Confessions: A Tale of Locked Doors and Deception

CHAPTER THE SEVENTH

That was a month ago. As planned, we continued to see each other, but grew paranoid. The slightest sound would cause us to jump out of bed, only to realize it was naught but a tree branch scraping against the window pane. I took every sideways glance as an accusation, every statement as a threat. In short, I found myself embittered and withdrawn from the social intrigue of which I had been the hub. Interestingly enough, I found myself drawn from Lavender as a best friend to Hermione. Though she would have been even more scandalized should she have found out, she had a certain degree of understanding about her.

Consequently, I began to read. No, none of the reference books that so fascinated Hermione, but of her substantial collection of classic Muggle novels. Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Crime and Punishment, Les Miserables, Romeo and Juliet, The Scarlet Letter - each was filled with passion and thrilled me, for they were tales of tortured souls, tales of retribution - their suffering gave me comfort. It was sick, yet it worked.

Meanwhile, Padma had turned into an intolerable, brooding mother hen. Not to say I didn't torment her - I sent numerous owls home to Dad, complaining of how my sister-the-prefect was overstepping boundaries and carrying on with the Head Boy and whatnot. Whenever she would narrow her eyes at me after receiving a reprimand from our parents, I would feel a bubble of mirth. She never did tell, but I punished her for merely being informed.

***

I soon began to think Snape knew something. His piercing stare would freeze my insides; it was as if he was mentally ripping apart my soul to bear my deepest secrets. As I would leave class everyday, he would finger some unidentifiable object in his robe pocket, and then begin to say something to me, menacingly. However, every time he would seem to think better of it and stop. My worst fears would eventually be confirmed - but not in the expected manner.

***

O.W.L.'s were taken in the third week of March. Six stuffy, drawn-out days in a gloomy classroom, where questions were answered and essays were written. Six days of frustration, bewilderment, and despair. Six days, twenty-seven quills, four bottles of Fletcher's Best Anti-Cheating Ink - but alas, no! That was not the full extent - six days of practical examinations: how to brew a tempest in a teapot, how to make bees from honey, and how to perform several random charms. The only thing keeping me alive and sane was the promise of my evenings with Remus. But even Remus began to grow distant; I think the possibility of being caught disturbed and worried him even more than it did me. He would kiss me, and touch me, and even shag me still, but behind it there was a newfound level of uncertainty; the look in his eyes when he welcomed me into his room was as if someone might jump out from behind the draperies and reveal us and our acts of taboo to the world. But these moments were brief, and after a lapse it would be just as it always had been. Exactly as it had always been... Or was it?

We spoke more and about deeper issues. How the Ministry ran things and the oncoming crisis originating at the Triwizard Tournament last year were common topics. I had become his complete soul mate - the closest thing he really had to a wife. I noticed the decline of photographs of his family. In truth, I believe they disturbed him and reminded him of his infidelity.

But was it infidelity? Did he tell Medugorje of his disapproval of the Ministry's ignorance in the matter of current events? His musings upon the theology of curses? His doubt of Arithmancy and fortune-telling in general? I doubted it, even if they had known each other for twenty-odd years. I knew more about him in seven months than she would know in her lifetime.

***

Some time later, in divination, Lav and I had been partnered up to read each other's palms. Her lines revealed a paramour, life to roughly the age of 54 in which she would have three husbands, twelve children, and a pet manticore (thus explaining her death). However, as her electric-pink nail grazed my palm, her lips gradually pursed and her brow creased until she looked at me with a start. Frantically, she began to flip through the pages of her text.

"Lav, dear, if you would be so kind as to inform me just why you're acting as if you have spotted a grim in my hand?" Her eyebrows were nearly touching, but in an attempted airy giggle, she said,

"Oh, well, I really expect it is nothing. I mean, it's highly improbable - maybe I misread it or the aura of this room is improper -"

"Lavender!"

