Unsteady
“Miss Nocturne!” called out McGonagall’s exasperated voice, her accent thickened by tiredness. “Do you ever sleep?”
Catallena lifted her head from her folded arms and turned to face her professor, not looking guilty in the slightest to McGonagall’s dismay. The professor swiftly approached the opening in the stone wall that looked over the darkened castle grounds. There, Catallena sat on the ledge. She had been gazing at the stars in the bright night sky.
There was no wind tonight. Before McGonagall materialised in the hallway, even the snores of a grumpy old painting could have been heard from the opposite end of the hallway over the absolute silence. That is if Sir Nicholas would have stopped yammering on about… Well, Catallena wasn’t sure what the ghost had been saying. She hadn’t been paying much attention to that. It had, however, been nice to have some company.
It had been another sleepless night, awake and lonely in the castle. The friendly portrait above the piano in the Ravenclaw common room had been fast asleep just like everyone else, leaving the girl to wander elsewhere in search of… something. Accompaniment? A distraction, perhaps? Anything to clear her mind. Or to keep it occupied. Whichever worked better at getting her through the night, she had supposed.
More than anything the girl wanted to sleep. She wanted to curl up in her own bed with Princess Kisa by her side and close her eyes for a restful sleep. But she couldn’t. In the corners of her dorm room – in the reflection of the full body mirror – the shadows would move whenever she was just about to nod off. Catallena would be startled awake and panicked – you know, the normal amount for when you think you’ve seen shadows move in an empty corner at night. Whether it was her tired mind playing tricks on her or if it was Death’s shifty cloak, she didn’t know. It usually drove her to flee her room like she had done earlier that night.
Almost as much as she wanted to sleep she wanted to be awake. Fully awake. Even the freezing air hadn’t been enough to shake her out of the strange feeling she had once again fallen into. Not quite asleep but not quite awake either. Her eyes were continuously tired and heavy but closing them for a longer time made them sting. It made the stars in the sky look blurry even against the contrasting navy blue.
Her legs were perpetually slow in following her orders to move. The rest of her body felt sluggish and numb as well. Her arms had fallen asleep under the heavy weight of her head and all its thoughts.
As if it really was thick mud that flowed through her apparent filthy veins, the thrum and throb of it deafened her ears, muffling the ghost beside her. Catallena did her best to ignore it.
The air around her was heavy. Drawing a breath, one that rattled in her chest painfully, was rather difficult. Especially tonight, the still air provided no relief. Though thankfully that meant that when a shadow in the yard had shifted, there had been no breeze that carried the scent of guts and decay as confirmation of it ever happening. Catallena could pretend it was a scurrying hedgehog or a bunny.
Harry would surely be at least a little pleased by the promise of good weather, had Catallena thought, looking up at the serene sky. When he wakes up to clear skies in however many hours that would be, hopefully he won’t be as scared of playing quidditch against the Slytherin team. Catallena was a little nervous herself; not because she didn’t think that the Gryffindor team would win but because Harry had worried himself sick these past few days. It unsettled the girl. She felt less like trying to rest than usual, knowing that the boy was most likely tossing and turning in the Gryffindor dormitories, sleeping a restless sleep.
“It is past midnight, for heaven’s sake! And students aren’t allowed out past curfew for reasons other than proper rest. There are things in this castle–”
“I can assure you, dear professor, that little miss Catallena Nocturne has been kept safe and in good company, far away from the third floor.” The ghost of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington bowed wearing a sly smile. He was the Gryffindor house ghost after all, proud, stubborn and not afraid to push the head of Gryffindor house’s buttons.
“And you, Sir Nicholas, don’t even get me started with how disappointed–” McGonagall winded up to lecture him but didn’t get far before she was interrupted by the ghost’s deep, rambling voice.
