Lucretia's Bane

Chapter 2

Hermione watched as discretely as she could as the new girl disappeared into the Restricted Section of the library. What could Professor Snape have deemed important enough to allow her access to those books? Of course she was a Slytherin and everyone knew he favoured his own House above all others, but she had only been at Hogwarts for one day!

Snape was rarely that generous to even his own students and she had only been here one day, what was so special about her? Perhaps she’s his daughter, Hermione thought with a stifled giggle; they do have the same pale skin and black hair, but who would ever want to have sex with him? She couldn’t help but laugh aloud as she imagined Ron and Harry’s faces, if they knew that she was thinking about Snape having sex.

* * * * *

Two hours later and Hermione looked up as the girl walked past her and out of the library looking dejected and, if possible, paler than usual.

Realising the time she checked out a few of the books she had failed to completely absorb and followed Morgan towards the Great Hall for lunch.

Once seated at the Gryffindor table she peered over her open book and plate of steaming casserole to watch Morgan at the Slytherin table. Harry and Ron were sat beside her talking animatedly about Quidditch and she ignored them, pretending to read her book, whilst watching Morgan curiously.

Morgan sat heavily in an empty seat at her table and blanked the people around her as she lay open one of the books she had checked out upon her empty plate. The smell of cooked meat was drifting around her and she wrinkled her nose in disgust, feeling an aching in her limbs that at present could be likened to mild hunger. Even as she scanned the words in front of her she could feel the small slice of hope that she had been given slip away. She had spent two hours gathering as many books as she could fit in her arms and had poured over all of them. It had all been the same as those from the Ministry.

‘No cure. Irreversible. No known herb or potion has yet been discovered to lessen the effects.’

She should have known not to put faith in false hopes. Why had she allowed herself to be taken in by the illusion of this place? Was it because the sunlight was so close by, playing through the windows, tempting her pale skin to just let it have one touch?

Was it because happy, young students who had their whole lives ahead of them surrounded her and their biggest worry was how badly they were going to do in an exam, or what they were going to have for dinner? Or was it because she had been so strongly touched by the fact that people actually wanted to help her, that the Headmaster had treated her like a person and not some inhuman beast and that the Potion’s Master was willing to spend his valuable time in helping her?

It was of no matter now; this place had failed her like the rest of the world. She hadn’t asked for the curse and yet it had been given to her.

Wallowing in self-pity did no good, she knew that from experience, days of endless tears and incoherent thoughts in the suffocating darkness had taught her that. The only thing that would ever cure it would be to give in or to end it all, either way it meant the destruction of her human soul. And so she had struggled on, clinging to some vague hope that somewhere out there was the magical essence that could help her. But what if it wasn’t there? What if it never would be? She didn’t know how long she could keep up this day by day battle, didn’t know how long it would be before the tainted blood took over completely and the rational Morgan sunk into never-ending darkness.

The rest of the day went by as a blur, nameless faces sliding past her and an incessant stream of words that should have taken hold in her mind, but ran through like mud. Those who saw her noted a glazed look in her eyes as if she were actually asleep. Dinner in the Great Hall passed as though she were viewing it through another’s eyes, even the mention of her name when Professor Dumbledore announced there was a new student did little to rouse her from her musing. As quickly as she could she retreated to her dormitory in the Dungeons and settled herself in her bed with a pile of books from the library.

It was late into the night when she finally looked up from the last book and realised that the rest of her dormitory were asleep in their beds. She hadn’t even been aware of their entry and she exhaled painfully as the useless information from the books swam around her aching head. Closing the book with a soft thwack, she bundled the remaining pile into her arms and crept out of the dungeons, planning to return the books and collect some new ones.

The Entrance Hall was cold and lit only by a few faint strips of moonlight from the windows; Morgan hurried across it and was thankful that she was still fully clothed in her robes and boots. After depositing her used books and selecting some new ones she made her way back through the dungeons and towards her dormitory. As she passed Professor Snape’s office she paused, seeing movement through the slightly ajar door.

A sliver of flickering light was spilling across the corridor from inside the room and Morgan shifted the books into one arm so that she could easily peer through the crack.

