Chapter Five
I jolted out of bed. I glanced at the owl clock on my bedstand. It was hooting, signalling that it was 7:30 and time to get ready for classes; sunlight flooded the window, a welcome change from the desolation in my dream. Breathing heavily, I looked down at my hands and threw off my blanket in relief to notice that my legs were still intact, and I lightly touched my mouth and neck. There was no cloth.
I let out a sigh of relief upon the realization that it was just a nightmare, though there was a queasiness in my stomach that I couldn’t shake off. Those nasty words echoed in my head: “Bring yourself to me…” Who was talking? And how did they know my destiny?
My feet had barely touched the floor when Hermione walked over to me, still in her pajamas, brushing her unkempt hair. She said, “Filch is here for you, Carina. Dunno why. Hope you’re not in trouble, it would be a shame for Gryffindor to lose House Points before classes even begin.”
I shuddered at the thought of why in the world Mr. Filch, of all people, would be here to talk to me. I didn’t know him well, mostly because he seemed to hate my guts—I knew by watching his interactions with the students that he seemed to hate everyone except his cat and perhaps some of the professors. If he had it his way, he’d probably curse all the students himself. As quickly as I could, I threw on some clothes and rushed downstairs to the Gryffindor Common Room. I opened the door to see none other than the hunch-backed, mean-looking, wrinkly Mr. Filch.
“Took you long enough,” he said with disdain. “I’ve got a busy schedule today, so I’ll make this quick, Aberforth. Someone tried to steal your wand on the train.”
He handed me the long, rectangular box he was holding. I opened it—it was my wand, alright, and it was intact, though the box around it wasn’t the same as the one Ollivander gave me.
“It looks like the person failed. They damaged the box, alright, but they couldn’t take the wand,” Filch continued. I saw a hint of jealousy flash across his face when he saw it.
In my early-morning grogginess, all I could muster was, “Thank you, Mr. Filch.”
“Thank you doesn’t do it enough,” he said gruffly, turning around to go. “Watch yourself. We wouldn’t want to lose our ability to do magic this early in the year, would we?”
He made a maniacal laugh before leaving with his equally maniacal cat, Ms. Norris.
I thought about that hypothetical. What a horrible thought! While I did have moderate success with Gramps’ wands and could probably do fine using those, I had grown quite attached to the special wand that Ollivander had gifted me—even if it did come with that prophecy that I’d shoved to a corner of my mind in the midst of yesterday’s festivities. I still had the cherry blossom the wand conjured.
No doubt the thief knew about the wand’s power and wanted it for himself. But then how did they know it belonged to me? And what caused the thief to fail? I remembered Ollivander’s words to me in that shop: “You may find that it acts on its own occasionally.” Perhaps the wand was so powerful that it was able to protect itself somehow. It made me giddy at the thought of finally doing magic with it.
***
I met with Harry and Ron at breakfast and told them the news.
Ron looked at my wand with great interest. “Those engravings look so cool. Wish my wand had engravings.” He looked down at his own, a hand-me-down from his brother.
“Thank goodness the thief failed,” Harry said, scarfing down some eggs.
“I just don’t know who’d want to steal my wand!” I exclaimed, frustrated. “I hardly know anyone at this school yet. Who hates me this much?”
“Blimey, if I were a thief, I’d steal that necklace, not your wand,” Ron said, pointing at the pearl necklace that Gramps had given me for my birthday.
Harry interjected, “Might’ve been a teacher. I think I saw one on the train, did you, Ron?”
I thought about that. But the only teachers who knew about my possession were Albus Dumbledore and Hagrid. One of them was my own grandfather, and one was (and I say this lovingly) the least graceful, least sneaky, most conspicuous person I knew. Plus, I had faith that the both of them loved me very much.
“We’ll help you figure this out,” Harry assured me.
Hermione joined us and asked us what we were talking about. Harry shot me a glance that read, “Don’t.”
“Oh, just talking about our classes,” I lied. “What class do you have after this, Hermione?”
“Herbology,” she replied gleefully. “Yesterday, I spent some time reviewing the growth cycle of igniting flora in preparation for class.”
“On the train?” Ron asked incredulously.
“Let me see your schedules,” Hermione said. It ended up that we all had Herbology together after breakfast, and Hermione invited herself to walk up together and sit with us during class.
“Blimey, Carina! You’re taking the fourth-year classes for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Charms?” Ron’s eyes seemed to pop out of his head.
“They should let more students do that, don’t you think?” Hermione said, frowning. Clearly, she wanted to be one of them.
