Fallout
Is this death?
The first thought that crashed through her head was a strangely philosophical one for a girl her age, but it was one that she felt was perhaps relevant, given what she had just done.
Stared into a Basilisk's eyes - some Magizoologist I am.
But this pain - or lack thereof, rather - seemed to be the worst sensation of all. In fact, there was a total absence of any sensation, simply stillness. She couldn't move a single muscle, could express no thoughts or act on any ideas, not that any came to her mind.
It was as if she were sat before a blank canvas inside an endless abyss, with the paints arrayed before her, all different, yet all the same. The illusion of choice was there, but she was unable to grasp for the brush, only imagine the infinite nothings that could decorate the canvas.
Infinite nothings - yes, there was a thought. The infinite possibilities of endless nothings, with nothing and everything ahead of her.
And it was then that a single thought found itself in her mind.
If she was pondering the infinite nothings, then she must be alive, for it is not the place of those who have passed to question the worlds in which they once lived.
Then there was a prick of pain in her body – where she couldn’t tell, simply that it was.
Sensation soared through her, starting in her toes and coiling through muscles, restoring sensation with every second that passed - although she could only assume, for there was no real concept of time before her. There simply was and wasn't.
She had survived staring a Basilisk in the eyes - survived and been perhaps the first to be able to tell the tale. Perhaps it was because she was a Parselmouth? If so, then it could explain why there was no record of it - even if a Basilisk was tame, or otherwise controlled by a speaker, there was little stopping the creature from simply finishing off the Witch or Wizard with its arsenal of weapons.
Hell - even moving past the petrified Wixen could result in death from crushing.
Her eyes pulsed with a dull throb, and the world slowly came into focus, blurry shapes forming into the familiar roof of the Hospital wing even as she felt sensation creeping through her head, and up to her brain.
And then it felt as if her body went limp all at once, as a cough wracked her chest, a stern voice laden with audible relief cutting through the air even as she did so. "Ah - good. Took a bit longer than the rest, but you are fine. Welcome back, Miss Scamander."
"Whae-" Her attempt at words resulted in little more than a croak, and another cough shook her chest - bringing with it a pain that she hadn't felt the first time. Her throat was dry, raw almost, and there was the briefest thought in her mind. That was probably how the other speakers who had stared into a Basilisks eyes had gone, dehydration or succumbing to the elements. Her gut wasn't much better, her stomach felt as if it were tying itself into knots over and over as her body screamed for food - she was utterly starving.
A pleasant thought filled her head in that moment - she would quite like to partake in the end of year feast that had to doubtless be coming up.
"Easy, Miss Scamander. You've had quite the ordeal." Giving a soft hum, the Matron of the Hospital Wing stepped over her and waved over her form with her wand, her hum reappearing as she gave a small nod. "You seem ok - somewhat dehydrated and malnourished, an unfortunate side-effect of being petrified. You'd do well to drink some water and have something to eat. Your mysterious illness from late last year still hasn't reappeared, so I'm going to tentatively suggest it has passed. If you see the symptoms again, either inform myself or your guardians. St Mungo's is far better equipped for such... Diagnoses."
With an absent flick of her wand, the Matron summoned the empty glass from the bedside table and tapped the rim, allowing water to freely flow from her wand and spill into the glass. Once full, she withdrew a small vial from her apron and uncorked it, pouring the light blue liquid into the water and allowing them to mix until there was no trace of the potion, before passing the glass to Steph.
The girl pushed herself upright just a little, before taking the glass in hand and draining it in a single motion. Her throat seemed to grow less and less angry with each sip, and her stomach's pain seemed to drain away into dull pain that sat uncomfortably, but markedly more comfortably than hunger induced cramps.
"Now, that nutrition potion isn't a substitute for food, so I advise that you head down to breakfast in.." The Medi-Witch pulled back her sleeve, revealing a dulled and well-worn silver watch with an equally worn leather strap that was wrapped around her left wrist. "Approximately two hours. The Mandrake draught awoke the others two days ago - about a day after administration of their doses, but you took a little longer."
