke pouring out from under a door. It flew open as we reached it. I don't know what I expected. An attack? A prank? Certainly not Colette stumbling out, coughing and waving smoke out of her face. She was covered in black, and her hair and clothes looked slightly singed. She stopped short when she saw us. "Did I forget the bloody silencing charm?"
"What are you doing?" James asked, pushing past her to see into the room she'd been in. I followed, curious as much as I was confused. The smoke was clearing, to reveal blackened desks and chairs flung against the wall, away from the obvious center of the explosion.
"What does it look like?"
"Blowing up the school?" I peered into the room. "Was the spell supposed to do that?"
"Of course not." Colette sighed. "It's supposed to conceal things from everyone except the spell caster."
"What were you trying to conceal?" James asked, stepping into the room. "You blow that up, too?"
Colette paused in the doorway, blinking. "You... you can't see it?"
"See what?" I asked.
She slowly crossed the room, stopping at the place where the explosion had radiated out from. She reached down and seemed to pick something up, but I couldn't see anything. My eyes widened, and hers did too when she saw our faces. "It worked?"
"I mean, not well..." James tried to dodge as Colette threw the invisible object at him. I heard a light thump, then he started laughing. "Did you really use a pillow? First thing you make invisible, and it's a bloody pillow?"
"Shut up," Colette said, rolling her eyes. She was smiling. "I didn't want to risk something actually important." She walked over and picked the invisible pillow up. "I didn't think it'd worked. This is amazing..."
"Do you have a counter spell yet?"
"Oh, that's easy. Revelio should work, just as a general counter." She demonstrated, and suddenly a dusty, black-streaked pillow appeared in her hand. "I guess I still have some kinks to work out with the actual spell, but this is great!"
"What's the goal? Just to be able to trip people with invisible things on the floor?" James asked, plopping down on the floor as Colette gently laid the pillow down and picked up a notebook.
"I'd like to make things completely undetectable to everyone except the caster. Sight is the most important, but also not being able to feel it would be nice. If I can do that, I might even be able to make it so the object is only visible to certain people, whoever the caster chooses. But that's a lot more complex. Might take a while. First thing I have to do is make sure nothing explodes when I cast the spell." She was scribbling in her notebook now, and I sat down next to James as he picked up the pillow, not bothering to hide the fact that he was impressed.
"What's going on?" Startled, I looked up to see Haverna in the doorway, scanning the room with surprise. Her eyes lighted on Colette, and she sighed. "Did you do this?"
"No, I found it like this," Colette said, rolling her eyes. I bit my tongue to keep from laughing; the sight of Colette denying all knowledge of an explosion that had clearly exploded all over her was hilarious, however much she was clearly being sarcastic.
"Don't start." Haverna slowly walked into the room, taking in the damage with a look I couldn't identify. Frustration, annoyance, anger, tiredness. Maybe even fear. "Were you creating spells?"
Colette pursed her lips for a moment. I really hoped she wasn't about to be stupid. "I'm seventeen. If I was, it's not illegal."
"It's still against the rules of this school."
"Oh, scary."
Haverna regarded her coldly. I shot a glance at James; this didn't seem like it was going to end well. Colette wasn't backing down, of course; her expression was almost disdainful. Haverna finally shook her head. "I have half a mind to tell the headmistress."
Disdain vanished in an instant. Colette's eyes widened, and I was thrown back to a moment almost a year ago, when I'd seen that same expression on her face as she told Albus and I that the headmasters were insane. The same fear, almost desperation, looking for anyone or anything to believe her. I opened my mouth to start arguing with Haverna, but James put a hand on my arm, his eyes not leaving Colette.
"Please don't do that," she said, shaking her head quickly. She sounded much more serious all of the sudden, and I didn't know if it was her tone or the fact that I could hardly remember her ever saying please, especially to Haverna. In fact, I couldn't remember her ever being mildly respectful of Haverna. But now she'd suddenly become someone else, someone who was almost shaking and losing the color in her face and nearly begging our most hated professor to be lenient. She almost seemed afraid. "I'm sorry. Do anything else, whatever you want. Just please don't talk to Kimmel. Please..."