"Fine. According to... this," she indicated the crease in my fourth finger, "you're - but you couldn't be! - well... erm... carrying a baby." I forced a laugh, told Lav to lay off the butterbeer before class, and then waltzed off to dinner with everyone else. Yet I knew, in the back of my mind, it was much more likely than Lavender could ever suspect.

Merlin, the girl is an idiot.

***

All the same, I managed to procure a bottle of 'Persephone's Pregnancy Potion. Stage I: Home Test'. Furtively, I stole away to Myrtle's toilet, lest anyone discover the neon purple bottle, and with that, my intentions. What I did not expect, however, was a confrontation with the accursed ghost, her eyes as puffy and red as they possibly could be (her being transparent and all).

"How dare you enter and defile my quarters?"

"Your?!... Myrtle, what are you on about? You know, as well as I, that this bathroom belongs to Hogwarts, and you're just a tenant of the toilet..."

"Oh, is that so? I'm just poor, old, ugly, sniveling Myrtle who lives in a toilet because she's too pathetic to find a real place to haunt!" She swooned dramatically and I attempted to get past her, into a stall. She turned on me, almost menacingly and shrieked,

"Don't!"

"Or what? You'll cry some more, pass through me, dive into your toilet and then blubber some more?" I walked straight through her, ignoring the icy chill, and locked the stall door, placing an impermeable charm on the cubicle.

Measure One (1) draught potion and ingest orally.

I swallowed a capful of a thick, clumpy, chalky pink liquid - it tasted vile, like bubble gum, licorice, toffee, and vinegar.

Wait for a time period of eighteen (18) minutes.

I realized Myrtle's incessant blubbering had ceased - or at least sounded muted, as though it was far away. She probably was inside some drainpipe below the school and was beginning her habitual process of flooding the entire corridor.

Place a small amount of saliva on the provided indicator paper,

Then compare with the colors below.

I wandered out of the stall and immediately discovered what Myrtle had been fussing over. Written on the wall in flashing pink was Pansy's loopy handwriting, writing "Parkinson + Goyle", surrounded by a lurid heart. Normally I would have laughed out loud had my stomach not crawled into my throat.

"In her, Professor, mucking up my walls, defiling school property." For once, Myrtle's voice was triumphant rather than desolate. She floated into the doorway, a smarmy expression distorting her translucent face, followed by Snape's greasy self.

"Come here, Miss Patil." I clenched my jaw obstinately as I approached the corridor. He continued, "Now why would you be in a lavatory in which the loos did not function?"

"Last time I checked, Professor, I was not violating any school or Ministry rules." His nostril twitched as a look of comprehension dawned upon his sallow face. He parted his lips so that a hiss escaped.

"Do not talk back, five points from Gryffindor. And why then, might I enquire, does your breath reek of home-pregnancy potion? Certain extra-curricular activities, perchance? Or a side-effect of your private lessons with Professor Lupin." A cold glint arose in his eye, and I could tell that my worst suspicions had been confirmed. Baring my teeth, I retorted,

"You can't prove anything."

"On the contrary, Patil, I believe I have sufficient evidence..." His hand rustled in his musty robes and his gnarled hand withdrew a small glass bottle with a spray top - the bottle in which I had held my batch of Eros' Ambrosia. Sure enough, it was embellished in gold letters - my monogram.

"I stumbled upon this... bottle on February the fourteenth at roughly eleven forty-five in the evening. In the corridor to which Lupin's office opens. It -" he wafted it under his nose "seems to have once contained Eros' Ambrosia, a very illegal love potion." Illegal? Monseralte had failed to mention that aspect. My lips curled even more.

"You still can't prove anything."

"You forget that I am the Potions master of this school, and have access to a wide array of truth potions."

"You can't do that."

"Five more points from Gryffindor for contradicting a Professor. Now, was it another student with whom you were cavorting, I would give you a week of detentions for being out past curfew. However, in this unique case I feel that I need contact a higher authority, namely, the Headmaster. And be assured, Miss Patil, that I shall do so tomorrow night, when he returns from his conference." There was a malicious glint in those steely-black eyes, and as I was about to turn, his droning voice hissed one final time.

