Unfurling of a Rose

Chapter 12

The house was completely silent. The musty air had not been breathed from for weeks, and dust motes littered the air like schools of fish. A mouse slipped through his hole, sniffing the air cautiously.

A sharp whining sound of an unoiled door made the little rodent jump and scurry back into safety.

Snape came in first, then Abigail and Corielle. Snape's perceptive eyes roamed over the entrance hall, thickly decorated with scarlet and gold tapestries and plush Indian carpet. He curled his lip in disgust as he remembered that the Griffin family had all been Gryffindors until Corielle's unexpected Sorting.

Corielle let out a slight whimper, then stifled any further sign of her distress. Abigail made to comfort her, but Corielle rejected the gesture. Abigail was visibly shocked. She had never known a time when Corielle had wanted to brave a difficult and emotionally-rending situation alone. Even when she had been under Willem's thumb, Corielle had been a family girl, wanting to share her problems that she could share, especially with her aunt. But now Corielle slipped away from Abigail into the living room.

"Where's Griffin's room?" Snape asked, sticking an irritated head into the room.

"It's empty," Corielle muttered, running her hand over the smooth leather of the couch. "You'll find no clues there. If anyone really wanted evidence to anything, even Uncle Willem's whereabouts, they'd do well to search his private rooms. They're hidden. Follow me."

As she led them into the study, both Snape and Abigail noticed a change in Corielle's composure. Rather than diminished, she seemed to stand taller, and her countenance grew thin and stony. She reached for a book on the far left wall, a dark red leather volume with gold print reading The Hunchback of Notre Dame, by Victor Hugo in large Old English letters, and pulled it out. It caught halfway, then snapped back in place. A wooden panel slid from the lower half of the wall, and revealed a dimly lit opening.

"Uncle Willem wasn't very original," Corielle explained, "and the old ways amused him."

She ducked into the passage. Snape shared a look with Abigail, then followed Corielle. Abigail bumped her head, but managed to slip through the short, thin door. The panel slid shut after her.

"When Mum and Dad were home, and Uncle Willem didn't want them to walk in on us, he'd request my presence here." Corielle opened another door, this one quite ordinary, and walked into another room.

It was as large as the Transfiguration classroom, and the three walls other than the wall with the door almost entirely consisted of stained glass. An intricate design of ivory, emerald, and crimson revealed itself at second glance to be bouquets of roses. Light flooded in through the windows, shining on wide, glimmering, multi-colored scarves and fine prisms hanging from the ceiling. A four-poster with high posts and scarlet satin canopy waited suggestively in the right corner, and closest to them was a circular water bed bedecked with soft, thin feathers. On the wall with the door was a large fireplace to the right, with a wooden file cabinet sitting arbitrarily next to it. To the left was a closet with wooden double-doors set with mirrors.

"Uncle Willem loved pretty things. He couldn't stand ugliness, and he had a fondness for roses." Corielle strayed over to the four-poster, trailing her fingers over old memories, never forgotten. Flinging aside the curtains, Snape caught sight of more satin coverings. It must have been very physically pleasing to sleep in that bed. Snape supposed that was the point. The feathered water bed was a bit much for him though. He shifted absentmindedly.

Under closer gaze, Snape noticed little knickknacks here and there that Griffin thought might befit his room of pleasure. Paintings of nude women leaned against the walls in regularly-metered intervals. Two of them had familiar features, and Snape looked away. There were pieces of expensive jewelry and hair accessories that littered some of the small night tables and coffee tables placed randomly around the room, and dead flowers that had been long neglected emitted a sickly sweet odor distasteful to Snape's sensitive nose.

"As I thought," Corielle said, almost triumphantly if it had not been for the tone of revulsion, "he knew I'd come here first."

She turned and showed her aunt and her professor a finely-shaped white rose with wicked thorns.

"This was one way in which he would alert me to his... needs. This ironically meant he wanted me here at midnight in one of my newest fine attire that he bought for me. In other words, I was to be here an hour earlier to prepare for him." Her coldness and precision as she reaccounted her time, in contrast to the flood of shameful emotion in her tornado of memories, pleased Snape. Especially in that it was making one large aunt very uncomfortable.

"How often did he expect this of you?" Snape asked. Abigail elbowed him, but Snape's glare silenced her scruples.

"About twice a week," Corielle answered.