A large cauldron was bubbling softly at the front of the classroom and Snape was gliding round it, adding various ingredients and noting their reaction on a piece of parchment. On his desk stood a large gilt cage with a small black creature swinging agitatedly from a perch, Morgan watched it for a few moments before realising that the furry bodied being was a bat.

She remained for a little longer, watching with dawning realisation as Snape took a small spatula of the cherry coloured potion and fed it carefully to the bat. Unconsciously taking a hesitant intake of air she then clamped a hand over her mouth as Professor Snape whirled around to glare at the door. Morgan edged silently back from the gap and sped along the corridor, hearing Snape’s office door slamming shut as she leapt onto her bed, her heart pounding in her throat.

She caught sight of her flushed reflection in the mirror that hung at the end of the dormitory and was shocked to see an irremovable smile on her face. It had been so long since she had truly smiled that she barely recognised the girl glowing back at her in the shadowy room. If she were to be completely honest, it had been so long since she had actually seen her reflection at all. She had asked them to take away the magical mirror from her room at the Ministry and they had never entrusted her a real mirror, of course not, broken glass would just be too easy a way out.

She pushed her hair away from her face and examined the pale girl who was sitting on the other side of the mirror. There was something eerie about the way the shadows fell from that curved mouth, it made the smile seem sinister, and Morgan drew away and got into bed quickly.

The pile of books she had borrowed lay unread on the floor as she slipped into restful sleep, the smile lingering on her face until just before she awoke. In the morning she felt as if a great burden had become slightly easier to bear and realised it was the first night she had not been troubled by nightmares for as long as she could remember.

* * * * *

Transfiguration passed quickly as Morgan sat staring at the sun-drenched lawns through the window. She bundled her notes into the pockets of her robes and nodded vaguely when Professor McGonagall offered her extra help to catch up with the work she had missed. The noise of the busy corridors still made her head throb, but she pushed it away as a minor annoyance and continued to her second lesson of the day, Potions.

She stared at the door to Snape’s office until it was out of sight and she was inside the Potion’s classroom, but it remained firmly closed and gave her no chance to see if the cauldron full of potion was still there. Even the three students at her desk did not irritate her too much today and she only scowled at them three times whilst waiting for Professor Snape’s arrival. The girl from the library seemed particularly interested in her and Morgan wondered how keen they would be to stare at her if she wasn’t so mysterious. Perhaps if they knew the truth about her they would still stare, but it would be the way that a persons eyes cannot help but be drawn to a dead body, or when you bite the side of your mouth and can’t help but touch it with your tongue constantly, even if it hurts to do so. If they knew the truth one glare from her would have them shaking for hours, if they knew the truth they would avoid her in the corridors and would write home to their parents that Hogwarts was no longer safe. Even the tingling numb feeling at the end of her fingers couldn’t lower her mood today, Professor Snape was really trying to help her, and whether she was to quick to clutch at desperate hopes again or not, she believed that he could do it.

Usually the sensation in her fingers, which she had once described as ‘Like when you sit cross-legged for too long and your feet fall asleep’, would be a warning. It was when they started burning that she had to really worry and she dismissed the prickling easily as Snape entered the classroom and glided to the front desk.

“Today’s lesson will not be for the faint of heart, needless to say those of you who are afraid of the dark and of things that go ‘bump’ in the night, should prepare for years of nightmares in the future.” Snape cast a vaguely disgusted look at certain students, (most of which were from Gryffindor) and proceeded to place small goblets on each table.

“Please pair yourselves up and have your parchment ready, I will be testing you on the reliability of what the spirits tell you, AND, I will know if you have simply made your answers up.”

He placed the remaining goblets on Morgan’s table and without looking up, spat, “Granger, pair up with Miss Lucretia.”

Hermione frowned at Snape’s retreating figure and then looked pleadingly at Harry and Ron. “Wish me luck!”

She picked up her parchment, dipped her goblet into her potion and moved over to the vacant seat beside Morgan, looking more than a little nervous. Morgan stared coldly at her, examining her slightly fluffy hair and gave a mocking smile as Hermione introduced herself.

