Sarah Is Not Safe
“I want them gone this instant!”
“The Ministry—”
“To hell with the Ministry, Albus! They tried to Kiss her!”
Sarah woke up with a gasp, her heart beating frantically. She grabbed her chest and winced. Hedwig started screeching, and hurried footsteps pounded towards them.
“Miss Potter, you’re awake,” said Madam Pomfrey, her heels clicking so loudly it sounded like she was cracking the tiles. “We were worried…” Madam Pomfrey took a shaky breath. “You were attacked by a dementor, my dear. Do you remember anything?”
Sarah was still trying to catch her breath. Dementor. The creature that felt like death. Attacked. School hadn’t even begun, and she was already being attacked.
Hedwig flew to Sarah’s feet, a screeching white blur, and dropped her wand on her lap. Sarah swallowed drily, then picked it up. Madam Pomfrey handed her glasses to her.
“Professor Lupin saved you,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Thank goodness he was on the train!”
Sarah nodded absently. So that man was actually a professor. Sarah had so many questions.
“Sarah?”
She looked up and saw Professor Sprout speeding towards her, the headmaster following close behind. Sarah’s hand tightened on her wand. He was the one who said she had to go back to the Dursleys.
Professor Sprout looked like she had been crying, but she rallied. She moved to stand next to Sarah’s bed, but not too close, which Sarah appreciated. Madam Pomfrey had got a steaming mug of cocoa from somewhere, and handed it to Sarah. Hedwig barked angrily at the headmaster.
“Have the chocolate first, dear,” said Madam Pomfrey. “It will make you feel better, I promise.”
Sarah doubted it, but she took a sip of cocoa. It was rich and warm, better than any she ever had.
Warmth blossomed throughout her, banishing the lingering chill in her limbs. Her remaining limbs. Hedwig was sitting in the spot where her leg used to be, making it obvious that it was gone. Sarah didn’t mind.
“I believe I owe you an explanation, Sarah,” said Professor Dumbledore somberly. “I was not aware the Ministry intended to have dementors board the train. Thankfully Remus was there to handle them, though I am told he had some difficulties accessing his wand.”
Sarah grimaced, and took another sip of cocoa.
“Professor Lupin carried you here,” said Madam Pomfrey. “He said you were attacked by a dog?”
The mug Sarah held cracked. She had been carried. It wasn’t nearly as bad as being catheterized while unconscious, or them taking it out while she was conscious.
One of the adults repaired the mug, Sarah didn’t know who.
“We can discuss that later,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Know now that you are safe, and that the dementors will not be permitted inside of the castle. Is that correct, headmaster?”
“It is,” said Dumbledore. “They are forbidden to enter the grounds.”
Sarah looked at him.
“The Ministry has sent dementors to guard Hogwarts,” explained Dumbledore. “Following the escape of Sirius Black.”
Sarah took another sip of cocoa. The headmaster’s words only gave her more questions. Who was Sirius Black? Escaped from where? Why did Hogwarts need to be protected?
“That is enough, Albus,” said Professor Sprout icily. “Potter’s had more than enough to be going on with!”
Hedwig hissed at the headmaster. She had apparently picked up Sarah’s dislike for the man. Her leg was starting to hurt again, but she didn’t want to massage it with so many people around. Instead, she kept drinking her cocoa.
“Perhaps she can join us for the feast?” suggested Dumbledore.
“Albus, be rational,” said Professor Sprout, putting her hands on her hips. “The girl wants to be left alone!”
Sarah nodded, which they took as a sign to go away. Madam Pomfrey shut the curtains around her bed. Sarah finished the cocoa then set the empty mug on the bedside table. She reached under her blankets and massaged the shortened muscles in her leg. It hurt, but in a good way.
Hedwig flew to rest above her head, hooting softly. Sarah rolled onto her side, still holding her wand. Her crutches were propped against a chair. She stared at them, recalling how many staircases Hogwarts had. One hundred forty-two.
Sarah hid her face in a pillow. She ignored the tray of food that popped up beside her. She wasn’t hungry.
The next morning, Madam Pomfrey let Sarah know she did not have to go to classes yet. She was still recovering from almost having her soul removed by a dementor—which confirmed Sarah’s assessment of them being death creatures—and because of her leg. Navigating the castle and grounds on crutches would be very difficult.
“Regrowing bones is a painful process,” said Madam Pomfrey. She was sitting in the chair next to Sarah’s bed. “Regrowing limbs is much worse. It is possible, but takes a very long time. We would have to send you to St. Mungo’s to receive the proper care.”
Sarah stared at the ceiling. It didn’t look that different from a muggle hospital.
“We could offer you other means to get around the castle,” said Madam Pomfrey. “A house-elf could assist you, or perhaps a broom. It would be more difficult to fly with one leg, but Madam Hooch would be able to teach you.”
Sarah bit her lip.