A moment of indecision - perhaps even doubt - flashed through her mind. If she told the Medi-Witch her suspicions, it might out her to the world, but surely the Matron would observe patient-healer confidentiality. Besides, her information could prove useful to the medical community...
Somehow.
"I.. May know why, Madame." Swallowing the uncomfortable sensation in her throat, Steph spoke, and once she was sure the Matron was paying attention, she allowed her voice to drop a little bit, just to keep her nerves in check. "I'm.. A uh- Parselmouth. Like Harry."
The Matron paused for a moment, before a small frown came across her features. "Interesting as that may be, Ms Scamander, that only raises more questions than answers - one would assume that would mean you recover faster, as opposed to slower."
"Well... All the others got diluted effects... I stared directly into Meretseger's - the Basilisk's, rather - eyes."
The Medi-Witch blinked owlishly - and had Steph not been caught on her own nerves, she might have found Madame Pomfrey's expression amusing in some way. A soft, shuddery, exhale escaped the Matron as her voice grew somewhat strained. "You mean to say.. That you stared into the eyes of the Basilisk, and became the first in history to survive?"
Despite herself, Steph gave a single nod. "Yes, Madame."
"... Well, I suppose this is beyond my area of expertise, at least on my own." Pinching the bridge of her nose, the woman stood still for several seconds, clutching her wand in her spare hand with white-knuckled intensity. As the silence went on, Steph became more and more concerned that she had said something incredibly wrong, and that this had been a mistake of colossal proportions. But then the Matron spoke, her tone deflating as she went on. "You responded the same as the other victims, albeit slower in the cures effect, but with what you've told me, that would be reasonably expected. Higher doses require increased effect of an antidote."
Another sigh escaped the Matron, and she glanced up at Steph in her bed. "I cannot very well keep you here much longer in good conscience, given there is nothing actually wrong with you. I don't suppose you feel as if you are about to keel over dead?"
Steph blinked twice, before shaking her head slowly. "No, Madame."
"Then you're free to leave as soon as curfew ends. If you can survive that, I doubt anything in this castle could do you in. I will, however, be fetching Severus, just to be certain."
She took her time going down to breakfast.
There wasn't that much of a rush to go down, and besides - there was other things for her to do.
Namely, enjoying a hot shower for what felt like the first time in weeks - which it had actually been. A quick glance at the calendar in the office of the Hospital Wing Matron showed that it was quite literally the second last day of term - this evening there would be the End of Year Feast, before they would all go home the following morning. It was rather prosaic that she had awoken that morning, really.
But even as she stood under the steaming hot spray of Madame Pomfrey's ensuite bathroom, which the Matron had kindly allowed her to use in lieu of going all the way to the Ravenclaw common room at four in the morning, Steph regarded the events of the year with an air of frustration. It felt like this was perhaps the first year where she really had dropped the snitch on achieving a year at Hogwarts she was actually happy with.
She had learned she was a Parselmouth, but had spent the better part of eight months doing little to nothing with the information - neither telling her parents, who could have helped her, or doing anything useful with it. Sure, it had allowed her to clue on to what the creature in the Chamber had been, but all she had succeeded in doing with the information was being petrified, and getting Daphne petrified alongside her.
Surely - if someone like Dumbledore knew, he could help her, but she had neither the avenue to approach the Headmaster, nor the willpower to face down the most powerful Wizard alive, even in simple conversation. The man was decidedly imposing - given his list of titles, accomplishments and awards that were longer than the beard the man had grown.
Perhaps he could have even figured out what was wrong with her.
She might have been a bit of a failure as far as acting on her fears, but she wasn't stupid. There was something very wrong with her body - wrong to the point that Madame Pomfrey had not so subtly indicated that a trip to St Mungo's was on the table, wrong to the point that a senior Medi-Witch had zero clue what was wrong with her patient. Wrong to the point that said patient had a severe reaction to the Basilisk's presence.
