Moonchild...
The common room was completely void of other students. It seemed she was the only one having trouble sleeping that night. Her cold light crept along the dark brown floorboards and ornamental rugs reaching packed bookshelves, potted plants and blue sofa sets.
Bare feet padded quietly as the little light stalked the room at a leisurely pace.
A glittering hand ran along each surface without any sort of objective. That is until the hand pressed slightly on something smooth to the touch and a gentle noise rang out in the vast space. It made the air tremble and the silver chandelier of planets and moons in the middle of the tall ceiling chime the softest tinkling sound.
The hand repeated the motion and another note permeated the still air.
Grey eyes flitted over the big piece of furniture that had a shiny black surface. The hand rested on what looked like the row of white teeth of the underwater creature in the dark lake. The light moved its hand slightly to the right and pressed down again, creating a higher pitched sound this time.
A seat was placed in front of the teeth and the light curled up on it tentatively. Fingers pressed on the white keys slowly at first, building up courage and speed and soon they flew up and down the keys of the grand piano, creating odd melodies.
The light’s own teeth were visible as she smiled to herself.
The light stayed there for a while, only rising in her seat whenever her improvised composition grew particularly heightened with emotion or vigour. The chandelier created a haunting harmony with her and it was all quite beautiful –though terribly dissonant and gloomy.
The light was lost in her own mind, playing with her eyes closed. When she did open her eyes at the end of her song, her hands clenched and the music stopped abruptly. Her light illuminated a portrait of an amused old man in a golden frame on the wall next to the piano.
They held eye contact for a while, the man’s warm eyes twinkling with light brown oil paint that complemented his dark clothing and hair quite well. He chuckled a low laugh at the light’s expression and stillness.
“You are quite the artist,” he complimented the flustered girl. Catallena stood from her seat and ran around the piano to greet the painting properly.
“Thank you,” she said lowly and curtsied. The man smiled even more.
“I don’t think I have seen you before. A first year, perhaps?” Catallena nodded slightly.
“What might your name be, child? And what did you do to get so blinding?”
“Catallena Nocturne, sir. And I died.”
The old painting laughed as if she'd told a very funny joke. The girl wrung her hands together and added, worried that the man was delirious from his lack of sleep: “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”
“Ah. Don’t be! Why do you think they hung me up right next to this old thing?” he asked, pointing at the instrument. “Warwick Warricke – former Astrology teacher, head of Ravenclaw, a Muggle Mathematics -enthusiast and an avid piano player,” he introduced himself with humour.
“You’re quite welcome to play whenever you like. Don’t tell Penelope Clearwater, but her insistent practising of Chopsticks is starting to grate my ears after four years. This is a nice change of pace. However, shouldn’t you be in your room sleeping, little ghost?”
The young witch nodded in confirmation, which made the man smile wider. A slight warm feeling set into her stomach. Was she finally making friends?
“I say! It’s almost three in the morning!” Sir Warricke’s eyes drifted to take a closer look at the grandfather clock nearby. “To bed with you! You’ll be having a hard time with tomorrow’s studies if you sleep through half of them. Surely a Ravenclaw can appreciate that!”
Catallena didn’t show it, but her mood was soured.
I’m not a true Ravenclaw though, am I?
Catallena straightened and bid the painting goodnight so as to not upset him, but instead of going down the stairs to the dorm room she slipped through the short hallway to the common room passageway. She didn’t yet feel like returning to her bed and roommates.
The steps down the astronomy tower were descended quickly. There was no-one else in the corridors that she happened to bump into, but even so Catallena dimmed her shine a little bit so as to be more mindful of the sleeping portraits from then on.
The emptiness and the darkness made her think of home. Catallena was immediately put in a much better mood and she skipped on the cold stone floors, finally taking a good look at what the castle had to offer. She had all the freedom to weave in through different rooms and explore without the following eyes of others.