“There are also magical limbs,” said Madam Pomfrey. Sarah looked at her. “Advanced conjurations, and what I believe muggles call prostheses. Fake limbs. A number of witches and wizards have them, though typically after an injury from dark magic.”
Sarah picked up her slate and chalk. She wrote, how long.
“For an ear it would be a week. For a finger, a month,” said Madam Pomfrey. “For your entire leg, it would be over a year. We could fit you with something while it regrows.”
Sarah chewed on her lip. A magical leg. That sounded better than her old one. And she could always do the regrowing thing later. Everyone in Little Whinging knew about the attack. It had made the news. If she had to go back there and had two legs instead of one and a quarter, how would she explain it?
“Think on it,” said Madam Pomfrey, standing up. She frowned at the mug of cocoa Sarah hadn’t touched, then tapped it with her wand. It began steaming. “Drink that, Potter. Chocolate is what is used to treat dementor exposure, so consider it a potion.”
Sarah set her slate and chalk on her lap, then picked up the mug. The chocolate made the coldness go away, but it didn’t help with anything else.
Getting through the castle on crutches was harder than Sarah thought it would be. Her robes hid her leg, but it was obvious there was nothing there. At least to her, no matter what the aching and itching and other painful sensations tried to tell her.
Sarah felt like talking even less than usual. The headmaster had made some sort of announcement to leave her alone. Sarah had not been in the Great Hall for it. People had seen Professor Lupin carrying her off the train. People knew she had collapsed because of the dementors.
There had been ample time to practice going up and downstairs at the Dursleys, so getting down to the dungeons wasn’t overly challenging, just time consuming. Sarah had to be careful with all the gaps in the flooring, between the blocks of stone that made up the dungeons. When she had a rhythm going, she could move pretty quickly.
Snape gave Sarah an ugly look when she entered the dungeon classroom.
“You’re late,” he said. “Five points from Hufflepuff.”
Sarah ignored him and made her way to the front of the classroom, where she usually sat. Her classmates left the spot open for her. Sarah propped her crutches against the table and hopped onto a stool.
“As Potter has finally deigned to grace us with her presence,” drawled Snape, “we can begin our lesson. Today you will be brewing a Shrinking Solution. You will find the instructions on the board.” Snape waved his arm and words appeared on the board behind him. “Begin.”
Sarah already knew how to make a Shrinking Solution. She had thrown one at Uncle Vernon. Still, she wasn’t going to complain about the easy assignment. She had missed a week of classes, though the teachers sent her readings and homework to do.
It had taken Sarah a long time to decide what she wanted to do about her leg, even though she knew she could change her mind. She wanted to be able to run again. She wanted to be stronger. Her old leg had failed her. A magical leg would be better.
There was also the issue of another dislocated shoulder. Sarah had ultimately told Madam Pomfrey how it had happened, how all of them had happened. Madam Pomfrey was angry. Professor Sprout was angry. And they knew about Ripper, and about the muggle authorities getting involved, and how Aunt Petunia had to do a lot of paperwork and talk to a lot of people to keep custody of Sarah.
The headmaster had ultimately told Sarah the reason why she had to live with the Dursleys. He had cast a spell over Aunt Petunia and Privet Drive, a spell that meant, so long as Sarah called it home, Voldemort could not harm her there. Aunt Petunia picking her up off the porch had sealed the spell.
Sarah had defeated Voldemort three times already. She liked her chances better against him than with the Dursleys.
She carefully cut her daisy roots into equal pieces. Shrinking Solution. A healer from St. Mungo’s had visited Sarah and explained that her leg would shrink over time, because it was still swollen from the amputation, and because the muscles weren’t being used as much. With magic, it wasn’t a big problem. Spells could be used to adjust any prosthetic she wore.
Sarah peeled her shrivelfig above the cauldron so she wouldn’t lose any juice.
“Where did you learn to do that?” demanded Snape from immediately behind her.
Sarah nearly dropped the whole shrivelfig in. She glared over her shoulder at Snape, then turned back to her cauldron. It was common sense, and not her problem if Snape lacked it. The ruby red juice dripped into her cauldron, and Sarah watched, engrossed, as it turned the murky brown potion into a swirling, vivid green.
Ancient Runes was as boring as Sarah had feared. There were twenty-four runes in the Elder Futhark alphabet, and they would be spending two weeks on each rune. Drawing them, learning their meanings, memorizing rune poems.
Sarah already knew all that stuff. She knew that fehu was feoh was fe was vee. She knew about the two lines like the horns of a cow, or a sheep. That cows and sheep meant wealth, that wealth could be a comfort or a curse. Other meanings and implications spiraled from these. Abundance. Fecundity.
There were books in the Ancient Runes classroom that weren’t in the library, which was what made Sarah decide to keep going.
Getting across the muddy grounds was a challenge, but Sarah was determined. She trailed behind her classmates, third year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. A few looked back at her, and Hannah offered to help. With what, Sarah couldn’t say.