“Oh, I simply saw an opportunity to better get to know our beloved students. It’s a night most beautiful, you see! I recounted the story of how I once mistook mere dust mites for a constellation! I was borrowing my dear friend Lancaster’s awfully mucky telescope for an Astronomy lesson. The lens was speckled with those buggers and – well that reminded me of the buffoon of a charms professor we used to tease as young sixth years. Had lice, we were sure of it. Of course that was right around the time that Azkaban came to be – nasty rumours of power-hungry Aurors and gruesome torture. Criminals, too, were a different breed back then. And– and naturally I had just got to telling the sharp lass about the great Horseback Head-Juggling competition of ‘63. Sir Dumfrey Westland – the clutz that he is – nearly got himself kicked out of the Headless Hunt for his abysmal juggling competence. Yes, I remember it like it was yesterday. True torture for an outcast like me. Made me want to rip my head all the way off when the council decided that the oaf was still accepted into the Hunt over myself who happens to be most excellent in juggling, if not only a little attached at the neck– ”
Professor McGonagall kept rubbing at her forehead underneath silvery curls. “Yes, yes. Be that as it may, I still have to insist that you not entertain young children with your gory tales after midnight.” Her tired eyes bore straight through the ghost and he seemed to finally decide that a hasty retreat was his best choice here.
“As you wish!” he laughed and then took a bow to Catallena. “It has been my pleasure entertaining you this starry night, young charge! I shall never do it ever again. Promise.” Though the wink and the flashy smile said that he would like nothing more than to break the promise some other night. Then, in a blink, he melted into the floor below, disappearing from the courtyard entirely. Silence befell them.
“Whatever do I have to do to impress upon you the importance of not wandering the castle at night? Lock you up in your room for the night? I’d rather not, so don’t tempt me, miss Nocturne.” McGonagall sat down on the ledge as well, looking up at the sky like the girl. Catallena studied her odd expression. It surprisingly didn’t seem too angry. The girl didn’t recognize what the wrinkles around the witch’s eyes or the purse of her lips meant, but she knew anger and this wasn’t it.
Their eyes met for a surprising moment before Catallena turned away. This at least seemed to soften the professor further. Perhaps she saw something in the girl’s starry eyes or the disturbingly dark circles under them.
In a much more delicate voice, Professor McGonagall said something that weirdly caused a lump to form in Catallena’s throat: “I contacted the ministry about your homing situation. They insist they’ve no idea how you came to live by yourself… or what became of your parents.” She peered sympathetically at the girl from above her glasses, but Catallena remained stiffly facing the blackened yard.
“Death took them,” Catallena whispered after a while, interrupting whatever it was that McGonagall was preparing to say next when she expected no answer. The older witch’s eyes blinked rapidly, caught off guard.
It took a little moment for an answer to be formed. “I’m, I’m very sorry to hear that.” She stammered, her voice tight. A hundred thoughts flooding her mind at once. “I… have to talk to the ministry further about this. The Muggle-Born Registration Commission admittedly hasn’t been very helpful so far – that head of department Umbridge is very slow to return my owls – but I don’t want you to worry. I’ll see to it that this gets sorted out and you have a good place to stay after your first term is over.
It might not be sorted before Christmas break, though, I’m afraid. I would hope you decide to stay here at Hogwarts for the holidays. There’s always room and the Christmas feast is not something to scoff at.” The woman tried to sound comforting, but the starry sky now looked blurry for her as well through her misty eyes. No answer ever came from the little girl and they spent a good long while absent-mindedly listening to the snoring of that portrait down the hall.
When the cold finally settled in her bones, McGonagall let out a long sigh and pushed herself away from the ledge.
“You will complete your detention for having once again been out past curfew tomorrow after the game. I will request Snape for a sleeping draught afterward. Now off to bed with you.”
She led their way, climbing countless stairs and taking multiple turns rather slowly to get to the Ravenclaw tower. With a lovingly stern eye she made sure that the girl entered her common room behind the raven statue and the professor even remained waiting outside for good measure, so that the stubborn girl wouldn’t sneak back out the second McGonagall had turned her back to return to her nightly rounds. She wasn’t sure she could put it past her. After all, the Weasley twins had seemed to take a liking to her.