And the whispers - the whispers and desires of suffering and pain. Of depraved savagery and the delightful sadistic pleasures that had begun to creep in at the corners of her thoughts during stressful situations, where her mind was pushed to its weakest.
Was she going crazy? Perhaps it was a blood malediction?
The water was almost painful against her skin, so hot was it, but she didn't touch the taps to reduce the sensation - not just yet. The burning heat sent deep throbs through her skin, and she relished in the moment of being deprived of her breath, of feeling the heat beneath her skin.
And then a single motion drove the hot tap all the way closed, and a gasp slipped through her lips as the cold water washed over her, jolting the sensation away and sharpening her senses with the thermal shock. A moment later, she cranked the tap off, and allowed herself a few deep breaths as the water ran down her pale skin, and a few final thoughts stuck in her head.
Lockhart had also gotten away.
His reputation was doubtless tarnished by the ineptitude displayed by the foppish man during their various lessons - she and Daphne had basically tutored their friends for the duration of the year, given that there was little other choice. Yet, with the collection of books sourced from Sirius Black and Cyrus Greengrass, Daphne and Steph had managed to just about get the group into a position approaching acceptable readiness for their final exams.
Sure, Tracey had bitched and moaned about the extensive study sessions in the Library, but the girl had really excelled at some of the charms that they had practiced in empty classrooms, and was quick with her wand. Not to the same extent that Harry and Daphne were - the two of them would probably have wiped the floor with anyone else in the group, maybe even Tracey, Steph and Neville together had they been in a two-on-three duel.
But Neville was a force to be reckoned with - whilst he wasn't the world’s best duellist, he had a knack for transfiguration that was rivalled only by Harry's remarkable skill in the subject that often had the stern Professor McGonagall looking almost giddy, but with a notable sadness in her eyes. But Neville where really excelled in Herbology - Steph could count the amount of times Neville hadn't been top of the class on the fingers of one head.
Steph, by contrast, had done relatively little with her year. Sure, she had excelled in all her subjects, even for a Ravenclaw, but she wasn't particularly outstanding in any practical field of magic. Care was something she was going to take next year, but she would only do well there because she had over a decade’s more experience than the other students. But she had missed out on so much of the years coursework because of her illness, and her petrification.
Pulling the towel off the rail, Steph dried and dressed herself in the uniform and clothes that the Hogwarts Elves had taken away for cleaning whilst she had bathed. Her wand holster was the final thing she attached, and as she did so, she stared at the Hawthorne wood with a deep focus - she was one of the few to invest in a wand holster since the very beginning, and yet all she had managed to do with it was show off in a handful of situations.
I need to be worthy of this. To justify it. To learn to use my wand as a Witch must.
Lowering her right wrist, Steph went for the door, pulling it open even as her expression twisted into a frown - that.. Didn't seem right. The door hadn't closed properly. But if there was one thing that Steph had learned from her parents, it was diligence in everything that she did.
Well - and a love of learning, but that was beside the point.
Cautiously pulling the door open, Steph stepped out into the Matron's office, and found the room empty - evidently the Matron had departed for the Potions Master’s office, leaving the Hospital wing empty.
Or rather, not empty, for when she walked into the main ward, she saw the form of the Defence "Professor" - and the subject of her brief internalised ire - standing next to the door, looking decidedly out of place. Barely had she seen this for a moment, before the doors swung open and revealed the Potions Master following quickly behind the Matron.
Lockhart spoke first - seemingly welcoming the arrival of the other teachers. "Ah - Madame, Severus. I was just coming to see if our final Patient was recovering from her petrification. It seems that she rather has - of course, if there is anything I could do to assist, I would be most glad."
Something foul settled in her gut at his words - a thought she didn't dare even consider, for the revulsion it could have brought her. Had he...
The other two teachers seemed, at the very least, entirely unimpressed. Professor Snape's lips quirked downwards even more, somehow without compromising the thin line in which they seemed to permanently rest, whilst Madam Pomfrey's expression turned chiding, a tone her voice adopted. "Well - If I found something you were capable of helping me with, that would be possible."