Sarah liked the book for Care of Magical Creatures a lot, and Professor Kettleburn had also lost limbs. Almost all of them, which was more than Sarah. She bet he had lost them in more interesting ways too, not to his aunt’s mean old dog.
Unfortunately, Sarah was in for a great deal of disappointment. No one had thought to warn her that the Care of Magical Creatures teacher was Hagrid.
“Alright, Sarah?” called Hagrid.
Sarah pursed her lips, unhappy with being singled out. She was fine. She nodded once, and Hagrid beamed at her. The desire to see magical creatures warred with her urge to get away from Hagrid. Perhaps Hagrid had learned his lesson after his dog died, his dragon died, and he had been sent to Azkaban.
Sarah knew dementors surrounded the grounds. She could feel them. She hoped Hagrid could too.
After a long walk—long for Sarah—they arrived at an empty stone paddock. Hagrid vanished into the woods, then reappeared with horse-birds.
Sarah held back a smile. She recognized the creatures as hippogriffs. It was in the book Hagrid had sent her, a book the man had apparently read and chosen for the class. Sarah liked the black one the best. She could tell from the size that the hippogriff was a female. Even her beak and talons were black, whereas the others had dark grey beaks that looked forged from steel.
Sarah barely paid attention to what Hagrid was saying, until he uttered the words, “Who wants to go first?”
Sarah wanted to go first. She raised her hand.
“Sarah?” said Hagrid, disbelieving. “Alright, well…” Hagrid looked at the rest of the class, who had backed away. Sarah was the only one next to the stone wall. “How about Buckbeak?”
Hagrid started moving towards a grey hippogriff, but Sarah shook her head and pointed to the black one.
“Stormswift?” asked Hagrid. “She’s a bit spirited.”
Sarah threw her crutches over the low stone wall and hauled herself over.
“If you’re sure,” said Hagrid, his bushy beard quivering.
Sarah awkwardly bent down and picked up her crutches. Hagrid looked nervous, but he separated Stormswift from the other hippogriffs and slipped the leather collar off. Sarah stared into Stormswift’s fierce orange eyes, then bowed as best she could. Stormswift pulled her head back and stared regally down at Sarah.
“Er, maybe another one,” said Hagrid, just as Stormswift bent her front bird legs. Sarah didn’t pay much attention to Hagrid’s praise, hobbling forward to pet the hippogriff now that they had exchanged pleasantries. Her beak was huge and vicious, and looked dipped in ink. Her feathers were much larger than Hedwig’s, but just as soft.
“She might let you ride her,” said Hagrid hesitantly. “But, your leg…”
Sarah thrust her crutches at Hagrid, who gingerly took them. They looked like twigs in his big hands. Sarah wrapped her arms around Stormswift’s neck, then swung herself up. Stormswift, who was very intelligent, tossed her head back to help. Sarah settled in front of the wing joints, keeping her arms locked around Stormswift’s neck. Sarah looked at Hagrid expectantly. Did he blame her for killing his dragon?
“Got a good grip?” asked Hagrid with a concerned expression.
Sarah nodded.
“Let’s try a walk first,” said Hagrid, patting Stormswift’s hindquarters lightly. Stormswift started forward. She had a rocking gait, with two bird legs in front and two horse legs in back. She wasn’t built for walking. Stormswift was a hippogriff. She was meant to fly.
“Did you want to try flying?” asked Hagrid after Stormswift made it around the paddock.
Sarah nodded again. She had no idea what she was learning in this class, but she was riding a hippogriff so it was already better than most lessons.
“Alright,” Hagrid said, “Hold on tight!”
Hagrid slapped Stormswift, and she leapt into the air, her huge wings unfurling with heavy beats. Sarah tightened her hold, her stomach swooping. She pressed her face into the downy feathers of Stormswift’s neck as they soared around the paddock. Hagrid whistled, and Stormswift canted down, slamming all four feet to the ground. Sarah lost her grip and slid to the side, falling off of Stormswift. Hagrid hurried towards them.
“Did you get hurt?” asked Hagrid, reaching out.
Sarah waved him off and pointed at her crutches. Hagrid stared at them dumbly, then handed them over. Sarah climbed to her foot, then hopped around to look at Stormswift again. She was pawing at the ground. There was an odd sound, and it took Sarah a moment to realize her classmates were cheering for her. Feeling embarrassed, Sarah moved closer to Stormswift to hide behind her bulk.
“Who else wants a go?” asked Hagrid, smiling at the class. He gave Sarah a dead stoat to feed Stormswift, then went to help the other students.
Stormswift took one of Sarah’s plaits in her beak, like Hedwig sometimes did. Sarah bartered the stoat for her hair, patting Stormswift’s powerful neck fondly. She was a good hippogriff.
“I want you to observe for today, Sarah,” said Professor Lupin gently, pulling out a chair at the staff table for her.
