Hexed

In pictures, Albania is a simply gorgeous country. Trees and blue skies, lovely smiling people to greet you as you step off the plane. Of course, those are the pictures the Tourist Board shows you. The pictures didn't show my cousin's tiny ramshackle hovel, or the drafty room in which they put me, or the deep dark forest that surrounds everything.

Horrid of them. I ought to report them to the Ministry when I return for false advertising!

Both cousin and Tourist Board, that is. My cousin had told me she lived in a nice home. As if a shack could be nice!

Then, she was rather upset with me for neglecting to bring her the lemon curd she'd specifically requested. Her words!

"I've looked forward to that curd all week!" she said dismally as I unpacked. Never mind about seeing me for the first time in ten years! The lemon curd.

I certainly can't help that my memory is going. We all get a bit older; I hoped she'd be more thoughtful. And how was I to know that her husband's name was Earl? She goes through so many of them!

"Only two, Bertha!"

Well, then, I must have heard it wrong. Perhaps his name is Merle?

"His name is Janos!"

Now, how can one be expected to remember a name like that? I can't even pronounce it.

"I would think this failing memory of yours might disturb you, Bertha. You used to have a mind like a tack."

I suppose you could say that I'm concerned by the fact that I am unconcerned about my deteriorating memory. But when I think about it, my head hurts, and I become muddled and clumsy, and then I forget why my head hurts.

Muggles have done wonders with their sweet little headache powder. I drink that down like tea for breakfast.

I rather like Albania. I can't think of why I didn't. Ellie, my cousin, has such a dear little house - cool winds always blowing through. I wish it weren't quite so near the forest. I've never really cared for them, since I became lost in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts my sixth year. Ooo, that Sirius Black! He was two years younger, and he'd told me that someone special was waiting for me just inside the trees. Of course he was playing a prank on me, that git. I wandered in the forest for hours before Hagrid found me.

Sirius got his comeuppance - or did he? Now I don't remember - bother!

But Peter. I always think of Sirius Black, and I think of Peter Pettigrew. I remember Peter Pettigrew quite well. You don't forget a boy like Peter that easily.

*

Seventh year Bertha Jorkins had a plan, and it involved her boyfriend. Or the boy she had chosen to be her boyfriend - Bertha didn't wait for the boy to ask her, she simply informed him that they were dating and that was that.

You didn't argue with Bertha. You just went along with her. It was easier.

On this particular Saturday morning, Bertha noticed her current target of affection sitting at the Gryffindor table with one of his best friends. Tossing her napkin on the table (not caring that it landed in a second-year's porridge), Bertha stood and walked to the two fifth-year Gryffindors.

"Good morning, boys," she said, smiling.

They both looked up at her. Sirius Black's eyes glittered, and he grinned cockily at her. "Morning, Bertha. 'Tis a lovely day to go walking in the gardens."

"Go on with you, Sirius Black," said Bertha, and felt her face redden. She always had that reaction to the heartthrob of the school, but tried to ignore it. The boy had done nothing but torment her since his first day at Hogwarts. He had slipped toads into her book bag; he had charmed her morning breakfast to be too salty; he had led her on a merry chase through the Forbidden Forest, which would have resulted in months of detention had she been caught. Luckily, she had managed to find her way out - but not before she found Peter Pettigrew also among the trees, and he led her back to the castle himself.

She turned to Peter now, smiling at him sweetly. "What are you planning today, Peter?"

"Hogsmeade," said Peter, swallowing his toast. He looked straight at Bertha, his steel blue eyes focused squarely on hers. "But I'll be back after lunch. Where can I find you?"

Bertha sighed - a completely calculated sigh of course, but no less convincing. "I'm working on a special project for Professor Sprout, and I need to replant nearly every day. I'll be in Greenhouse seven. If you care to join me." She winked at Peter, and walked away, smiling to herself, and very sure to let her gaze linger on him for as long as she could before she would trip over someone's books or a bench.

*

So then Ellie had some meeting or other in town and we were to meet in a little pub on the edge of the forest.

"Oh, Bertha - I'll never understand your aversion to trees!"

It has nothing to do with trees. I rather like trees, when they are solitary and not bunched up with so many others that no light can permeate the branches. The floor of the forest can become quite gloomy.

"But Bertha - there are such lovely glades and hollows in the forest - and since that nice Mr Lockhart came through and cleared us of our werewolf - "

Hmph. I could tell a tale of Mr Lockhart - I'm no fool. If only I could remember what that tale was ...

Ellie had given me directions to the pub and there I sat, at a table in the rear that I firmly claimed as my own. Having little desire to hobnob with the locals, I firmly glared at all who came near.

Until I saw him at the bar.

His back was to me, but somehow I knew who it was. And what surprised me even more was that somehow I knew he should not have been there.