“It’s only because I snuck into all those classes for three years,” I said sheepishly. “I’m only good at the stuff that involves wands! I’m still in the same level as you guys for Herbology, Astronomy, Potions, and History of Magic.”
“Speaking of Herbology, that’s in five minutes!” Harry said, looking with horror at a large clock overhead. “We’re going to be late!”
“Don’t worry, I know the shortcuts!” I said, running for dear life with the other three out of the Great Hall and up the stairs.
***
As Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday flew by, I discovered that I loved almost all of my classes. Save for the accelerated classes I took, I was with Harry and Ron in almost all the rest, besides Astronomy, which was with Draco and the Slytherins, plus the Hufflepuffs—my schedule was slightly different because of all the accelerated classes I was in. The first few days were just Professor Sinistra going over the curriculum and rules and showing us simple star charts. In Herbology, we went down to the greenhouse and were taught magical plants and their uses by Professor Sprout, who was easily one of my favorite teachers by the end of it. When Professor McGonagall saw me enter her fourth-year Transfiguration classroom, she clapped and revealed to the class that I was the culprit of the Hungarian Horntail fiasco.
“A feat I have never seen before in all my years here,” she told everyone loudly. I gazed awkwardly around the room—though I hadn’t asked for the praise and felt a little strange for being called out, I still left the class feeling warm and happy.
Even though I was really looking forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Quirrell seemed to be a bit of a let-down, but at least he wasn’t out to behead everyone like some of the previous DADA professors were. For the first few days, he talked in a nervous stutter about his own life, and he didn’t really go into detail about spells. At least he liked me, though. After the first class, he called me over and told me I had promising talent.
Then there was Charms. Professor Flitwick gave me a knowing smile when I walked through the door. I knew he had always approved of me and my antics. Once class was dismissed, he personally came over to my desk and told me that he was very proud of my performance that day (we had been learning the Scouring Charm.)
After Professor Flitwick had given me a good pat on the shoulder that first day, I went to History of Magic, which was easily the most boring class I was in. I remembered also trying to attend one class by Professor Binns, falling asleep right there in my Invisibility Cloak, and waking up to find everyone gone. It was a miracle that no one had discovered me or tripped over me on their way out.
Subsequent History of Magic classes were exactly like that, except the stakes were higher, because if I fell asleep everyone could see me. Fighting off my sleepiness, I took notes as best I could and asked Hermione for whatever I missed, because she somehow had the ability to stay completely awake during those lectures.
I waited excitedly for Thursday because we’d be heading to the highest floor of the Astronomy tower to view the stars ourselves. I met Draco outside the Slytherin common room at 11:45 so we could walk together for our midnight class. I tried my best to skirt around the fact that, even though we were friends, our friend groups had diverged almost irreparably. Harry Potter, my now-friend and the boy Draco had wanted to make friends with, hated him. Even though it had only been four days, Harry and Ron made that much clear.
“Wish you were in Slytherin,” Draco said as we were walking up the seemingly endless flights of stairs together. “Then you wouldn’t have to be around that scarheaded idiot all the time.”
It made me slightly hurt and sad, because I had been starting to enjoy my friendship with Harry a lot more these past days. But not wanting to compromise my friendship with Draco, I said, “He says mean things about you all the time.” It wasn’t entirely false. It made me equally as disappointed to hear Harry and Ron badmouth Draco all the time, too.
“I’m not surprised. When you hang out with blood traitors like Weasley that often, you start to become like them,” Draco scoffed. “And once that happens, there’s no going back.”
I almost opened my mouth to say that I was, in fact, one of the people he was talking about, but decided against it. You’re here to make friends, not enemies, I told myself.
Draco and I were the last two students in the classroom, arriving right on time. I could tell that everyone just wanted to get their work over with and leave, since the class was at midnight and we all had class the next day. Several people grumbled about the timing of the class.
“Welcome, students,” Professor Sinistra spoke in her usual soft, enigmatic tone. “Today we will be splitting into groups of two and charting sections of the sky. Please draw out any notable celestial bodies you see on your parchment and fill out their names. Two to each telescope, please.”
Of course, Draco and I paired up. My body quivered in excitement as I peered through that magnificent lens and absorbed the stars in all their brilliance. Given how late it was, all the lights through the rest of the castle had been dimmed, and there was no moon tonight—setting up the perfect conditions to see the galaxies. The Milky Way glowed faintly above us with hazy glory, and I was able to zoom in on some celestial bodies called “nebulae.”