Sarah eyed the rattling wardrobe. There was a boggart in there, she suspected. She didn’t like this babying, being told to sit down because she only had one whole leg, but she liked the prospect of facing a boggart in front of her classmates less. She didn’t exactly know what her greatest fear was, only that it was intensely private.
Seeing the deepest fears of her classmates was uncomfortable. Seeing what the Boggart-Banishing Spell did to each new childish fear was more interesting. They cried Riddikulus! and a werewolf would roll over and play dead, a vampire lost his fangs, a snake twisted itself like a balloon animal. Someone was afraid of the dark, and Sarah struggled to think of what would make darkness comical. Someone else took their place, and the darkness radiating from the wardrobe coalesced into a large spider.
Perhaps that was the trick to boggarts, to have a fear too difficult for it to represent. Like being afraid of the dark, or heights, or drowning, or being locked in a cupboard and forgotten.
That there were so many of them confused the boggart, and eventually it was laughed back into its wardrobe.
Sarah wanted to know what her boggart was, so she could stop being afraid of it.
Professor Lupin assigned them homework then dismissed the class. Sarah watched everyone leave, not getting up from her seat.
“Did you have a question?” asked Professor Lupin.
Sarah shook her head, then pointed to the wardrobe.
Professor Lupin glanced at the door, then looked at her again. “You wanted to try the boggart?”
Sarah grabbed her crutches and swung herself towards the wardrobe. She stopped a safe distance away, then got her wand out.
“I supposed there’s time before lunch,” said Professor Lupin. He sighed, then walked to the wardrobe. “Are you certain?”
Sarah furrowed her brow.
“I assumed your boggart would be Lord Voldemort,” he explained.
Sarah shook her head. If she had to pick a greatest fear, it would be being weak and powerless. She wanted to be strong enough that she didn’t have to be afraid of things like dogs and men like Uncle Vernon and Hagrid and Snape and Voldemort.
Being helpless was the scariest thing.
“I’ll count to three,” said Professor Lupin, raising his wand. “One, two, three!”
He tapped the wardrobe with his wand, and the door creaked open. Sarah pointed her wand at the darkness within. A deathly cold wind swept through the room, and Sarah’s breath caught. A hand emerged, glistening grey and scabrous, then a tall, hooded figure with a rattling breath stepped out.
Sarah stared up at it, momentarily stunned. A dementor?
There was a rushing in her ears again, and the faint, familiar screaming. Someone was crying. Begging.
Not Sarah! Please, not Sarah!
“Sarah! The spell!”
She blinked. A boggart. But why had it turned into a dementor?
Riddikulus! she thought fiercely.
There was a loud crack, and the dementor-boggart tripped over its own robes, falling flat on its face.
Sarah looked at Professor Lupin, not sure what to do next. He hurried in front of the boggart, and with another crack it turned into something small, blocked by Professor Lupin’s body. He murmured something, and the boggart slammed back into its wardrobe.
Sarah sank awkwardly to the floor, shaking. That was her mother’s voice. Her mother begging Voldemort. The memory of it made Sarah ill.
“Well done,” said Professor Lupin gently. “I think we were both surprised by that one.”
Sarah gave him a questioning look. She wasn’t afraid of dementors specifically, only that she didn’t know how to fight them off if they tried to hurt her again. She could use magic to keep the Dursleys in check, she had a stack of evidence against Hagrid, she could kill Voldemort with her bare hands, and Snape already knew to stay away from her.
She thought, Flagrate, then wrote into the air, How do you fight dementors?
Professor Lupin frowned. “There are certain defenses…”
Sarah stared at him. She didn’t like when people talked around things for no reason.
Professor Lupin looked chagrined, then said, “There is a very advanced spell called the Patronus Charm. I don’t want to give you false hope, as most adults aren’t capable of performing it. It’s well beyond what a Hogwarts student could learn, and you’ve only just begun third year. Do you need help standing?”
Sarah gave him a dirty look and got up on her own. She crutched back to the table and grabbed her bag, thinking. The Patronus Charm. It must have been what Professor Lupin had used to get rid of the dementor on the train.
It was lunch time, but when Sarah left the staff room she went to the library instead. If the Patronus Charm was the only defense against dementors, she was determined to learn it.
“The headmaster’s offer to conjure a leg for you still stands.”
Sarah violently shook her head. She did not want any of Dumbledore’s magic attached to her. He had already done a number with the Dursleys.
Madam Pomfrey looked disappointed, but sighed and walked to her office. She returned moments later carrying a wooden leg.
It had taken over a month for Sarah’s new leg to arrive, and Sarah watched eagerly as Madam Pomfrey approached.
“Put that on first,” said Madame Pomfrey, gesturing to the large sock Sarah held.
She nodded, then slipped it over the end of her left leg.
“I must warn you, this will feel strange at first,” said Madam Pomfrey, pulling over a chair to sit facing Sarah. “It can be removed, just as you requested. I do suggest you wear it as often as possible, as it will take practice to walk properly with it.”