“Morgan,” she said simply and returned her concentration to Snape as he explained that one person must drink their own potion whilst their partner made notes on what the spirits said to them, and then vice versa.

“After you.” Morgan picked up her quill and watched silently as Hermione gulped her potion and gave a little shiver.

At first Morgan thought that Hermione’s potion had been mixed wrong, if she had known her she would have recognised this as being impossible, but they were still relative strangers and so she sighed and let her eyes wander.

All around the classroom people were shaking, whilst their partners excitedly wrote down what they murmured in distant, awed voices. Morgan wondered what it would actually be like, were they actually seeing the spirits or could they just hear whispered voices?

A small gasp from the seat beside her caused Morgan to divert her attention back to Hermione. Obviously I was wrong about her potion. She thought with dry amusement and a small amount of respect. Hermione was mirroring so many of the other students as her whole body trembled lightly and Morgan wondered whether she had to prompt her for answers.

Her question was soon responded to as Hermione began to whisper in a fearful voice, “Someone close to me is going to be in danger.”

Morgan looked up from her parchment as she finished writing to stare at Hermione’s spectacled friend who was rolling his eyes. “Tell me something new!”

She raised an eyebrow in a quizzical manner and the boy shrugged. “We get into a lot of danger, I guess you could call it a hobby.”

Morgan was about to retort, but Hermione had begun to speak again and she placed her quill on the parchment expectantly.

“A terrible mistake. Uncontrollable forces. There’s so much blood,” Her face was pale and strained and Morgan couldn’t help but feel her skin tingle with apprehension, “Two people in one body?”

Hermione’s brow had creased with confusion and Morgan’s breath caught in her chest, “There’s darkness…and…and…Snape…and a girl, there’s something wrong with her…OW!”

Hermione blinked twice, her pupils dilating as she focused and rubbed her forehead. “What was that?”

Morgan was staring at her blankly, her eyes darting to look at Professor Snape, who was standing behind Hermione. The look in his stony eyes was murderous and Morgan realised why so many students were terrified of him, as he silently picked up the parchment on which Morgan had been writing.

His fist clenched on the paper, scrunching it between his fingers as he finished reading and he threw it to the table. “Is this your idea of a joke, Miss Granger?”

Hermione, who was still looking dazed, stared at him in disbelief. “No sir. I just said what I saw.”

Snape’s eyes were burning into her ashen face. “Your attempt to create some sort of drama in this classroom is not appreciated, Granger. Perhaps you would like to practice it in detention?”

Hermione shot a desperate look at Morgan who met her gaze emotionlessly.

“If your spurt of acting talent is quite over, then I would advise you continue with this assignment, unless you want me to deduct further points from Gryffindor to add to the 20 I have just taken!” Snape snarled, before swooping off to terrorize Neville Longbottom, who had spilt his potion down his robes.

Hermione gritted her teeth angrily and pushed the discarded parchment at Morgan, who took it carefully and smoothed out the creases from Snape’s hand.

“I wasn’t lying!” Hermione hissed defiantly, more to herself than to Morgan.

Morgan nodded, without looking up from the parchment, her handwriting sloping to a halt at the word ‘wrong’.

“I know,” she replied in a detached voice.

Hermione turned to gape at her, startled, “Why didn’t you say something, if you believed me!”

Morgan looked up to meet her accusative eyes and shrugged. “It wouldn’t have helped.”

Hermione was frowning heavily. “Ooooh, I hate him so much!”

“Aw, he’s not that bad,” Morgan said with a wry grin as Hermione gawked at her as if she had just spat maggots all over the desk.

“I suppose we should test your potion now, before he comes back and accuses me of leading you astray, or something,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

Morgan picked up her goblet and dipped it into her potion, before she drank it, she looked down her nose into the greyish liquid, she was sure that she didn’t have to say anything that she didn’t want to once she was under its effect, but still her stomach lurched a little as she swallowed it.

It tasted vaguely of mint, and made her whole body feel feather light. Shortly her whole body quiver and her eyes begin to blur.