“Um… are you going to let me look?” Draco asked from behind me.
I clearly hadn’t realized how much time I had spent looking up. “Oh, I’m sorry, Draco! Here, try it.”
His POV
Draco was having a lot of trouble focusing on stars. Actually, he was having a lot of trouble focusing, full stop. He felt as though he could have let Carina have her turn forever, except he overheard someone saying that Professor Sinistra was going to collect their drawings at the end of class. He noticed that the galaxy above them glowed the same color as Carina’s eyes. A soft, light purple.
As he was struggling to find an easy celestial body to draw so he could get his classwork credit, Carina said, “Do you want help finding something to draw?”
Draco’s heart skipped a beat, and he whirled around to look at her, her face looking perfect as usual. “Um… that would be nice.”
“Let me show you something cool.”
Sheepishly, Draco let Carina take the reins, and she instantly started moving the telescope in strange ways, sometimes zooming in and out. He didn’t understand what she was trying to show him until she said she was done, and she beckoned him to come back. He adjusted his eyes to the lens.
“Do you know what constellation that is?” she asked him.
“What? We haven’t even gotten to constellations yet,” Draco said.
“I know, I know. But you’ll like this, I promise.” She giggled softly. His heart fluttered. “That one is called Draco. It’s supposed to look like a dragon.”
“What!” In awe, Draco zoomed into the stars of the constellation. If he really stretched his imagination, he could see how they connected to make a dragon. “So this is what I’m named after? A bunch of stars?”
“That’s not all! Turn your telescope ever so slightly to the right. Your other right. Now, down.”
Draco saw a small, rhombus-shaped constellation. “Which one is that one?”
He didn’t see it, but Carina was beaming from ear to ear. “Carina.”
His cheeks turned pink—thank goodness he was facing away from her as she said her name. He zoomed out on the telescope. Sure enough, there the two constellations were, nestled together in the night sky.
“It’s you and me,” Carina said playfully.
“It’s—it’s brilliant.” He swallowed. He was at a loss for words.
He tore himself away from his stupor when Professor Sinistra said, “Five minutes left!” Panicked, he realized he hadn’t started his drawing yet, and he caught a glimpse of what Carina was doing for hers.
On the parchment, there were two constellations, each drawn in astonishingly meticulous detail. On the top half there was a dragon-shaped one, its stars connected together with neat lines that seemed to be constructed by a ruler. On the bottom half was one that resembled a rhombus.
And on very the bottom, Draco noticed with great trepidation and jubilation that she had written: “Draco & Carina,” with a smiley face drawn next to their names. He felt a little faint.
On his fourth day of school, Draco Malfoy, to his greatest dismay and terror, had fallen in love.
***
The final—and I would learn, greatest—obstacle that I had to overcome that week (and the rest of the semester) was Potions. It was an absolute brain-wrecker of a class, both academically and emotionally.
First of all, Potions class was held in the dungeons, which was already not very much of a sell, and Snape’s prejudice towards Harry was evident from the minute he found his name on the roll call. He said, “Harry Potter. Our new—celebrity.”
I had also made the mistake of sitting with Harry and Ron—Draco’s table of three was already filled with his new friends Crabbe and Goyle—causing me to be branded as one of Snape’s Hated. Draco and his friends were snickering at the comment, and I definitely would’ve kicked them from under the table if I hadn’t been sitting so far. Poor Harry had developed a sudden interest in his feet.
Then, Snape went on a long and dramatic speech about potion-making that I hardly caught except for the word “dunderhead”—and he was referring to us with that word. Right after, he asked Harry a question that no one in the class knew except Hermione, though he conveniently pretended she didn’t exist. Then, when Harry inevitably got it wrong, Snape asked him another, and another. I felt so sorry for Harry that I slipped him the answer to one of the questions peppered at him, but it didn’t matter. The wicked professor ended up taking points from Gryffindor for getting someone else to answer for him.
I watched him through my peripheral vision as he glided like a Dementor over our cauldrons; he had a nasty, hag-like expression on reserve for our table only. Beads of sweat seemed to form on my scalp when he was nearby. Could’ve been either fear or rage.
“You’re sprinkling too much of the blowfly wings,” he snapped at me. “Perhaps it would serve you to remember that wand skills don’t translate to potion-making, Aberforth.”
I grit my teeth and said nothing.
***
After the horror show that was Potions, Hagrid invited both me and Harry to visit after school and talk about how our classes were going, but I told them I’d be late because Professor Quirrell had come to me after class the day before for a private lesson.