Sarah nodded, then lifted her leg. The wooden leg looked like the mirror image of her right leg. Since Sarah was not to leave Hogwarts, owing to the nebulous and unexplained threat of Sirius Black, they had to take a mold of her leg and owl it to the artificer. Hedwig had personally carried it.
Sarah’s leg slid into the socket of the wooden leg, and her eyes flew open. She reached out tentatively to touch the wood, and flinched away. It only felt like wood.
“Try moving,” said Madam Pomfrey.
Sarah frowned, but concentrated on moving her foot. The wooden toes wiggled. She could scarcely believe it. Her entire leg, her new leg, worked. Sarah leaned closer, and saw tiny runes dancing across the wood. An enchanted leg.
“It will take some getting used to,” said Madam Pomfrey. Sarah flexed her knee, still marveling at how real it looked. “Stand up, let’s see if it’s the right length.”
Sarah bit back a smile and jumped off the hospital bed. She was only slightly disappointed when she toppled over and ended up sprawled on the floor, Madam Pomfrey tutting over her. Sarah didn’t mind. She had a magical leg.
Sarah poked around the bookshelf in the Ancient Runes classroom. She had arrived before everyone else, even Professor Babbling, as she wasn’t entirely sure she was allowed to look at the books. She shifted her crutches into a more comfortable position. Madam Pomfrey had her practicing to walk without them, but Sarah still needed them to get around. It would take some time before she grew accustomed to her new leg. She liked that she could take it off, especially when she slept. It felt more comfortable that way.
Her fingers hovered over one book. The title was in runes, and she bit her lip as she read.
ᛒᛁᚾᛞᚨᚾᛞᛁ ᛖᚦᚨ ᚱᛁᛋᛏᚨᚾᛞᛁ
Bindandi Eða Ristandi.
Binding and carving.
Sarah flushed, her blood racing with anticipation. Some of her books had mentioned bindrunes in passing. Sarah looked around to make sure she was alone, then reached for the book.
Sarah hissed, snatching her hand away and staring at the welts rising on her fingertips. The book had been cursed. Sticking her singed fingers in her mouth, Sarah leaned forward to get a closer look.
It was old, she could tell that right away. It felt old, the way some of the dustier books in the library did. The cover was dark, some sort of ancient leather, and the pages looked like parchment but were much finer.
The door to the classroom opened, and Sarah hastily backed away. She pretended to look at the other books, then went to her seat when Professor Babbling entered the room. It occurred to Sarah that Flourish and Blotts, and other booksellers in Diagon Alley, might not have books on the things she wanted to learn. That some sorts of magic might not even be in books at all.
Sarah puzzled over this as Professor Babbling began talking about thurisaz. Giant, ogre, troll, thorn. Conflict, war, strength, power. Anguish to women, misfortune to men.
The teacher’s words washed over her. Sarah laid her head down on her desk. She didn’t like thurisaz.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was everyone’s new favorite class. Professor Lupin was popular, though some people, like Draco Malfoy, made fun of him for looking impoverished. Snape blatantly hated Lupin, more than he hated Sarah, which made Professor Lupin rise in Sarah’s estimation. That he had driven off the dementor that tried to eat her soul was an added bonus.
Sarah thought Professor Lupin was alright. He was better than Lockhart as he could actually do magic, and vastly superior to Quirrell, who had been toting Voldemort around on the back of his head. Sarah was darkly amused by how uncomfortable that must have been for both of them, Voldemort being wrapped up in a turban, and being right above Quirrell’s arse when he used the toilet.
While Sarah felt more comfortable around Professor Lupin than the average Defense teacher, Professor Lupin regarded her with some wariness. He avoided making eye contact with her, which was fine as Sarah disliked being looked at, but was strangely observant of her. Sarah assumed it was the Girl-Who-Lived thing.
When they studied red caps after boggarts, one of the red caps they were examining nicked Sarah’s hand when she got too close. It hadn’t hurt much, but there had been a lot of blood. Sarah was preoccupied watching the red cap wipe off his bloody claws on his cap, adding her blood to who knew how many others. Professor Lupin had a disturbed expression when he ordered her to the infirmary.
Hagrid was also an oddity. He seemed to be trying to make things up to Sarah. After the hippogriffs, he had corralled several large, hairy spiders. Juvenile acromantulas, from a colony deep within the Forbidden Forest. Sarah rather liked spiders, as they had often kept her company in the cupboard. She liked the acromantula more as they could talk. That they were highly venomous, cannibalistic, and preferred human flesh, were only minor concerns. Sarah could tell Hagrid liked them a lot, and that he missed his dog terribly given how narrowly he avoided getting a fatal wound when he petted one of the acromantulas. Sadly, there was no offer to ride an acromantula.