After all, it isn't every day you run into supposedly dead ex-boyfriends.

I walked up to him and said his name once. He turned around rather quickly, and the expression on his face was rather frightened, as though he expected someone else to be standing there. He quickly wiped it away, however, and smiled as though glad to see me. Once again, steel-blue eyes focused on mine - and I could think of nothing else.

*

The greenhouses were quiet, except for two students behind the Mandrakes' shelf. And even they did not speak a word, but only the soft sounds of fabric rustling and mouths moving against skin could be heard.

"Peter, I - "

"Shush, I know."

"Should we?"

"Yes."

And a pair of steel-blue eyes, focused on hers, backed by the sight of a night sky through smoky glass.

*

"Dead, you say?" Peter seemed twitchy, and his eyes darted across the room. "How extraordinary."

"Yes, I'm quite certain you should be six feet under and not sitting with me," I said to him. We sat at my table drinking some kind of alcohol - who knows what they serve in backwater Albanian taverns - and Peter kept turning his glass around nervously. "Oh, bother my memory! Maybe it was someone else who died, only I can't imagine who."

"Yes, that is odd."

"Sirius Black perhaps," I said thoughtfully. "Now, how did he die? You were thick with him in school, weren't you?"

Peter winced. "Yes. Haven't seen him in years - "

"Is he dead?" I asked, quite eager to know if I remembered correctly.

"Not yet," said Peter dryly.

"Oh, more's the pity. He should have died some horribly gruesome and lengthy death. Ah well, there's always hope, isn't there?" I laughed, and drank my glass down. Albanian alcohol is terribly tasteless - you would wonder that there was any liquor in it at all.

"Someday soon, I'm sure," said Peter, eyes glinting.

"Well, it's fine to see you here, at least, looking well and in the picture of perfect ... er, health."

For Peter was anything but that. He was pale and thin, and I wondered if he'd been on a crash diet of some sort recently. His hair was thin, and matted, and his face was pinched, like he'd been feasting on lemons. He wouldn't relax, and kept clenching his fists together.

*

Bertha found her way to the greenhouses, and settled in front of her plant. She had really been telling part of the truth to the boys - the plant did need special care and attention, but not quite as much as Bertha told people. It was a very useful plant, and one that Bertha was quite certain would come in handy. An Alyears Creeping Ivy, Bertha had cultivated and cross-bred it herself the year before. This particular plant was third generation, and Bertha had spent a good deal of time correcting her many mistakes with the first attempts.

"Hello, Aly," she said to the ivy as she approached it. The leaves wriggled, and the long tentacles reached for her. Bertha touched them softly with her fingers. "What have you heard today?"

She took her wand and gently tapped the plant. "Repeat conversation," she said, and the leaves quivered.

"Sprout! How could you fail Reggie Wood?" The voice of Professor McGonagall, small and a bit tinny, came from a vibrating branch.

"He destroyed the mandrakes I'd been repotting, Minerva." Another branch vibrated with the professor's reply.

"Nonsense, you only did it to ensure that Hufflepuff would stand a shot at winning next Saturday's Quidditch match..."

Bertha smiled, and sat down to listen.

*

"So what have you been doing with yourself, Peter?" I asked. "I don't think I've seen you in ... fifteen years?"

"Twenty, really," said Peter, and winced again.

I raised my eyebrow at him. "I wasn't going to mention that."

"No," said Peter, "I didn't mean to either. But you, Bertha ... you're looking well. Where have you kept yourself?" His eyes continued to dart about the room, as if he expected ghouls to come out from the walls and snatch him away back to Hell.

Peter was always a bit slow when it came to flattery, but I preened at the compliment regardless. "Oh, me. I've been working at the Ministry - in Bartimious Crouch's office for a bit, and now for Ludo Bagman - such a useless wizard he is!"

"Barty? He works for the Ministry?"

I gave him a curious look. "My, you have been out of it, haven't you, Peter? Barty Junior ... "

I stopped suddenly. My head was beginning to throb. I touched my fingers to my temples and shook my head violently.

"Barty Junior died ... in Azkaban ... some twelve years ago."

..... no he didn't ....

I shook my head again, and smiled at Peter.

"I've been working at the Ministry - first in Bartemious Crouch's office, and now with Ludo Bagman. Such a nice man, always laughing."

I smiled at Peter, but he looked at me with wide eyes. If I didn't know better, I would have said he'd seen a ghost or some such nonsense.

"Really," said Peter flatly.

"Oh, yes," I said breezily. "He gave me the entire month to travel a bit, and such a busy time for it, too! We're in the Department of Magical Games and Sports - and we're planning such an event!" I leaned in closer to him. "I shouldn't tell you, of course, it's meant to be top secret ... "

Peter leaned in closer as well. "What is it, Bertha?" he asked smoothly. Such a voice ... how it had made me melt in school!