Lockhart seemed to miss the backhanded insult, simply nodding his head, and giving a smile that hinted at his awkward discomfort with the situation. "Well - Good to have you back, Miss Scamander. I should be off - the press will be here in a couple of minutes, and they'll want to hear all the details about the Monster of Slytherin."
With a cocksure wink, Gilderoy Lockhart swept out of the hospital wing, and it was only once the door swung shut that Steph allowed her lip to curl into open revulsion as she clocked on to what the man was suggesting. Uncaring of the presence of two teachers - or perhaps more accurately, forgetting their presence - her frustration slipped through as a hiss. "That pillock - is he trying to claim CREDIT?"
"The Headmaster seems quite content to let him do so - Albus seems to believe that the death of the Weasley girl not being public knowledge yet will result in some bad press for Gilderoy. Enough to ruin his career perhaps." Madame Pomfrey's voice drew an embarrassed flush to Steph's face - but mercifully the woman didn't comment on her language, instead giving a displeased hum. "There are better ways to reveal that man as a fraud. Regardless, Ms Scamander, I have brought Severus here to give you a once over, just to ensure you are safe as far as traces of Dark Magic go. He is far more knowledgeable than I in this field."
The words of the Matron brought a lump to her throat - far more knowledgeable than the Matron when it came to the dark arts was a given. Severus Snape had been a Death Eater, the youngest Potions Master - period - and apparently a spy for Dumbledore (at least according to the court records published in the Prophet that she had dug up). There was, at the very least, some trepidation about receiving an examination from the dour head of Slytherin.
Nevertheless, she gave an assenting nod, and with a single motion, Snape drew his wand and tapped it to her forehead - and in an instant her vision pulsed white for what felt like just a second. Then her vision faded back in, and her eyes blinked furiously as Snape raised his wand in front of his eyes, gently grasping both ends and rolling it between the pads of his fingers as he examined the surface of the dark wood.
"Miss Scamander has.. No lingering traces of Dark Magic. I see no reason to keep her confined to the Hospital Wing for any longer." With a curt nod, Snape turned to leave as Steph gave herself a once over - and a single thought came to the forefront, her satchel. Seemingly omniscient, however, the Potions Master cleared his throat, speaking without looking at her as the Matron walked away to her office. "Your personal effects are on the coat rack."
True to his word, the clearly laden satchel hung from the coat hook - and in a heartbeat Steph ducked across the room to retrieve the bag, pulling open the flap and checking the contents. Her gloves sat in the small pouch to the side, whilst the copy of Fantastic Beasts dominated the central space, a few loose sheafs of parchment crammed in beside it.
But in one of the small quill holsters sat a small vial of lightly golden liquid - stopped with a cork. There couldn't have been more than a mouthful in there, if that, but it wasn't hers. Raising her voice - which was now unsure and decidedly untrusting given the earlier implication - Steph addressed the Potions Master. "Professor.. What is this?"
Cold fingers plucked the vial from her fingers, and the Potions Master held it up to the light of the flickering torch on the wall, his tone quiet. "It appears that you have been.. Gifted Felix Felicis - Liquid Luck. A.. Generous gift, given the nature of the potion and its difficulty to brew..."
Steph took a step to the side, her mind racing for a moment, trying to figure out just why she would be given the potion - but then she looked at the Potion's Master's face, and saw the dark orbs in his face racing with cunning and disgust. His tone shifted to a soft drawl as he met her gaze. "However... Felix Felicis bears a striking resemblance to Veritaserum... And I could be mistaken at such an early hour..."
With a single gesture, Snape handed back the vial and swept out of the Hospital Wing, leaving Steph staring at the vial of lightly golden liquid in her hand. It seemed that, for once this year, things were going just as she could only have wished.
"Well - at the very least I'm glad that he got what was coming to him."