Herbology was a favored class among Hufflepuffs, as Professor Sprout taught it. It was necessary for survival, given how many plants were in their common room. Professor Sprout was as enamored of dangerous plants as Hagrid was of dangerous creatures, and both had a threshold for danger far beyond that of an average person.
The only downside to Herbology was that it was with the Gryffindors. They had suffered significant losses since first year. Hermione Granger, killed by a troll. Colin Creevey, killed by a basilisk. Ginny Weasley, killed by Tom Riddle. The red-haired boy, Ron Weasley, was loud, louder than he had been before. Sarah kept her distance from him, as he had become wilder since second year. More reckless, more careless. His little sister had died, and Sarah imagined the boy was trying his hardest not to think about it.
Sarah understood that. There were thoughts she avoided too.
A few weeks before Halloween, Ron Weasley took to throwing pearlescent puffapod peas at other students. Sarah had been carefully harvesting the bulging pink pods on her own plant, and was annoyed when one of Weasley’s projectiles hit her in the head. It fell to the ground, and once it touched the soil it bloomed into lilac, trumpet-shaped flowers. She glared at the boy. He turned bright red, then spilt his pail all over the floor. Professor Sprout noticed right away, but she only told him to be more careful.
When Sarah deposited her own pail of unbloomed peas in front of Professor Sprout, she was told to stay after class. Sarah went to gather her things then sat on her stool, massaging her leg. Madam Pomfrey had already had to adjust the wooden leg once so it fit better. Sarah wasn’t quite used to the new weight, nor was her leg. It didn’t hurt, though, which she was grateful for. Madam Pomfrey had lectured Sarah when she learned of the phantom pains, and had given her potions to help.
“I received your Hogsmeade form,” said Professor Sprout, joining Sarah at the work table. “I’m sorry to say that, even with permission, we don’t believe it is safe for you to visit Hogsmeade.”
Sarah went very still.
“Sirius Black was seen in a muggle village close by,” explained Professor Sprout. At Sarah’s blank look, she said, “We believe Sirius Black is after you.”
Sarah kept staring at her.
“He supported You-Know-Who,” said Professor Sprout evenly, though she looked heartbroken. “He killed a dozen muggles, and has been in Azkaban ever since.”
Sarah grabbed one of her plaits, not really understanding. There were plenty of other Death Eaters walking around free, and none of them were trying to murder her or whatever it was Sirius Black was doing. She imagined he was insane after being in Azkaban for so long. Hagrid had only been there for around two months, and it had taken him ages to recover.
It was a shame Sirius Black hadn’t found her on Privet Drive. If he had no problem killing muggles, maybe he could have killed the Dursleys before Ripper had attacked her.
She nodded. Professor Sprout smiled slightly, knocked on the table, then went off to do more herbology things. Sarah grabbed her crutches and made her way back to the castle. It wasn’t enough to have her leg chopped off and dementors trying to eat her soul. Now another madman was after her.
Sarah almost wished she had taken Divination, just for some insight as to why her life was so shit.
That the first Hogsmeade visit coincided with Halloween was the universe laughing at Sarah. She wasn’t fond of shopping or crowds, but she would have endured both to explore the magical village.
There was a simple solution. While Sarah had intended on using the time to sneak into the Restricted Section under her invisibility cloak, she could instead sneak into Hogsmeade. She hadn’t told anyone she wasn’t allowed to go to Hogsmeade, and the girls in her dormitory had all spent the evening before making plans, and even made a few offers for Sarah to join them.
Sarah ate breakfast in the Great Hall, which was unusual but not so much so that it was notable. She wanted to make sure people saw her in the castle. Afterwards, she parted with her housemates in the entrance hall, where they lined up to be checked out by Filch.
A problem immediately presented itself: Mrs. Norris was with him. She could easily sniff Sarah out.
Irritated, Sarah decided to visit the Owlery. Then she could go back to her dormitory and sneak out of the window. Filch and Mrs. Norris would be none the wiser.
“Sarah?”
She spun around, her wand already in her hand. She lowered it when she saw it was only Professor Lupin.
He gave her a wry smile, but didn’t seem upset at being drawn on. “You aren’t going to visit Hogsmeade?”
Sarah shook her head, though Professor Lupin’s words made her think. She had been certain all of the staff knew she wasn’t allowed. If they didn’t, she could break into Filch’s office and put her name on the list.
“I’ve just got a grindylow in, if you would care to see it?” offered Professor Lupin.
Sarah nodded and put her wand away.
Inside Professor Lupin’s office there was a large water tank. The grindylow, a small green creature with little horns and sharp teeth, was pressed against the glass and making faces.
“Grindylow are water demons,” explained Professor Lupin.
Sarah frowned. The Dursleys had called her a demon.
“If one catches you, you can easily break their fingers. See how long they are? They’ve got a strong grip, but brittle bones.”