Snape touched a hand to the closet grain. Griffin obviously had been given an ample weekly allowance. Supporting a mistress and catering to such lavish tastes was not cheap.

"I assume the clothes you wore were kept in here," he murmured, putting a hand against the doorknob.

Corielle looked down. "Yes, and other... instruments of pleasure as well. I don't want that closet opened right now. There are other places to look first."

"Like here?" Abigail suggested, reaching for one of the drawer handles of the file cabinet near the fireplace.

"No!" Corielle shouted. A rush of magic yanked Abigail's hand away, rocking her backward. Corielle slammed the drawer shut and stood in front of it protectively. "Don't look in here. You don't want to see anything in here." At Snape's questioning gaze, Corielle averted her eyes and replied to the unasked query, "Pictures. Of me."

Her eyes stung with repressed tears as she recalled those days when she had undressed for him, deliberately and sensuously for his devouring eyes, camera clicking, face plastered into a mask of sultry desire or fiery passion, depending on his mood. Snapshots of flushed skin, slow, sinuous kisses, lustful positions, sometimes alone and sometimes with him. Photographs of full lips, suggestive eyes, and wanton, fondling hands. Just the memories made her blush fiercely with shame, and she knew she could never show them to anyone.

No. One could be spared. She opened the top drawer, deliberately positioning her body so that the contents would be blocked from her professor's and her aunt's view. After some shuffling, she found the picture she was looking for. It was one of the last pictures, and at this time Willem had begun to appreciate her even with her new clothes on, and he had taken several rather artistic pictures that had had little to do with sexuality, but just concentrating on the immediately accessible beauty.

Willem had preferred the subtle majesty and power of still pictures, and he had never bothered with the moving photographs wizards seemed to value more. In this, Corielle had to agree that the still photographs were more effective.

She was half reclined on a gentle rose-colored chaise longue, clothed in a sensuous, but not provocative, red satin dress that folded artistically on the floor. Her body was half-turned away from the camara, and her face was solemn, the fullness of her lips accentuated by the serious expression. Her eyes were dreamily staring off into the right corner of the picture, eyes open and innocent, hair curling around her face. On the floor, the arrangement of the hem of the dress revealed one surprisingly sensual, shapely foot. Even Corielle had to admit that the way Willem had depicted her, from the arch of her fingers to the light playing on her hair and the folds of her dress, was nothing but beautiful, and it would be devastating if that picture were forgotten. She slipped it into her robe sleeves.

Then, she unsheathed her wand and pointed it at the fireplace. "Incendio. Wingardium Leviosa. Banished." Three spells in succession, and the cabinet was burning slowly in the fire. Lips tight, she watched the fire char the wood, then slip into the drawers, destroying the remains.

Snape smirked inwardly. It was about time she began getting rid of those memories, however symbolically she expelled the poison from her mind. He wondered what was in those pictures -- and the one she had hidden in her robes -- before he squashed the thought, turning 'round to hide the look in his eyes that he knew Abigail would recognize if she saw it.

"I'm ready to look in the closet now, Professor," Corielle said quietly after most of the cabinet had been reduced to a pile of cinders under the magical fire.

Snape stood from his position of reclining on the mirrors, and opened the doors. Inside were rows and rows of the most expensive and exquisite fabric extending to a far back wall, ranging from the thinnest, slinkiest negligee to the heavy robes usually only found on the wives and mistresses of diplomats. And Willem's sense of style did not end with the wizarding world; Snape noticed quite a few Muggle dresses and costumes.

Corielle spoke up from directly behind him, looking where his eyes rested and nodding. The interruption from his observations startled him.

"What has always destroyed me is that all these things, they are beautiful, but everything they represented, everything that they were used for, disgust me. I wish he did not have such a weakness for beauty. He ruined my own love for it. And I..."

"You'll find," Snape murmured, almost musing to himself, "many dark people love beauty more than ordinary people. They appreciate the rarity of it. Perhaps this is because they have so much more to exploit... to profane. And the things here are beautiful. Don't let your perception of it be affected by Willem's perversion of the gift."

Had Corielle or Snape been paying attention to anything behind them, they would have noticed the rather odd reaction Abigail had to their comments. But they didn't, so Snape touched some of the richer material.

"How did he purchase all this and still not arouse any suspicion?" he muttered. "A man buying such clothes without a woman at his side is bound to attract some attention."