“Private lessons?” Harry inquired at lunch.
“More like private lecture about one of his adventures in Romania,” Ron said.
“He said he wanted to help me catch up a little since I’m a first year taking classes with fourth-years,” I boasted.
***
Later that day, I met with Professor Quirrell in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He was waiting there, twiddling his thumbs as though he were nervous I’d never show up. He gave a sheepish, relieved smile when I walked into the door.
“C-Carina!” he exclaimed. “P-p-please, n-no need to sit down. I-I intend on t-t-teaching you spells th-that you’ll really use.” He firmly closed the door behind me.
I noticed that he had cleared away all the desks and chairs in preparation for my arrival.
“D-did you know, Ms. Aberforth, that the best way to learn how to defend yourself against the Dark Arts is by knowing them yourself?”
Intrigued and also a bit scared, I said nothing.
“Ah, this is a standard lesson that I started my third-year classes with,” he laughed anxiously. I got the sense that he really wanted me to like him. “I’d like to start off by teaching you the branches of elemental magic, as well as their Dark counterparts. Don’t worry, you won’t be tested on any of this.
“Fire. Water. Earth. Air.” He wrote each of these words on the blackboard. “Each of these has an equivalent in the Dark Arts: Inferno. Tempest. Quake. Hurricane. They are all more powerful versions of their counterparts. That is what the Dark Arts is—magic too powerful to contain or control by the ordinary witch or wizard. But you are no ordinary wizard.”
His eyes glinted. He stuttered, but there was a blazing excitement that was drawing his confidence out of him.
“That is why, today, I am going to start you off with Tempest magic, the easiest to control for beginners. I am sure you will master it in no time,” He rolled up his sleeves, readied his wand, and said, “Meteolojinx tempestua!”
The middle of the room instantly began to fill with miniature clouds, which floated upwards and immediately started pouring water, thunder, and lightning onto the classroom floor. Even for a small storm like that, I could hear the ferocity of the howling winds. I stood from the opposite side of the classroom in awe, but I got slightly distracted when I realized this was no ordinary storm. It was acid rain pouring from the clouds, falling down and slightly singing the floor. And the water was making its way to me.
I yelped just before Professor Quirrell uttered the counterspell, “Meteolojinx recanto!”
After gathering my bearings, I looked up to see an expectant Professor Quirrell waiting for me to repeat the spell he had just performed. I was somewhat familiar with Atmospheric Charms, so at least I had something to go off of. I repeated the spell and its counterspell, as he did, to his great delight.
“Wonderful! Just wonderful, Ms. Aberforth! You have a great affinity for this kind of magic,” he commented. Given that this was technically Dark Magic, I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. But I couldn’t dwell on it, because it was right off to the next thing.
“Now, let us practice manipulating water,” Professor Quirrell said. He showed me how powerful a single blast of water could be—not by shooting me with it, thank goodness, but by chipping a small diamond with his hydrokinesis spell, “Aqua reducto.” I examined the gem fragment with wonder. It was so tiny, meaning the cut must have been unbelievably precise.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Water is the most powerful knife in the world.”
Professor Quirrell and I started with tiny, powerful streams, and then we went into using larger columns of water. I laughed in delight as I easily knocked down a practice dummy with a gigantic wave, with the water disappearing as it hit the floor.
“Very, very promising,” Professor Quirrell said with a shaky smile as he picked up the dummy and put it away.
“How fun!” I exclaimed in glee. I laughed as I conjured jets of water from my wand and watched them float around me in the air; if I wanted to, I could turn it into acid water, which singed the bullseyes of the targets in the classroom. There was something so satisfying and refreshing about it. And, unlike History of Magic or Potions, it came to me so easily. I hardly needed to utter the spell’s incantation before the water erupted from my wand, exactly the way I wanted it to. There were no hiccups here—no turning teapots into Hungarian Horntails.
“Excellent! Excellent!” Quirrell cried. He looked so excited he could burst, and his voice had gained an usual clarity. “Oh, happy day!”
Then he winced, like something had struck him from behind. He shrank himself, twiddling his thumbs again like the Quirrell I knew. “A-apologies f-f-for the outburst, C-Carina. P-please, let us meet again! Um… W-Will you h-h-have time over th-the weekend? H-how about S-Sunday?”
***
After the lesson, I was in high spirits, so I ran over as quickly as I could to Hagrid’s hut. Hopefully, everyone would still be there—it was awfully late. But there they were, sitting around the small dining table, enjoying tea and talking merrily. My heart filled with excitement when I realized I’d be able to talk to Hagrid again—it had been ages!