Once satisfied, she completed her rounds (paying less attention to the task than she usually would) and managed to catch a bit of sleep, only to walk past the Great Hall only a few hours later to find Catallena already awake, sitting at one of the tables. The sun hadn’t even begun to peek from behind the hills. The girl was the first one to arrive for breakfast and to the professor’s incredulity, the little Ravenclaw was sat at the Gryffindor table no less.
McGonagall didn’t have the heart nor the energy to tell Catallena to go back to bed or to her own house’s table at the very least. Breakfast hadn’t officially started and wouldn’t start for a while, yet it seemed the house elves had given the girl something to eat with her tea. With another long sigh and a shake of her head, the professor accepted it and told herself that one detention was already punishment enough. She couldn’t bring herself to be as strict with Nocturne as she was with the rest.
The Great Hall filled with hungry children very quickly that morning. The long tables buzzed with nervous and excited students. Hermione was very happy to find Catallena at their usual spot near the end of the Gryffindor table. She waved and hurried over, careful not to bump into others. Students argued over who they thought would win the match and Catallena was sure she had seen Fred and George making some rather brave bets with some older Slytherins down the table.
Bright sunlight filtered into the Great Hall through ornate windows and from the pastel yellow sunrise painted across the ceiling. Owls danced in the light, occasionally breaking formation to deliver a package or an envelope to some student.
Everyone was dressed in either green or red for the two rivalling houses, Slytherin and Gryffindor. Catallena’s eyes followed Hermione as she approached, cheeks and nose painted red, wearing a thick red sweater and with the gold sunlight in her bouncy hair. Catallena wished she too owned something red to wear, but her blue coat was too warm and comfortable for her to be too upset.
“Good morning!” Hermione exclaimed, but she seemed a little tense. Her pin straight posture gave it away as she sat down opposite Catallena. She pulled out her copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, the same one she had lended Harry for some extra reading, and let it fall onto the table, almost knocking down a goblet filled to the brim with dark orange pumpkin juice. She opened the book to a page that detailed how many witches and wizards had gone missing while playing the game. She nibbled on a bread roll, lost in the book.
Catallena glanced down in front of her, where instead of a book was a murder scene. She had shredded her apple and cinnamon muffin into crumbs.
“Put that mess into a bowl and pour some milk onto it and you’ll have an apple and cinnamon flavoured oatmeal for breakfast,” Ron advised as he sat down next to the girl. Somehow his mouth was already stuffed with eggs as he did so. A brown owl dropped a mailpaper right onto his plate and he opened the roll to its front page.
“Do you mind?” Hermione complained. “Speaking with food in your mouth isn’t very polite.”
“I do mind, actually.” He let the newspaper Daily Prophet fall from his hands. This time a goblet of pumpkin juice did spill into a bowl of marshmallows. “It’s game day and I need to eat so that when Harry wins us the quidditch match I’ll have lots of energy to celebrate.” As he spoke, sounding very cheery in spite of Hermione’s disgusted expression, he crammed a sausage into his mouth and reached for the bacon, foregoing plating anything.
Harry lowered himself to sit down next to Hermione and opposite Ron. He was wearing the lion-crested quidditch uniform Catallena recognized from that stormy night they had flown above the school grounds. His hair stuck upwards at the back of his head despite his apparent efforts at taming it with water and a hair brush. Clearly his sleep had been about as restful as Catallena had figured.
“We don’t know that I will. Win, I mean,” he sounded very uncomfortable. He looked to everyone like he might throw up right then and there. Even the lion, to Catallena, looked less sure of itself on Harry’s shirt.
“Here, try to eat something. I’m sure once you get some energy, you’ll feel better.” Hermione buttered a piece of toast and put it on Harry’s plate. Harry’s eyes happened to catch sight of the page she had been reading in her book and though Hermione slammed the book closed and slipped it under the table when she realised this, it was too late.