Corielle laughed mirthlessly, "Oh, he had an answer for that. Whenever someone asked, he'd say he was the costume designer for a theatre. They never asked any further, such as which theatre with what ludicrous budget would buy such fancy costumes. This one I particularly enjoyed." She pointed to a rich, heavy wine-colored set of dress robes a darker shade of her hair color. Snape thought she would look like a queen if she wore it.

"I'd like to burn them all, too," Corielle whispered, "but I can't bring myself to do it. They're just too wonderful. Look at them, most of them are perfect for formal occasions. But, what can I do? When I wear them, I'll remember the circumstances under which I wore them. For instance, this one," she pointed again to the wine-colored robes, "I wore when I was thirteen -- I had grown up so quickly, and I haven't changed much since then -- and he did not have the water bed. I had to... satisfy some of his more disgusting desires in this one." Her mouth twisted at the recollection of its invasion.

Abigail finally spoke up, scaring both professor and student. "I think you shouldn't. At least donate them to a charity, but don't let something like this go to waste. I understand what you had to go through, sweetheart, but you don't have to be ashamed anymore. And you'd look absolutely stunning in all of these. Maybe you could save some of them for your husband."

"Aunt Abby!" Corielle said, shocked at the reference by her own aunt in front of her professor. Corielle talking about her experiences was one thing; Aunt Abby talking about future, more acceptable experiences was another.

"What's that?" Snape asked sharply.

Corielle followed his gaze.

"Oh, that. That's the additional supply closet. A closet within a closet."

"No, not that," Snape dismissed. He put a finger to his lips, signalling them all to be silent. Corielle furrowed her brow in confusion, then shut her mouth obediently.

A muffled thump came from the supply closet.

Snape edged toward the supply closet, surprisingly quiet despite his size. Preparing his wand, he yanked the door open to reveal a little old lady brandishing a gold-headed cane.

"Where are you? Come to lock me in another closet, have you? Come closer and fight like a man!" the old lady cried, which would have been really hilarious if the cane had not been within inches of Snape's head.

"Granma!" Corielle said in shock. "I..." She froze when she realized they had all forgotten about her father's mother.

Granma Griffin just kept swinging her cane. Snape did not know precisely how to react to a mad, armed grandmother, so he just kept ducking.

Corielle came to his rescue. "Granma!" she shouted again, this time lunging forward, taking a hit on the bony part of her shoulder. She could feel the bump beginning to form, her robes tightening against the stretched skin. "Stop! It's us. Accio Granma's glasses!"

A pair of glasses with large lenses flew through the air. Corielle caught them and handed them to her grandmother, who had calmed down somewhat. The old lady was panting, and her watery eyes still held fire.

When Granma Griffin had replaced her glasses on the bridge of her nose, she whipped around to face Corielle.

"Corielle Andromeda Griffin, what have you been doing? Don't think I couldn't tell what was in there! My hands still function. Handcuffs, high heels, cages... The only way I survived was by eating strawberries and sweetened whipped cream and honey! And all this time I've been trying to bring you up right and you've been going behind my back, laughing and having your men, you scarlet slut!" Granma's cane rose and hit Corielle's same shoulder, this time so deliberately, the bone cracked under the blow.

"And all this time your mother and father pampered and petted you, gave you everything you wanted, and you've sold yourself away like a woman of the street! You selfish, nickle-plated whore!" Granma lifted her cane for another blow.

"Granma!" Abigail shouted.

Granma hesitated at the voice, then withdrew her cane as if Abigail had just come in.

"Abigail!" Granma said cheerfully, if a bit shiftily. "I didn't know you were back from Asia."

"The Death Eaters who locked you in the closet killed Catharine and Nathaneal, but right now that is beside the point. How could you--?"

"Death Eaters, were they?" Granma turned and said under her breath so that Abigail presumably would not here. "Clients of yours? Your filthy hobby got your parents killed, you little slut. You just wait until I really punish you, Corielle."

Corielle shook her head in frantic denial. "It wasn't me, it wasn't me. Uncle Willem, he did this to me. He killed my parents. I didn't want-- I didn't mean--"

"Willem?" Granma snorted skeptically. "Sweet Willem wouldn't hurt a fly. I know your ways, liar. How dare you use your uncle in that way."

"It's true. Willem did it," Abigail interjected desperately, not knowing what to do. She had thought Granma Griffin strict and old school, but kindly and capable, but this... this was monstrous. She looked imploringly at Snape, who was glaring murderously at Corielle's grandmother. Despite Granma's first assault, she had not noticed him behind her.