Haverna seemed as caught off guard as I felt. She stared at Colette for too long, and I could see the dots trying to connect in her mind. After a moment, she pursed her lips, almost seeming pained. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Ferdinand Welling isn't here anymore."
"Kimmel's just as bad." Colette shook her head again. "Please, Professor."
"Okay." Haverna slowly nodded, and Colette let out a visible sigh of relief. "I won't. But you can't keep creating spells." Colette opened her mouth to argue, but Haverna held her hand up, cutting her off. "Not without the proper precautions, at least."
"Okay, fine." Colette took a breath, looking away. I got the feeling she was weighing the costs of these precautions. "Help me make the proper precautions and leave me alone."
Haverna raised an eyebrow. "I meant supervision."
A groan. "Supervision? Are you serious? I'm not a child."
"I'm completely serious. You're legally an adult, but that doesn't mean you can't hurt yourself, or others." Haverna gestured at the room around us. "You're lucky you didn't get hurt just now, or worse: hurt your friends."
Colette glanced around the room, too, grudgingly. "I haven't hurt anyone."
"Yet." Haverna rolled her eyes. "I don't just mean me. Professor Edwards would be more than happy to help you, as well, I'm sure. You know she came to us from the Department of Mysteries. You're one of her favorites, for whatever reason."
Colette didn't seem inclined to answer. James cautiously stood up. "Hey, I don't think that sounds too bad, honestly. Hmm?" Colette just glared at him.
Haverna sighed. "I just want to make sure you're safe, Colette. Can you give me that?"
Colette frowned at the far wall, then sighed. "All right."
I smiled and hopped up as well. Haverna seemed relieved, and honestly, I was a bit, as well. I'd been worried about Colette, once I heard she was back to spell-making. At least, now, there wasn't a threat of her being thrown out of school for it, and it was far less likely that she'd blow up the castle. She'd warm up to the idea eventually, anyway, especially getting to work with Professor Edwards. Sure, Haverna might not be too great, but Colette was the only one of us who seemed to think theory was worth anything, which was the only thing she had in common with Haverna, so perhaps she'd get used to that, too.
James and I wandered off as Colette reluctantly explained the spell she was working on. With all the commotion, my numbness had completely worn off. When James asked if I fancied a game of wizard's chess in the common room, I realized I actually feel like doing that. And I relished the feeling.
~~~~
Question of the Day: What's your favorite personality test (Myers-Briggs, enneagram, heck, I'll even take astrology if that's what floats your boat; really anything other than Hogwarts Houses), what are you, and why?
Answer: My favorite is the Myers-Briggs because it's very straightforward and I don't see a lot of people using it to explain away their whole life, or trying to figure out how every little thing they does conforms to the guidelines of their type. I'm an INFP, which is introverted (a lie; I'm actually an extrovert with social anxiety and it makes me seem introverted), intuitive (this is the way I take in information, contrasted to sensing), feeling (the way I make decisions, contrasted to thinking), and perceiving (the way I deal with the world, contrasted to judging). I was an INFJ for the longest time, but in the past year I've changed a lot and so I'm not surprised that I've changed.
If you're interested in other tests, though, I'm also an Aquarius and a type 4 on the enneagram, and my love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation, and honestly I do not put much stock into any of this because I personally hardly know who I am, and feel like I'm changing constantly, so I don't want to label myself as something and stake my identity around that when I'm not even sure what my identity is yet.
Nineteen might sound old to some of you babies but trust me, I am also a baby and still growing so have hope! There is no end in sight!
Vote and comment and ignore my weird nihilistic hopelessness, there; I honestly like the fact that I am changing and growing constantly because that means the parts about myself that I don't like can be changed.
~Elli