When I knocked, I heard Fang bark loudly, and Hagrid gave me a big hug when he opened the door. Harry and Ron both said hello as I sat down with them.
“Fang’s crazy ‘bout yeh,” Hagrid said, struggling to push the enormous boarhound back from pouncing on me and giving me a shower of kisses.
“He deserves the world.” I gave the dog some head pats from my chair.
“Anyway, we were just talking about the Gringotts robbery,” Harry said, leaving Hagrid looking strangely uncomfortable. “It happened in the morning, the day after my birthday—August 1st. Hagrid, what if they were trying to steal the package that we took out when we were there?”
“August 1st? That’s my birthday!” I yelled incredulously. “Wait… Hagrid, was Harry the ‘very important person’ that you said you had to take to Diagon Alley?!”
Hagrid’s expression showed a hint of embarrassment. “It’s true. I ‘ope you’ll und’stand, Carina, that I had ter rescue Harry ‘ere to help him settle into the wizarding world ‘n all.”
I crossed my arms. “I’ll accept your explanation, this once.”
On Saturday, Harry, Ron, and I stayed in all day doing homework at the library—it was only the first week of school, but that hadn’t stopped our professors from piling us with things to do. Then on Sunday, after studying some more, I attended my second private lesson with Professor Quirrell, which I’d been looking forward to.
This time, though, Professor Quirrell wanted to meet me outside, by the Black Lake—he said that practicing with bodies of water would be much more “realistic,” whatever that meant. After we met outside, he took me towards a more secluded area where, according to him, the Care of Magical Creatures class was usually held.
“Now,” he said, bracing his wand. “This spell is an utterly powerful one, and it requires unusual strength of the mind and spirit. For it molds a titanic, terrifying creature out of the water, and it will only do your bidding as long as you maintain control of it.
“The spell is not easy. This spell has no counter-spell. The only way to protect yourself is, indeed, by casting it yourself. Do you understand?”
I nodded, thoroughly excited by the prospect of creating giant creatures out of the water, though I was about to eat my thoughts.
“PESTIS TEMPESTUA!”
I watched in great horror, almost as though I were in slow-motion, as brilliant cyan blue light burst from Professor Quirrell’s wand and hit the water, making a splash when it made contact. Except it didn’t really make a splash. The ground rumbled and ripples of water combined within themselves to form larger and larger shapes. It resembled a dragon rising out of the water, except the dragon was made of the water.
At that point, I couldn’t even remember what the spell was, or what Quirrell had even said in the last few minutes. All I knew was that the monster had chosen me as its target.
“AAAAAH!” I screamed, backing away from the water as far as I could and fleeing in the opposite direction.
“Cast the spell!” I could hear Professor Quirrell’s voice squeak in the distance, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was, instead, running as fast as my legs could carry me, as far away from the monster as possible. When I glanced behind me, I could see the shapes of even more monsters rising out of the water of the Black Lake, all hell-bent on one goal: killing me. I kept running, and eventually I spotted a cobblestone lighthouse that was sure to be a safe zone against the monsters. With what little energy I had left, I sprinted up the stairs to the top floor, where I had a birds-eye view of the terrible situation I was in.
Beneath me, the monsters were closing in, ramming onto the tower with all their might. Their waves crashed against the building like a rebellious wave in storm season—endlessly pounding into the concrete, as if to claim, “You’ll topple eventually!”
And one thing popped into my head. The spell—pestis tempestua. I would have to either perform it or die, and I was at the perfect spot to do it.
Completely out of breath, I sputtered one last incantation at the water. “Pestis… PESTIS TEMPESTUA!”
The monsters temporarily stopped, mesmerized by the brilliant cyan coming from the wand, as the ray of light shot past them. Where the beam touched the Black Lake, I could see an animal forming—an animal even larger and scarier than the rest of the monsters combined. It looked like a bird.
The other monsters glided over to fight it, but to no avail—upon collision with the bird, they fell apart, the water comprising their bodies falling back into the water in a shower of droplets. And once they had all gone, the bird spread its wings and sunk back into the Lake.
After it had all been done, Professor Quirrell walked up underneath the small lighthouse, clapping slowly. “Marvelous, Ms. Aberforth, marvelous!”
He shook my hand, which was cold and wet and nearly limp, I was so tired out from the running. “You might have avoided all of this if you hadn’t let your fear overcome you in the beginning, but other than that, a stellar performance.”