Closing the newspaper, her father gave a small sigh. Rita Skeeter had been at Lockhart's announcement, and the reveal that not only had Ginny Weasley died - something that Steph had only learned in the moment, having glossed over it the first time that Madame Pomfrey had mentioned it - had seemingly made Skeeter's day.
And then Lockhart had started speaking, and it was all downhill from there. The man was awaiting trial in London according to the paper, and there were calls from other ICW nations for his extradition and trial abroad, where the death penalty was described as almost a certainty, and the trial little more than a formality.
"So, you wanted to talk about something, Steph?" Her father's tone brought her back to reality, and Steph pursed her lips. Mother was seated at the head of the table, whilst her dad was off to the left, with Steph sat at the other end, in a mirrored position to her dad.
"I.. Back at Hogwarts, when I was petrified." There was a shifting at the table - Mother lowered her cup of tea back into the saucer, her dad straightened up a little bit, and there was a bit of firmness in his eyes. "I looked directly into the Basilisk's eyes. I could hear it. I'm a Parselmouth."
Silence hung at the table, and a look at her father told her that he had a hundred thoughts crashing around his head, and just from the slight look of awe and curiosity on his face, she could tell the majority of them came from the potential of having a Parselmouth on call. Hell - her revelation could revolutionise the whole study of Basilisks - although that might be a bit of a long shot.
But his response told her something.
It was not the Scamander blood gifted with the rare trait.
Turning to look at mother, Steph was greeted with the stern woman's lips pulled into a thin line. Icy blue eyes cut through her like a hot knife through butter, but surprisingly enough, Steph wasn't cowed by them. They had been the second most terrifying set of eyes she had stared into this year - mother had quite the ways to go to rival Meretseger.
Mother's eyes stared back impassively, before they closed slowly, and the woman let out a weighty sigh. "The trait is an autosomal recessive pattern in my family. I believe that is the term, Theseus?"
A glance at her dad revealed the man giving a weary, slow nod. "If by that, you mean it is prone to skipping generations, then yes."
"Precisely. My mother possessed the ability, as did my sister. My aunt lacked it, whilst my grandmother possessed it." Mother took a long sip of her tea, closing her eyes as she did so. It was a move that certainly conveyed her position in the conversation, and it only resumed once she set the teacup down with a soft clink. "My family long claimed to be descendants of the Midgard serpent, much in the same way that Salazar Slytherin's descendants prided themselves on being his heirs. I sought no connection or recognition of such."
Steph simply gave a little nod as her father interjected and began to talk animatedly about the potentials of acquiring serpents for them to rear. The action brought a small smile to her face, one that she was happy with, because the thoughts in her mind that would have otherwise ruined her response.
Mother was lying to her.
The noise of a shattering glass pulled Harry Potter from his slumber, the boy snatching his wand from his nightstand and summoning his glasses to his hand with a single motion. His bedroom was clear - nothing lurked in the shadows that still clung to the corners of the room, even as the morning sun slinked through the drawn curtains. A cautious movement saw him drop from the bed to the carpeted floor, and he crept for the door, hissing under his breath. "Maifsy."
With a quiet pop, the elf appeared next to him, waving her hands as soon as she saw the wand in his hand and his alert state. "No, no! It’s not bad men, it Mr Wolfy man. He's being not well."
The pent-up breath escaped him, and Harry allowed himself to straighten up and set his wand down on the dresser by the door. If Remus was here - so soon after the full moon too - something had gone very wrong in Sirius' day. Still - despite the inevitable gloom that would lay ahead, seeing Remus would always be a good part of the day.
But as Harry left his room and made his way to the dining room, he could feel the atmosphere change as he approached - Sirius was still home, and Remus was speaking with a placating tone, still one wrought with audible frustration and anger. "-He can't have gone far, calm down Padfoot!"
"I'll calm down when his head is mounted on my fucking Office Wall, Remus!" There was a bang from the dining room, probably Sirius' fist thumping the table, as the noise of clinking crockery was audible even as Harry came round the corner into the dining room.