"In addition, should you be impregnated, expulsion from this institution is the traditional course of action."

As I raced down the hall, I could feel the cold voices inside every student I passed, hissing at me in voices only I could hear. I stopped my flight outside His office, for He should be the first to know about his second child.

***

Luckily, he was alone, not teaching class. His N.E.W.T. class had taken to skipping as the exams were over, and he was quite content to deal - or rather, not deal - with that. I rushed in, not caring who saw, and shut the door behind me, urgently. He looked up at me in alarm and rose to his feet, removing his spectacles.

"'Vati, are you mad? It's not even teatime - everyone... Merlin, do you want them to know?"

"They'll all know in less than forty-eight hours, anyhow." I proceeded to tell him everything - well, everything except for one major detail. His face contorted and his eyes flashed; for a moment, I could see what he must have been like as a werewolf. An animal rage encompassed his body. Finally, he strode back to his desk, seized his wand and tried to get past me, to the door.

"If that bastard says anything - If he tells a soul, I swear I'll -"

"Remus, don't!"

"'Vati, you'd rather - get out of my way! He's not going to do this to you!"

"And what about yourself? You think you won't get in trouble for whatever you're planning?"

"Me? I don't care, Parvati. Only you - let me pass! I'll kill that -"

"No!" With every ounce of resolve and strength I possessed, I cried, "Expelliarmus!" A jet of white sent him sprawling onto his back as I caught his wand.

"Now. Promise me that you won't do anything to him." He sputtered protests. "Promise me!" Glaring at me resentfully, he abruptly nodded his head. I handed him back his wand and he got to his feet, grabbing my waist and pressing me to him. I struggled.

"Careful, Remus, you're going to crush the baby." His eyes widened in shock and his arms went limp. I reached to his shoulder, but he jerked it away, avoiding eye contact. After a moment of dead silence, I reached for my wand that I had dropped and headed for the door.

"'Vati... Parvati!" He reached for my arm, but I ducked. Looking into those eyes of infinite blue, I lay a kiss on his parted lips.

"Goodbye, Remus."

CONCLUSION

Which leads me here? You might wonder what causes me to pour my very should into this book, but it is to keep a record. A very accurate record. I hope you don't think badly of me for what I've done, and for what I'm about to do. In this case, you must understand my motivation.

I now stand in my deserted dormitory. In precisely one-hundred and six minutes, someone will wander in, wondering where I was at supper. In exactly forty-seven minutes, the door will unlock itself. I wear scarlet silk dress robes, and I have styled my hair in curls. It is only natural that I should look the part of the harlot.

I could not go through with this, but then I think of the consequences. Better there be no evidence against Remus, better my name be spoken in pity, not in scorn. Better my baby. The result of the purest love I could know, but never show the world that would never understand - that couldn't understand. In this, I save the last trace of honor I hold near to me.

Had things resulted differently, I would have given my baby a beautiful name, reflecting the beautiful love she or he was conceived by. Do I regret a moment? Only that it had to end like this, but pray, tell me, how else would it end? I should have known, the moment that first kiss was stolen, what would have resulted.

Remus, never doubt that I loved and will always love you. You have made my life ever so much more than I could have ever dreamed possible. It's funny to think, Remus, that in about one-hundred and seven minutes that this shall be found, and that in one-hundred and twenty minutes, this locket I wear even now shall be able to be opened, its inside contents revealed. Remus, do not torture yourself that this is your fault. Yes, you procured this Deadly Nightshade, this salve to my torment. How convenient that this ingredient to a practical joke that left a remainder stored in my armoire, and will now leave my crumpled body for some poor girl to find. Do not fear, whoever you are, I thank you for this favor.

I have heard death is not painful. I shall not be able to inform you, but, like the Ancient Roman princess, Lacertian, I know that there is an exact beauty in death that I cannot attain otherwise. Let mine result in beauty.

I love you Remus. That is my last confession: The purest, most beautiful confession professed. I, Parvati Patil, Love Remus J. Lupin.