"Well, seeing as you no longer live in England, I'll tell you," I whispered. "The Tri-Wizard Tournament is to be played at Hogwarts this year! Isn't it marvellous?"

Peter leaned back, his expression quite thoughtful. "Yes ... marvelous. And you're planning the events surrounding it?"

"I designed the last task!" I said quite proudly. "A maze with various impediments to the champions, and whoever reaches the winner's cup first wins!"

Peter's eyes glittered again. "How interesting ... "

"It will be quite a lot of fun," I continued. "Do you know, the whole wizarding world will be watching!"

"Indeed."

Peter had begun to smile very slowly, and now he looked right at me, so intently that I couldn't be sure he didn't see the wall on the other side of my head.

"Bertha ... " He reached across the table and took my hand. It felt cold and dry, not like the clammy, hot hands I remembered. I looked at his hand over mine, a bit surprised to see it there.

"You're missing a finger."

Peter jumped, and pulled his hand away quickly. "I ... an accident. Many years ago."

"You could have had it replaced."

"No," said Peter shortly, and there was a sharp look in his eyes. "Never the opportunity." He glanced to the side, and his face softened. "I ... are you meeting anyone here, Bertha?"

"Yes, my cousin, in just a bit ... "

I thought I saw Peter frown for an instant, but when I blinked his face was calm and blank again. "Perhaps not so quickly that we couldn't take a walk first? It's very stuffy in here ... "

"I ... it's dark ... and we're so near the woods ... "

"I'll be with you," said Peter, his eyes wide. "You always trusted me before, didn't you, Bertha?"

I blinked. "Did I?"

Peter blushed. "Of course you did."

"Of course I did," I echoed. And then smiled. "You're right. I did."

*

The one problem with Alyears Creeping Ivy was the severe dehydration the plant experienced after divulging its information. Bertha wasn't sure that she could correct that flaw, but as one need only to remember that the ivy would need strong infusions of minerals and nutrients after releasing its secrets, it didn't seem terribly important.

There were at least half a dozen students complaining about various professors; one student whose parents were divorcing; another student who was quite clearly gay and in love with half the Slytherin Quidditch team. Bertha listened closely, did not take notes, and remembered every last detail. Once the conversations were complete, the appropriate branches would wither slightly and fall silent and still, looking a bit brown. The bright green colour of the plant soon faded into khaki as each branch gave up its secrets. After the last conversation, the plant looked halfway to dead - and only twenty minutes before, it had been gloriously green.

Bertha went to rummage in the supply cabinet for the plant food. Aly needed a special sort after a vigorous workout - the kind intended to bring nearly dead plants back to life. When she was unable to find any of the food, however, she decided to walk to the nearest greenhouse to find some.

"Florence ... "

Bertha rolled her eyes. Florence Rudolph was a sixth year Hufflepuff who kissed any boy who asked.

"Florence, we shouldn't ... "

Bertha couldn't help it. She pushed aside a tall plant to see who spoke. Seeing him, she cried out.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The curse was instant and painless, but Bertha hit the ground hard, and when the curse was lifted by Professor Sprout some time later, Bertha had formed a nasty bruise on the back of her head.

*

There was a path along the edge of the forest, and it was this path that Peter and I walked together. We spoke little ... well, actually, not at all, and when the path began to diverge into the forest itself, I stopped quite dead in my tracks.

"I ... I'd rather go back, Peter," I said quite firmly. "I'm not terribly fond of the woods, and I'm sure Ellie will be along shortly."

"Just a little ways in, Bertha," said Peter, and he stood next to me. His breath was oddly fresh, for having drunk so much back at the inn, and I couldn't help but look right into his eyes. The nice thing about Peter had always been that he was exactly my height - I never had to crane my neck to look at him. But now ... it was different. His eyes had always been kind and loving in school ... now they were colder ... and they bore upon me with an intention I wasn't used to seeing in Peter. It was rather frightening.

Then ... I couldn't quite remember how Peter had looked at me, anyway.

"A little ways," I said, smiling at him - Peter was so sweet when he was trying to cajole you into doing something. And so I went with him, as he held my hand and pulled me along the path, hurrying along as though he knew exactly where he went.

"Peter ... Peter ... I can't run this fast ... "

"Just a little ways, Bertha ... "

And then we were in a hollow, and Peter fell to his knees, and raised his arms above him.

"My Lord!"

"Peter?" I began to back away, afraid, but the voice stopped me.

"My servant ... at last."

Something inside of me recognised the voice.

I began to scream.

*

"He hexed me, Professor," she told Dumbledore later. And of that there could be no argument.

The bruise had faded.

Bertha's broken heart had never fully healed.