That was what had kept her on edge on the train and at the school. Everywhere she went there were others who looked at her and even talked about her. She tried not to mind them; She didn’t change her behaviour if she could help it without getting into too much trouble.
However, being concealed in the darkness within these thick walls while everyone else slept took a load off her shoulders she wasn’t fully aware she had been carrying. The feeling egged her on and she refused to miss it by going to sleep – no matter how tired she felt.
Her sweet scent of aconites floated lazily in the air. It tickled the noses of sleeping portraits and delighted the sentient suits of armour. It travelled through long hallways, embedded itself into heavy curtains and rugs and eventually managed to escape into the cool night air where the moon shone almost as brightly as she did.
Empty classrooms behind unlocked doors held such interesting things inside. Catallena pranced around reading messages etched into tables by bored students, looking inside glass shelves with old artefacts in them, lightly poking dummies that hung from the ceiling for spell casting practice, and inspecting moving pictures and posters.
She walked up and down staircases, not really minding where they took her. And she was happy that she did.
She opened one more heavy door and was met with something glorious.
She had known there had to be a library somewhere in the castle. A sigh left her purplish lips at the sight of bookcases after bookcases after bookcases in multiple rows and on multiple different floors connected by swirling staircases. It was so dark and the bookcases were so tall that even her light couldn’t reach the tops of the shelves nearest to her.
The room was packed full of books. Not even in her daydreams had Catallena ever dared imagine so many books. Forget Flourish and Blotts, she thought.
She walked in through the door and let it softly close behind her. She walked down the aisles labelled after different types and studies of magic. There were books on magical beasts, history and even a dusty section on Muggle Studies.
Catallena stopped in front of the transfiguration section, reminded of her vow to research self-transformation. Where else would she start? It seemed impossible to decide, so she figured now was as good a time as any to do some research.
She picked up a few books and carried the heavy things to a polished wood table nearby. She sat on a comfortable chair and opened one of the books (something about animal transformations). Soon, she was fully immersed in the words, spells and pictures.
Before the girl knew it, the horizon in the window on her right-hand side began to lighten. The treetops of the forbidden forest stood more and more clearly against the brightening background. At the same time, she needed to glow less to be able to read the text.
Catallena was brought back to reality by her head thudding onto the table and startling her awake from having fallen briefly asleep while still sitting down with her nose in the book. The girl rubbed her tired eyes and gave her cheeks a good few slaps to awaken some more.
It seemed very early and Catallena meant to go to her bed for a little nap before she would get ready for the school day –she really did– but as soon as she noticed the flying owls outside in the undoubtedly crisp morning air, she was done for.
The witch tucked the book she had read half-way under her arm and promptly searched for an exit out of the castle where she left her book for safekeeping in the meantime.
The castle’s stone floors were nothing compared to the icy dewdrops that had formed onto the blades of grass she was stepping on. It was slightly misty out and while the remnants of the darkness of the night slithered away into the shadows of the forest and the castle, Catallena acted as her own little fog lamp.
She was on a different field than yesterday, this time facing the dark lake. Decisively, Catallena hopped over to it and plunged her feet into the water. The sensation paired with the chatter of her teeth woke her up fully despite her sleep deprivation. It was refreshing.
With a few more steps into the surprisingly steep shoreline only the girl’s head was above the murky water. Her hair floated on the surface, creating moving ringlets and swirls. She thought that she must look like an odd octopus.
Drawing a deep breath, she lowered fully out of sight.
Wet hair dragged on the ground picking up mud and dust as Catallena dragged her feet back through the doors. She tried her best not to drip too much water everywhere while walking toward the common room for an outfit change and for her book bag.
She had just passed the Great Hall when someone’s shriek was followed by running steps.
“Oh! Merlin’s beard! What happened to you?!”
Catallena recognized it as Professor McGonagall even before she turned around to face the approaching witch. The Professor wore a horrified expression and she rushed over and twirled the child around as if she were looking for injuries. She held the little witch’s shoulders in a tight grasp.