Sirius' gaze was cast at him the moment he rounded the corner, displaying that even being audibly furious, the man still had his Auror reflexes primed. Sirius Black was dressed in his usual suit, sans the jacket, and was seemingly midway through breakfast, which appeared to have been abandoned in favour of the man standing - and if Harry knew him - likely pacing the area between the dining table and the kitchen.
His Godfather was visibly tense, a clenched fist unfurling to lay flat on the table even as Harry glanced down at it. A frustrated sigh escaped him, and with a clipped tone he greeted Harry. "Morning Harry. Sorry to wake you - but it’s been a frustrating morning."
"That's an understatement..." With a tired expression, Remus nodded at Harry, the smile that should have been there entirely absent - which was definite cause for concern. Normally Remus observed at least some formalities, but instead he was entirely sombre, and visibly angry despite himself. Harry had never seen the werewolf display any sort of emotion even approaching anger - perhaps a little bit of frustration at the very most.
Remus had explained that it was because of his nature as a werewolf - a moment of anger could see him treated as an immediate danger to those around him. Even in the more enlightened Britain that Sirius and Madame Bones had been able to create in the wake of Minister Bagnold's embarrassing legacy, one where the so called 'half-breeds' had some semblance of rights. At the very least, Remus had some chance of getting work in the Magical world - and he wouldn't be exiled to some forest in the middle of England for the crime of being the victim of Fenrir Greyback.
So, to see Remus Lupin angry was... Worrying.
"What happened, Sirius?" Harry's tentative question was received by a frustrated growl, as his Godfather snatched up the paper that had lain in the middle of the dining table and slammed it down between himself and Harry, front page displaying the terrible headline that Harry never knew he had dreaded up until now.
ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN! PETER PETTIGREW ON THE RUN!
Beneath the headline was the moving image of the rat of a man that Sirius and Remus had long derided - with an accompanying headline wrapped around the portrait in an utterly nonsensical way.
DEATH EATER WHO BETRAYED THE POTTERS BELIEVED TO BE ARMED AND DANGEROUS - KNOWN RAT ANIMAGUS
".... How?" His voice was barely a croak, caught up in the implications that the headline carried. The man responsible for his parents deaths was out there, was prepared to do harm to anyone he came across, and was in possession of an Animagus form that allowed him to slip through almost any nook or cranny. His Godfather gave a frustrated sigh.
"We did a full investigation of the guards. Three were under the Imperius curse - we don't know who put it on them yet, but I'm guessing a scapegoat. Whoever got Pettigrew out waited until the night that those three guards were on patrol in the High Security wing together, then bypassed the Animagus ward. One of them smuggled him out via the transport ship." Sirius sighed - shaking his head briefly. "Of course, that's our running theory. I probably shouldn't have said it, so just keep that hush-hush, yeah?"
"Keep what hush-hush?" The cheeky remark from Harry brought a brief flash of amusement to his Godfather's weary face, but the man sighed and with it went the smile. Adopting a serious tone, his Godfather addressed him.
"Harry - whatever happens, you don't go looking for Pettigrew, you hear me? I'm on it. And Remus will be looking after you at Hogwarts, so if you hear anything - go to him." Harry blinked owlishly at the Werewolf, who gave an exasperated sigh, pinching his brow.
"Sirius, that was meant to be a surprise."
“Well, I can say I’ve had quite enough surprises for today. I need to get going – before Fudge makes any more stupid comments than he already has. Harry – would you mind helping Remus with his class plan? He asked for my help but I’ve other matters on my plate.” Ruffling Harry’s hair, Sirius stepped past him and snatched his jacket off the back of the chair as he walked past them, into the reception hall to the Floo fireplace within, leaving Harry to contemplate the situation.
Remus teaching at Hogwarts... This will be interesting...
Still – it would be nice to finally have a Defence teacher who wasn’t literally possessed by Voldemort, or a hopeless fraud awaiting trial for a list of crimes longer than his arm.
Still – he just hoped Remus wouldn’t mind if he had breakfast before they started on the planning.