“Thanks, Hermione… But I’m not very hungry right now.”
Wordlessly, a small flowery cup of steaming liquid was handed to the boy, who took it just as quietly, if not a little perplexedly. He looked from Catallena, the girl with her pink and white teapot, back to the intensely fragrant tea cup in his hands and took a careful sip. The moment he had done so, Princess Kisa was thrust into his chest. Catallena examined Harry’s face and shirt expectantly. Ron’s eyebrows were raised higher than usual at this.
Harry thought maybe she was trying to cheer him up. He managed to shoot her a smile before taking another sip. “Thanks. That’s actually really good.”
And somehow he felt encouraged enough to eat some of the toast in front of him. The cat in his lap was soothing to the touch and the gold-coloured tea felt warm as he downed it. He listened a little absent mindedly to the chatter of Ron and Hermione and other Gryffindors around them. When Seamus Finnegan (whose face was painted yellow and nose black, completed by whiskers to look like a lion) asked him what the deal with the Ravenclaw at their table was, Harry had almost completely forgotten what awaited him in just about an hour. Almost.
That was until a nasally voice quieted their end of the table entirely. Harry whipped around and found his least favourite teacher looming over him menacingly. Professor Snape looked over the table, pausing for a second when he unexpectedly saw Catallena sitting with the trio. Nevertheless, he opened his mouth and lowly drawled: “Good luck today, Potter. Youngest seeker in a century, they say… Here’s to hoping you won’t fall off your broom or get hit by a bludger as that would be quite… unsightly. Even though the game is against Slytherin.”
And just as fast as he had appeared, he disappeared behind a crowd of students that split before him. Though Harry’s eyes never left his retreating form. They caught the way the man limped.
“The blood. That explains the blood!”
“What blood, Harry?”
“His leg is injured! There was blood on Professor Snape’s robes when he came to the dungeon on Hallowe’en after we had fought the troll. You don’t remember?”
“Well I wasn’t looking at his legs!” Ron defended. “I was too busy being lectured at by Professor McGonagall, if you’ll remember. Besides, what does it matter?”
Harry didn’t even have to think about it. “It matters because this must mean that he was the one to let the troll loose in the castle. It must’ve been a distraction so that he could get past the three headed dog! He wants whatever it is guarding!”
As soon as this was said, Hermione slapped Harry’s arm and looked pointedly in Catallena’s direction. The three of them seemed to freeze as if caught red-handed. Even to the girl it was clear that there was something the three Gryffindors didn’t want her knowing. And suddenly Catallena was reminded that there was no house for her here – that everyone looked at her like she was not supposed to be where she was.
Even so, Catallena found herself soon thereafter surrounded by Gryffindors in the tall stands of the quidditch pitch. People around her chanted for Gryffindor and held banners with moving paintings of quidditch players in red and flying lions. It was all very loud and distracting.
A giant man (or rather a half-giant-half-man) called Hagrid sat next to Catallena, separating her from Hermione and Ron. If the loud environment had allowed it, Catallena would’ve noticed the way the two had chosen to sit a bit further away from her. She might’ve heard the quiet bickering between them. “We should tell her. She’s a friend!” “A friend, Hermione? Don’t you think that’s a bit generous? I would’ve thought that you of all people would be smart enough not to tell her about the dog.”
“What’re the two of you whispering about there? Best pay attention, the game’s about to start,” Hagrid fussed in his thick accent. And right as he did, two teams walked onto the pitch and the crowd went wild. “There he is! There’s Harry!”
Harry and the others mounted their brooms gathered at the middle of the pitch, and when Madame Hooch blew her whistle and threw a quaffle up into the air they all sprang into action.