It was as though somebody was blowing softly on her bare skin and she knew why everyone had been shivering, silence was pressing in all around her, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was almost soothing. From far away as if she were talking underwater she heard Hermione ask, “Is it working?”

She tried to nod, but found that the classroom was disappearing from her sight; it was melting, the colours running into each other and rearranging themselves in front of her glazed eyes.

A scene was unravelling before her, misty and indistinct as if she were half asleep and there was suddenly a tightness in her throat and chest as if she were going to be sick.

She had felt this sensation before, only once before, but the memory was unpleasant enough to remain with her. She could feel the pressure growing as she resisted it and she knew that she must release the words that were stinging the back of her mouth.

It was incomparable to the feeling of being under a truth spell, but the similarity was enough to make her let go of the sentence that was so desperate to be heard.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

She fancied that she could hear the scratch of Hermione’s quill, and began to deeply regret that she had taken the potion. She had imagination; she could of no doubt come up with a reasonable message without being subjected to this.

The outline of a huddled shape was forming itself on the floor at her feet and she stared at it in mute horror. It turned to look at her and she clamped a hand over her mouth as its eyes rolled back to reveal white. A dark pool of something was oozing from its torn throat and Morgan jumped backwards to avoid the liquid as it lazily slid towards her.

One pale hand, clawed in pain, reached for her, the other was scratching at its neck as if it could stop the sickening flow of blood.

I don’t want to see anymore.

The voice sounded familiar, but muffled and strangely calm, as if it could not see the image that was before her. As the writhing body faded she recognised it as her own voice and realised that the classroom was swimming back into focus.

Hermione was staring at her, (this was quickly becoming the norm) with wide eyes and she looked paler than when Snape had accused her of lying.

“What?” Morgan asked roughly, annoyed at the crack in her voice. She noted that she hadn’t moved from her seat and that her jumping back from the body must have been all in the vision.

“What!” Hermione repeated in amazement, “You don’t think that was pretty shocking?”

Morgan shook her head, blinking and fast becoming irritated, “Think what was shocking?”

“What you just saw!” Hermione thrust her parchment in front of Morgan’s face and her chest contracted. She hadn’t realised she had been talking. Everything she had seen was written in Hermione’s neat script. The words seemed to be taunting her and she pushed the parchment into her robes. There’s a boy…his throat has been ripped out…there’s blood on me…

“Snape won’t like that,” she said hoarsely. “We should change it.”

Hermione continued to watch her, a little colour seeping back into her cheeks. “What are you going to write instead?”

Morgan spread out a fresh sheet of parchment and stared at it shakily. After a few moments of awkward silence, Hermione gently reached for the parchment. “I’ve got an idea of what to write.”

Morgan watched as Hermione began to write mechanically. “I see a dove flying over a group of people in the Hogwarts grounds.”

Professor Snape had stopped to read everyone’s parchment as he collected them in, so to give him better opportunity to criticise their work. “Weasley, did you make this up? If not then I want to seriously reconsider ever dying if a spirit told you that you would be doing well in your N.E.W.T.s. 5 points from Gryffindor.”

As he reached Hermione and Morgan, he swept Morgan’s account of Hermione’s vision to the back of the pile and proceeded to read what Hermione had written about Morgan’s fake vision.

“Good work, Miss Lucretia, your account shows the tell tale signs of symbolism apparent in spirit visions.”

Morgan was beginning to see Hermione in a completely different light, something akin to respect was shining in her eyes as she whispered, “How did you know that?”

“I like to read,” Hermione said dismissively, collecting her quill as the class prepared to leave.

“Can I ask you question, Morgan?”

Morgan paused by her desk and waited. At the front of the classroom, Snape was watching, his expression unreadable.

“Why did you believe that I really saw those things?”

Morgan looked into the shorter girl’s face and gave a small, slightly sad smile. “Lets just say that it had a truthful ring to it.”

Hermione looked confused and turned to watch Morgan leaving the room before joining Ron and Harry who were waiting expectantly.

“Well, what was ice girl like?” Ron asked teasingly.

“Shut-up Ron,” Hermione replied distractedly, still trying to decide exactly what Morgan’s answer had meant.