It was quite a sight to behold at around seven in the morning. The girl was wearing a drenched nightgown and carrying her folded and soaked hair in her arms. Her legs were muddy, though the bottoms had been wiped clean so as to not drag any of the dirt inside.
The eyebags were something else entirely.
“I went for a swim,” Catallena offered as a quiet and simple explanation.
The professor sputtered loudly and repeated to her with her thick accent and shrill voice: “A swim? A swim! What on earth do you mean?” Then –as if something dawned on her– she added (still shouting slightly): “You went into the Great Lake?”
“Maybe. I don’t know the name of it…”
“You– you shouldn't– why would you do that?”
Catallena hadn’t an answer. She had a habit of just… doing whatever came to her. Hence, she simply shrugged her shoulders. The older woman seemed even more confused and outraged by the girl.
“It isn’t safe! We don’t let students into the water for a reason. There are creatures that live there – like the Giant Squid!”
“The red one?” asked the girl, now finally looking at the professor’s direction. She kept her eyes drawn to the brooch that kept the witch's navy blue robes fastened around her shoulders.
“‘T– the red one?’”
“Yes.”
“You saw it?” The professor’s face fell more the longer they talked.
“Yes.”
“And you’re okay? It didn’t hurt you did it?”
“No. We’re friends now, I think.”
“Fr–!” (some more sputtering) “Friends?! Miss Nocturne, I must impress on you that going into the lake is not prohibited. You aren’t to go exploring any such places –much less without supervision at the crack of dawn!
Now go change before you get sick as well. Meet me today at five for detention in the transfiguration classroom. Such tomfoolery won’t fly here at Hogwarts. And on the second day, nonetheless…”
The unperturbed girl curtsied, turned on her heels and trekked all the way into her dorm room, leaving Professor McGonagall standing there. Only a few other teachers and students who had woken up early sat in the Great Hall and leaned in their seats to hopefully catch a glimpse of whatever had the professor so riled up through the doorway.
A warm shower had rinsed out all the dirt and made the girl sleepy once again. Her wet hair was pleated and it dripped droplets of water onto her black robe, creating dark patches onto the fabric. The girl nearly sunk into her bed but resisted the urge and ended up in the Great Hall anyway.
Owls flew overhead with parcels, newspapers and envelopes tied to their feet. Catallena sat at the blue table and ate sweet strawberries while avoiding looking at the professors’ table. She had a nagging feeling that McGonagall was somewhat upset with her and it kept her eyes cast to her plate and the transfiguration book from the library.
The book was a lost cause. It had many interesting and mind-boggling spells for turning animals into goblets and flower bouquets or making pincushions into live hedgehogs. Nowhere in the book did it say how to become an animal as an eleven-year-old girl.
She had to close the book in favour of following the prefects to the first years’ morning class and not getting lost along the way by not paying attention to their surroundings. They walked to a lower floor where Catallena hadn’t been during her late-night (or rather early-morning) explorations. The castle was so big that she had barely made a dent in memorising the whole infrastructure, after all.
The dungeons were darker and much like the corridors they had walked through when they came from the boat house not too long ago on their first day. Along one hall was a beautiful door that led to a classroom that was only barely above ground. The windows near the ceiling of the spacious room filtered in light through blades of grass and flowers.
Catallena chose one of the tables at the back. Each table had enough room for four students, so she was once again paired with strangers. Two slytherin boys sat opposite her and just before class began a Hufflepuff girl took up the seat to Catallena’s right.
No other seats were available since the girl had hurried in at the last minute. Other Hufflepuffs from a different table were waving the lone girl over and urging her to take her chair with her so that they could all scooch around their table. The girl fought back, not wanting to cause trouble with the rumoured Potions Professor who was known to not tolerate rulebending such as changing the seating arrangements.
The other Hufflepuffs had almost managed to convince the one left behind to join them when the doors slammed shut and a dark figure took long strides to the front of the classroom. The children shut up and became rigid in their seats, forgetting whatever they had been fighting about entirely. Catallena would’ve found amusement in them but the loud entrance of their teacher had her all tense as well.