Catallena tried to protect her ears with her hands when the crowd would cheer and ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at every turn. A piercing voice projected over them all, narrating the play before them. Each point gained would cause an eruption in the crowds. Catallena kept her eyes locked on Harry, who had bounced straight up from the ground at the whistle and was now hovering over everyone else, turning his head to look for the golden snitch. Everything else was too overwhelming to watch. The crowd bellowed and the other players and their bludgers moved at dizzying speeds, but she could bare peering up at Harry.
Until she couldn’t.
Both Gryffindor and Slytherin teams had gained several points when it happened. A chill ran down Catallena’s back. The hairs at the back of her head stood up and her wild heart dropped to her stomach.
Death reared its hooded head from behind the stands on the side of the pitch opposite Catallena. It covered the sun and took with it all remnants of light and warmth. Dark shadows spread like wildfire across the field, and raced toward Harry, who was thrown off his broom and only just managed to hold onto it dangerously high above the ground. With bony hands that wrapped around the tall pillar-like stands in the audience, Death crawled into the pitch. From within its cloak it opened its horrible mouth so as to engulf Harry when he would fall.
“What’s gotten to Harry’s broom?” Hagrid asked and lended his binoculars to Hermione.
“It’s been bewitched! Someone’s tampering with it!” Hermione gasped.
Catallena was breathless. She couldn’t look away from the gaping and withering face of Death.
“It’s Snape! He’s the one doing the incantation, look!”
“What do we do?” squeaked Ron in a panic.
“Leave it to me,” Hermione resolved. She dropped the binoculars and hurried past them to get to where the school staff sat. Before she passed the Ravenclaw, however, her hand was seized in the grasp of Catallena. Her nails dug painfully into Hermione’s forearm.
“Death’s here,” she breathed, her light grey eyes wide and pale as saucers. Her expression and words scared Hermione. After a moment’s hesitation when the nails dug deeper and refused to let go, Hermione pulled Catallena up from her seat and took the girl with her.
The pair ran down rows of seats and staircases. Hermione took the lead and Catallena dangled from her, staring off into the seemingly empty pitch and stumbling in her steps. Hermione practically bulldozed their way through a rowdy group of older Gryffindors. No one else seemed concerned by the presence of a giant skeletal creature at the centre of the game.
Harry’s broom was erratic. By the time the two girls had made it to the bottom of the staff’s stand Harry had nearly been tossed off it. The rest of the audience seemed to have caught on as well and the screaming changed tone. Fred and George, who were in the Gryffindor quidditch team alongside Harry, were trying to catch him on their brooms but the movements of Harry’s mount made it impossible. Death’s breath rattled as if it were desperate to taste Harry’s Life.
“Quick! In here!” Hermione bent down to fit under the staff’s stands. Catallena held on tight and followed. They came to a halt and Hermione crouched facing the heels of two shiny black shoes peeking from under a long black robe. They were undoubtedly Professor Snape’s.
The bright Gryffindor pulled out her wand and concentrated to mutter a spell directed at the professor. With a flick of her wand, Professor Snape’s robes caught fire and Hermione ushered Catallena away from the scene. There was commotion in the audience and the flames were promptly stomped out after only a bit of panic, but it had been enough for Harry to gain control of his broom.
Harry swooped with his broom around the pitch, setting off after the golden snitch as it seemed, and the crowd was once again bathed in sunlight. Death was reduced to smoke, though Catallena could still make it out in the shadows, waiting for the next opportunity to unhinge its jaws at the boy again.
Hermione was now shaking Catallena’s shoulders, trying to shake her out of her haze. The ghostly girl blinked and saw the Gryffindor team running onto the pitch to celebrate their win. The game had ended. Catallena felt ill, but the sight of Harry on the ground surrounded by happy students let her breathe again.
“We did it! Harry won!” Hermione cried. Her whole face was red from excitement and relief (and facepaint). “Are you okay? What happened?” Her voice sounded curiously further and further away.
Everything caved in on itself and the edges of Catallena’s vision darkened, until she collapsed in Hermione’s hold.