Sarah walked over to the tank and pressed her own face to it. The grindylow bared his teeth, and Sarah mirrored him. The grindylow swam quickly away, just a trail of bubbles, and hid among some weeds.
Professor Lupin offered her tea, and Sarah felt her opportunity to sneak off to Hogsmeade slipping through her fingers. There were hours yet, but it would take her a long time to walk there compared to everyone else.
She propped her crutches against the tank, then walked carefully to a chair Professor Lupin pulled out.
“How is your prosthetic doing?” he asked, tapping a kettle that had appeared on his desk. Sarah was impressed when it began steaming immediately.
She shrugged in response to his question, though it was curious that he called it a prosthetic. That was a muggle term, which suggested Professor Lupin knew more about the muggle world than most witches and wizards. Was he a muggleborn?
Professor Lupin opened a few drawers, and set paper and a quill in front of Sarah. Sarah nodded in thanks, then wrote, I can’t find any books about the Patronus Charm in the library.
He frowned at her words, then asked, “Why were you looking for such a thing?”
Sarah gave him a flat look.
Professor Lupin smiled sheepishly. “I suppose that is obvious.” He hesitated, passing her a cup of tea. Sarah took it and gave a delicate sniff. Some potions were hard to detect.
“While I would like to say learning such an advanced spell at your age is unnecessary,” said Professor Lupin, “you seem to have a knack for finding trouble.”
Sarah gave him a scandalized look. Trouble actively sought her out.
“Would you like me to teach you?” he asked.
Sarah watched him for a moment, not sure if he was having her on. Adults were being strangely nice lately, giving her free sweets, hippogriff rides, enchanted legs, and now offers to teach her advanced magic. Professor Lupin did sound sincere, and she knew he could cast the spell, so Sarah nodded.
There was a knock on the door, and Sarah looked over to see who it was. To her annoyance, Snape walked in with a steaming, gurgling goblet of some heinous potion. Some potions were not hard to detect. Snape narrowed his eyes at her. Sarah narrowed her eyes at the goblet. She could smell the potion from across the room, like a hot, rotting radish. There was something familiar about the smell, not that she had smelled it before, perhaps something she had read about.
The potion belched ominous blue smoke when Snape set it on Professor Lupin’s desk. Sarah didn’t hear much of Professor Lupin and Snape’s exchange, trying to work out what sort of potion it was. She watched Snape back out of the room, like he was afraid to take his eyes off them, or turn his back on them. Sarah doubted that was her doing, which meant Snape might be wary of Professor Lupin.
Sarah sipped her tea, utterly baffled by what was going on. Snape hated Professor Lupin, and was possibly scared of him. Snape made Professor Lupin an entire cauldron of a truly abhorrent potion, which Professor Lupin thanked him for.
Professor Lupin claimed to be sick, and, despite the blatant attempt on his life, drank the entire potion.
After Professor Lupin shooed her away so he could work, Sarah went up to the Owlery, getting annoyed by how twisty and narrow the spiral staircase was. Sadly, Hedwig was out, no doubt taking advantage of the clear weather to get in some hunting. Sarah petted a few of the school owls that flew to her, though they knew better than to expect her to give them a letter to deliver. They only wanted attention.
Sarah wound her way back through the quiet castle. She hadn’t noticed how empty it got on Hogsmeade weekends in the past, but it was obvious to her now. She heard Filch lurching around the third floor, looking for someone to snarl at.
Once Sarah was back in her dormitory, she pulled a hooded cloak over her robes, slung her bag over her head, and covered herself with her invisibility cloak. Sarah hesitated, then left her crutches leaning against a wall. It would seem like she was there, and it would be easier to hide under her invisibility cloak. She dragged a chair over to a window, climbed unsteadily on, pushed the window open, and hauled herself out.
It was a cold day, the type that smelled cold and made Sarah’s nose numb. She flexed her wooden leg a few times, then started for the school gates. She was glad the rain had let up, giving the grounds a chance to dry. It made it easier to walk, though progress was still slow.
Sarah encountered a problem when she reached the gates. While she knew about the winged boars standing sentinel, she had not expected dementors to be there. Dementors who obviously knew she was there, invisible or otherwise. Grinding her teeth together, Sarah kept moving. She had read about dementors. How they guarded the wizarding prison, Azkaban. How they fed off happiness and other positive emotions. How they sucked people’s souls through their mouths. The Dementor’s Kiss.
How they were blind.
Before Sarah reached the gates, a dementor moved to block her. She got her wand out, even though she didn't know the spell to drive them away yet. Dementors couldn’t see, but they had some way of telling people apart. They obviously knew who Sarah was.
She backed away, stumbling as her foot caught on something. Dementors were stationed around the grounds, guarding every entrance. Sarah wondered who thought it was a good idea. If the dementors couldn’t keep Sirius Black in Azkaban, how could they keep him out of Hogwarts?