"Then this enchantress must have seduced him," Granma snapped back, grasping Corielle's upper arm in her clawlike fingers. "And she has to be punished."

Granma raised her cane and brought it down.

Snape's hand grasped it and wrenched it away.

"How dare--?!" began Granma Griffin, before she saw him snap the wood in two. "Who are you?!"

"I am Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Head of Slytherin House."

"A bad lot, all of you," Granma hissed.

"Miss Griffin is in my House and therefore in my care, and you will not touch her." His voice, in contrast to the sharpness to his eyes, was dispassionate and commanding, but nevertheless, Abigail stumbled back, struck by the protective loyalty to his student. Maybe there was more to Snape than she had originally thought.

"She would be a Slytherin, the treacherous snake; she would break the tradition of Gryffindor we in the Griffin family hold dear. You..." This time, Granma lunged at Corielle, intent on chastising her with her bare hands.

Snape made to stop her, but Corielle got there first. She grabbed her grandmother's wrists in her hands scarred with marks--marks made with the end of a cane. Granma fought against her, writhing and kicking like an animal, but Corielle did not let her get any closer.

"Uncle Willem was discovered, convicted, and sentenced to life in Azkaban for Black Dog activities and incest to a minor, Granma!"

Granma froze at Corielle pronouncement. Corielle continued.

"We told you he had a job in France because Dad thought it might be too hard for you to hear the news. We knew you liked Willem, and your health was failing at the time, but then you got a Medicus and got better, and we couldn't bring ourselves to tell you. Don't you think for one minute that it was my fault, Granma! You think I liked doing this?! You think I came here nights, thinking, hey, why don't I shag my own uncle?! I hated it! And I hate you!" Corielle shut her mouth quickly, hoping to the stars that she had swallowed the last sentence, but from the wide eyes and indignant mouth of Corielle's grandmother, Corielle could see that she had not.

"You little--" Granma began.

Then Abigail found her tongue. "In the name of the Ministry, cease your despicable actions, Elvira Griffin! I arrest you in response to your violation against Article 36, Clause 2, Section 14.5.6, forbidding abuse of the magnitude such as that you have inflicted on this minor. Give up Corielle and come quietly."

Granma Griffin was so shocked by the statement that she reeled back and attempted to flee. Abigail Mahaffey stretched out a meaty hand and cast a Binding Charm. Granma fell to the floor, mouthing mutinously against her bonds.

Snape raised an eyebrow approvingly. "Can you do that?"

Abigail, still wired from the violent emotional response, looked at him like he was from another planet. "Yes," she said exaggeratedly. "I'm a slayer, I get rid of delinquent sentient creatures, therefore defending justice, therefore I'm given the dual occupation of law enforcement. What did you think?"

Snape held up his hands, palms up, in amused surrender.

"Corielle," Abigail said gently, "are you okay?"

"I-- I just-- I just said I hated her-- And I do-- I do-- I hate her. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her! And I hate Uncle Willem!" Corielle buried her face in her hands and her shoulders started shaking.

Abigail approached her cautiously. "Ella, darling?"

A choking sound came from her throat, and Abigail put a tentative hand on her shoulder. Corielle collapsed to the ground, causing her hands to fall from her face. But instead of the teary lashes and the red eyes Abigail had expected, Corielle was laughing so hard she could not breathe. She rocked back and forth, gasping in air when she was given the opportunity. Abigail watched her in total surprise.

Abigail sent a look to Snape that pretty much meant: She's gone mad.

Snape just stood there casually, his arms crossed, lips curved slightly into a pleased smile.

"Gods, that felt so good!" Corielle finally said when she caught her breath. "So good!"

"Don't let it become a habit," Snape murmured, giving her the broken cane. "It's rather addicting, not to mention corrosive. But in this case, I don't blame you a bit. Abigail, call the actual law enforcement officers and tell them to take this one into custody."

Abigail's mouth fell open as she realized Corielle was actually laughing with sincerity. In response to the disbelieving gaze at his back, Snape turned and whispered in Abigail's ear, "Watch the
Master work."

As irritating as it was to obey her childhood rival, Abigail waved her wand, and sent out a summons that immediately brought two officers. They left quickly with Granma Griffin after meeting the famous Abigail Mahaffey, slayer of some of the most notorious creatures in Asia. One of them even got her autograph.