The figure turned to face the children, his chin length black hair sweeping along his hooked nose and pale cheeks in the motion. His black eyes were squinted and for a tense while he inspected the children, as if trying to make out how much trouble they would be. Or perhaps he was looking for someone. His eyes locked onto Harry’s head of messy black hair and he began his prepared speech:
“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making,” he drawled in a deep voice. His nose was slightly scrunched in a sneer as he said this and no-one else dared even breathe in fear of upsetting him more.
Catallena couldn’t bring herself to look up from her desk. The man’s dangerous tone had her trying to subtly disappear behind the Slytherin boys between her and the professor.
“However, for those select few…” His eyes met Draco Malfoy’s and his godson puffed out his chest with pride. “Who possess, the predisposition... I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.”
With every word the Slytherin boys in front of Catallena leaned forward in their seats toward their Head of House and smiled wider with anticipation. Everyone’s eyes drew to Harry when Professor Snape stared daggers at the boy. Harry was writing something on a piece of parchment and seemingly not paying attention.
“Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not pay attention!” A sort of satisfied half smirk twitched at the Professor’s mouth.
Harry’s head lifted from the table and he was terrified to find that everyone was looking at him. “Our new celebrity. Harry Potter - the boy who lived.”
Catallena wondered what that might mean. Not only had she heard whispers of the weird and glowing ‘non-ravenclaw’, she had also overheard students talking of the boy who lived. The things she’d heard were never good, either.
The boy was alive alright. That was, however, hardly something that would set him apart from everyone else at the school. What was it then that made him the so-called celebrity and why was the potions classroom filled with so much hostility toward him?
Catallena thought that the boy didn’t look at all deserving of any of it with his trembling mouth and glossy eyes as he tried to answer some ridiculously hard questions the Professor was trying to trip him up with. The students weren’t expected to memorise their school books ahead of time, were they?
“Mr Potter. What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” Harry shook in his seat and didn’t answer.
“Nothing? Tell me, where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?” Professor Snape towered over the boy now.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“And what might be the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?” This time Catallena knew the answer as well. She might have raised her arm just like Hermione did for every question that had been asked so far, but Catallena couldn't move from her stiff position at the mention of the plant . (It wasn’t like she wanted to speak in front of the whole class anyway.)
She knew that Wolfsbane and Monkshood are two names for the same purple-blue flower. Even the mental image of the familiar plant had her throat constricting and fists clenching. She almost imagined herself there: Laying in the flowery field, crying for–
“Hm. Clearly, fame isn’t everything.” Professor Snape straightened up and sauntered back to the front of the classroom.
“Asphodel and Wormwood make a sleeping potion, Mr Potter. It’s a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of the Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it is used as an antidote to most poisons. As for Monkshood and Wolfsbane, they are the same plant which also goes by the name of Aconite.
Well, why aren't you all copying this down?” he asked and looked around the room. Suddenly, the scratching of quills started.
The rest of the class was spent trying to keep up with the Professor’s pace as he explained the workings and preparation of the Draught of the Living Death. All the talk of eternal sleep had Catallena’s eyes growing heavier by the minute and writing notes became difficult – just as Sir Warricke had warned.
History of Magic went by the same way. If the girl had been any more awake, she would have been excited to finally meet a new ghost. Their History of Magic Professor was the ghost of the old teacher, you see. Catallena fought for her life trying to be present during the lesson, but even the well-rested students had dozed off from boredom because of the ghost’s droning voice and history-speak.
Thankfully, she had a free afternoon, which was spent in one of the school’s gardens. There, in a rose bush with light yellow roses, the girl had a much needed nap curled at the foot of a lion statue. No one found her there and she didn’t need to worry about mean whispers.
She knew she probably couldn’t evade the whole student body all of the time, but even then she welcomed these peaceful moments of solitude with open arms for the time being.