Sarah pulled off her wooden leg and peeled off the big sock, wrinkling her nose at the smell. After retreating from the dementors, she had spent some time wandering the grounds. Now her leg was sore, people were returning from Hogsmeade, and Hedwig hadn't shown up all day.
Hedwig missing was Sarah’s biggest concern. Hedwig knew about Halloween. Sarah had told her about it. It was a hard day, and it bothered Sarah that no one else seemed to remember that her parents had died that day, or thought about how she might feel about it.
The girls in the dormitory gave her a handful of sweets from Honeydukes before skipping off to the feast. They assumed Sarah hadn’t gone to Hogsmeade because of her leg, which they avoided looking at.
Pepper Imps, Ice Mice, Sugar Quills, Licorice Wands.
Sarah picked up a squeaking Ice Mouse, wondering if it was something Hedwig could eat. Hedwig wouldn’t take any food offered that would make her ill. She was smart.
Sarah unwrapped a Licorice Wand and waved it around a bit, still rubbing the soreness out of her leg. She felt listless. It was dark out, and Hedwig was not a nocturnal bird. She slept at night, either in the Owlery or perched on Sarah’s headboard.
She took off her glasses, flopped over, and hid her face in a pillow.
There was a loud crash, and Sarah sat bolt upright, immediately awake. She grabbed her wand just as her bed curtains were flung open. A scream built in her chest, but it was Professor Sprout, breathing heavily, her face white with fear.
“Merlin,” breathed Professor Sprout, stumbling back into a seat. “You’re here. Oh, thank goodness.”
Sarah reached for her glasses, looking around as the other girls trickled into the dormitory. She looked back at Professor Sprout, who was fanning herself with her hat. The Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff ghost, floated in through the ceiling.
“I shall inform the headmaster,” he said soberly, drifting away.
Sarah opened her mouth, wanting to know what happened, then shut it again.
“I must have scared the living daylights out of you,” said Professor Sprout faintly, still trying to catch her breath. She closed her eyes, then said, “Sirius Black has broken into the castle.”
Sarah was glad it was a clear night, as it gave her something to look at. Professor Sprout hadn’t allowed her to change out of her shorts and t-shirt, instead prodding Sarah along to the Great Hall with everyone else. The headmaster had conjured a huge pile of purple sleeping bags, and Sarah dragged one off to a corner. It was a terrifying display of power, conjuring hundreds of sleeping bags without even an incantation. Nice, squishy, colorful sleeping bags.
Maybe everyone else was too stunned by Sirius Black breaking in to acknowledge it. Sarah wasn’t.
Sirius Black had already broken out of Azkaban. She had read dementors drained people of their magic too, which made it even more shocking. The three most secure places she knew of were, in order, Gringotts, Azkaban, and Hogwarts. Gringotts had been broken into, which Sarah vaguely recalled the headmaster saying something about. Azkaban had recently been broken out of. Hogwarts came last, as Voldemort had already broken in twice, without anyone even knowing until he got desperate and attacked Sarah.
Safety was an illusion.
Sarah huddled in her sleeping bag, wishing the headmaster had conjured some pillows too. She didn’t know the spell for it.
A flash of white cut across the starry ceiling, and Sarah’s spirits lifted. Hedwig silently flew down to her, landing next to Sarah’s head. Sarah extracted a hand from her sleeping back and stroked Hedwig’s back. She was freezing cold. Hedwig ruffled her feathers, and Sarah held her warm sleeping bag open to let her in.
Sarah squirmed around on her back. Hedwig gave a sleepy chirp. Prefects were circling among the sleeping bags, ghosts were drifting in and out, professors kept opening the doors and having whispered conversations. There was no chance Sarah could fall asleep.
She did hear a lot of things. People theorizing how Sirius Black got in. How Sirius Black had attacked the Fat Lady, which confused Sarah. She knew the Fat Lady guarded Gryffindor Tower. If Sirius Black was after her, during the Halloween Feast no less, why not break into the Hufflepuff Basement? There were plenty of windows, and it wasn’t that hard to get past the barrels. Maybe he was confused like Snape, who still tried to take points from Gryffindor whenever Sarah breathed the wrong way. Everyone knew her parents had been in Gryffindor, and house sortings tended to run in families. It was a reasonable assumption to make, if lazy for someone who people said was Voldemort’s right hand man. Sirius Black had even used a knife. Didn’t he have a wand? Surely he could have stolen one, he had been out of Azkaban for months.
The headmaster came in at some point, and had a cryptic conversation with the Head Boy and Snape. Snape thought Sirius Black had inside help. Sarah was convinced Snape had been a Death Eater. Maybe he was the inside help, though based on his expression it seemed he hated Sirius Black as much as he hated Professor Lupin and Sarah.
Sarah wanted to tell them to shut up and go away. She had known for years the headmaster was rather useless. Sirius Black strolling in and out of the castle was simply more proof of his incompetence, more proof that Sarah could not trust others to keep her safe.
She had to protect herself, like she always had.