"Don't even start with me, Severus Snape," Abigail snapped, catching the ghost of a mocking grin.

~888~

They arrived back at Hogwarts late that evening after going through many of Corielle's parents' effects. Abigail accounted for everything in an official-looking notebook and gave the notebook to an official-looking Ministry eagle owl. Corielle had remained mostly in her wing of the house. There, her bedroom had been ransacked, but everything was accounted for, so Corielle spent most of her time trying to put her room back together. She found several things indicative of Griffin's taunting presence: an incongruous bottle of red wine, a vial of a potion specifically brewed by him to increase the time and degree of sexual pleasure (he had offered it to her when she was fourteen, but she had declined; Corielle took it now and placed it in a bag she was planning to take back to Hogwarts; Professor Snape might be interested in adding it to his stores), several satin undergarments that he had particularly liked, a tube of whore's red lipstick, and a shot of come on the ripped bedspread. She cleaned this up as best she could, but it left her feeling rather shaky, and when she was sure that Professor Snape and Aunt Abby were not looking, she slipped back to Uncle Willem's pleasure room.

Without the two adults, she could reminisce in peace. Her fingers trailed along satin sheets and the feather boas on the water bed, and she laid down on it for a moment. She swore she could sense his mouth on her breast, and she escaped while she could. The room was darker without the light of the sun, and Corielle half expected the thin strength of his fingers to grasp her hips and pull her against his naked body. But no incestuous uncle emerged from the shadows, and Corielle continued.

The paintings had been done by Willem himself. Before her, he had taken many whores to his beds, painting them near the time when he was through with them. Even when he decided his niece would be more valuable prey, he occasionally invited an older, more experienced woman at the same time. Corielle had always noticed the glint of disgust in the eyes of the prostitutes when they saw her, not because of her exactly, but because of Willem. When Willem had collapsed after being sexually sated, the women sometimes would hold her while she cried, brush her hair for her and send her away. Once she was fourteen, however, the women quit caring. She had blossomed too well for them to think she was anything but one of them. That had hurt the most.

Corielle pushed open the door to the clothes closet. They were really beautiful robes and dresses and gowns. She was only human, and only a girl. Was it too wrong to like the things he had bought for her? The thought made her think herself filthy. Of course it was wrong. Every single one of these fabrics had been caressed by Willem, groped by Willem, licked by Willem, bought by Willem. She remembered his fingers through her hair when the strands had been the only thing that had clothed her, barely trailing skin, yet still completely trailing skin. She shivered.

When she heard Abigail call for her, she ran up and slipped through a back way so that Abigail would not know where she had just been.

"Are you ready to leave?" Abigail asked gently.

Corielle nodded. Her face was more tranquil than Abigail had ever seen it. She's so beautiful, Abigail thought fondly. She looks like Pallas Athene.

"Do you have anything you'd like to take with you to Hogwarts, now that. . . ?"

Corielle nodded and said, "I have a trunk upstairs. Would you mind Summoning it for me? It's a bit heavy."

Abigail, with a wave of the wand, Summoned the large trunk of clothing and other items and floated it to the porch.

"Go on out with Professor Snape," Abigail said. "I need to do one more thing."

Corielle obeyed and stood on the stone porch with her professor, not speaking. Snape did not mind. He was disinclined to respond himself. Abigail came out a few minutes later, her suitcase she had brought to collect a few items of her own firmly in hand.

Snape took Corielle by the shoulder and Abigail by the elbow, and they Disapparated.

Outside the Hogwarts gates, Corielle opened her bag and gave Snape the potion vial. Snape held it for a moment, observing his contents. He raised an eyebrow at his induction. He did not comment, but slipped it into his robes.

When they entered Hogwarts, Lupin was there to meet them and asked to speak to Snape about some of his Slytherins' antics. So Abigail walked Corielle to her House commons on her own, growing more and more uncomfortable with the idea that Corielle was going to the dungeons rather than to the towers, like all of her family before her.

Corielle stopped in front of the blank stone wall and faced her aunt.

"You can't really come in, you know," Corielle said stiffly.

"I know, but I don't have to like it, now, do I?"

Corielle gave a reluctant smile, then hugged her aunt in farewell.

"Wait," Abigail cried. "Before you go, I wanted. . . to give you your birthday present. You're turning seventeen after all, an important year. . ." Abigail opened her suitcase and took out a large parchment wrapped bundle. "I'd like you to wear one of these to the Christmas party."

Corielle eyed the package warily. "What Christmas party?"

Abigail held out the package and explained, "Sixth years and seventh years go to the House of Mirth at Hogsmeade before the holidays. It's an honored Hogwarts tradition. Even the professors participate, go you can go with Professors Lupin and S-Snape if you'd like."

"The House of Mirth?" Corielle repeated carefully. "Isn't that a--"

"The party doesn't take place in the pleasure rooms, and none of you are allowed to go there anyway. It's just a party, with food, dancing, games, kareoke. . . But it's a real formal event, and I don't think you have proper dress robes, so. . ."

Corielle took the package and unwrapped it, never taking her eyes from her aunt. She set the pile on the floor to finish. She gaped incredulously at what she saw. Three dress robes of the finest quality lay in the brown parchment, but Corielle knew from where they had come. She had worn them only once, then Willem had hung them in the closet. And they were recent, so they fit her perfectly. But all three of them were not her most modest robes, though they covered what they legally should.

Corielle's head jerked up and her eyes were blazing with anger. "Aunt Abby, how could you? How could you bring these here? I hate them. I never wanted to see them again! Don't you know what I did in these?!"

"It's time to put that behind you--"

"That's not something you can just forget. You don't understand that, do you?" Corielle was standing now, and Abigail took a step backward from the force of her voice. "You never had someone blood related to you tell you are you're good for is a pretty picture and a long, pleasureable tumble. You've never had to undress yourself in front of him, or kiss him, or tease him at his request. And until you have, you're never going to get it. When I look at these, it's like he's looking at me and stroking me and sticking himself into me all over again. I don't want to remember!"

Abigail, still slightly shocked at the transformation, decided to stand firm with her decision. "And you're too close to the situation to think clearly. The robes will look wonderful on you, and you're almost a woman. There's nothing for you to hide, baby. It's not wrong. And I have been in contact with troubled people. I hunt dangerous half-breeds, for Chrestomanci's sake. I hunt the werewolves that purposely put themselves in harm's way, the vampires who'll hunt when they're not hungry, and the half giants who follow their more primitive half. Not to mention the sirens and centaurs who have determinedly set themselves against wizardkind. I restrain them, have them put into therapy or prison, sometimes I kill them, but there are those who have just had everyone else set against them. Take Remus, for example. I didn't take his case, but there have been complaints about him, and just because he's a werewolf. He had to go into therapy early in the game, and we still keep tabs on him to make sure that morons won't decide he's too 'dangerous' to keep alive.

"But I've talked with other creatures, and none of them want to remember the bad times, the hard times, the times when it seemed that life was a bottomless hole, but the best thing for them to do is remember them, then put themselves into situations where they can truly and healthily put the troubles behind them. I think this is a way you can do the same. I know your parents want the same, they want you to have a normal lifestyle, and that includes doing normal things, like going to parties."

"But I don't want to go to parties, I don't want to be reminded, and I don't want to discuss this any further," said Corielle stubbornly.

"Fine," Abigail said coolly. "But I think I'll tell Snape just the same that you're to go, whether he has to force you or not."

"You wouldn't!" Corielle said, turning red.

"I will."

"Then this is where I leave you. You need to get back to work," Corielle replied. She gave her aunt an angry embrace--she did not want to forgo her own bit of comfort, and she still remembered the last goodbye she had with her parents. "Goodbye!" And without looking at her aunt again, she mumbled the password and stalked into the Slytherin common room. Before the wall could settle itself back into place, Abigail threw the bundle of clothes through a chink. Then she went to find Snape. It's for her own good, she thought to herself.

Corielle knew most of the Slytherins had their eyes on her and had probably heard most of the outburst, but at this point, she did not care in the least.

Draco tactlessly walked over and handed her the robes that Abigail had thrown.

"Here," he said. "I think someone wanted you to have these."

Corielle snatched them from him and made to throw them into the fire. Try as she might, however, she could not bring herself to do it. Her aunt was going back to Asia in the morning, and this had been her parting gift. And they really were beautiful.

Feeling very small and weak, Corielle walked up to her dormitory and hung the robes in the sixth-year girls wardrobe.

"Bye, Aunt Abby," she said softly to the window where she could see her aunt walking down the hill toward the gate.

~888888~