The Rules of Science

"The substance or substances that are the starting materials in a chemical reaction are called reactants and are located on left side of a chemical equation."

-From Chemistry Concepts and Problems

~

"But below the surface, the currents of protest and reform that had boiled up in the past decade still ran strong. They would soon surface again."

Silas stops reading and closes the thick history of magic book and stares at me, sitting across from him in the long, wide, curved window sill. Barely paying attention, I am gazing out the window, one cheek propped on my fist which in turn rests on my knee. There is frost forming on the widows and a draft, but I don't notice. I move my other hand and press my fingertips against the cold windowpane.

"No, keep going. You're getting to the interesting part. Don't stop, I'm listening," I murmur, speech impaired because I don't move my jaw from my hand.

"That's the end of the chapter, Maddy," Silas says with a hint of exasperation in his voice.

"Oh."

I turn from staring out the window to Silas.

"You have a quiz tomorrow over this chapter," he reminds me.

I shrug.

"How am I going to take it anyhow? It'll be on paper and I can't see it, so it won't matter if I don't know the answers."

"Binns's going to give the quiz half an hour before class; he'll read you the questions. So don't forget to be there."

I give an impatient jerk against the stone wall. Being blind is really a huge pain in the ass, I think.

As if reading my thoughts, Silas says, "I know it's an inconvenience for you."

"That's an understatement," I deadpan, and glare out the window, not seeing the scattered snowflakes lazily floating to the frozen, already snow-covered ground.

"You have your first treatment in two days. Things will get better. You're already learning your way about the school," Silas replies, trying to change the subject.

Shrugging again, I begin tapping my fingernail on the glass. I now turn and rest my forehead against the glass, and will myself to see the images I know were right in front of me, but out of reach. A picture of two figures walking through the snow that must lay below pops into my mind, a tall figure holding the hand of a much smaller one.

"How high up are we?" I ask idly.

"Trying to catch a cold, Miss Philips? Mr. Wells? You should behave more responsibly towards your patients, Mr. Wells." Professor Snape's voice cuts in before Silas can answer my question.

Neither of us had heard his approach, and I find his sneaky appearance annoying, so I answer his question quickly.

"I asked Mr. Wells if we could study here because the freezing draft keeps me from falling asleep while he reads me my lessons."

"If it will help you in your classes then I can't complain," Professor Snape replies smoothly. "You need all the help you can get."

I turn my head away and scowl at the glass so he can't see me. Why should he care how I'm doing in my classes anyway?

"Are you finished for the night, Mr. Wells?" Snape asks.

"I suppose so," Silas replies with some hesitation.

"Very well, then. I have some work to do with Miss Philips myself, so I will escort her back to her room."

"All right, then. See you tomorrow for your first treatment, Madeline." I hear him slide off the stone and stand.

"Bye, Silas," I mutter at the window, as he turns and walks away.

Maybe Professor Snape has decided that Friday night would be as good a night as any to start on Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. Do people here ever do anything besides school work?

I slide slowly off the stone ledge, wishing I could go to bed instead of spend the evening with Professor Snape. I had never spent my Friday nights as pseudo-Muggle like this. Witches had magic; weren't they supposed to have more fun?

We are soon tracing the familiar steps to Snape's dungeon classroom.

"Are you ready to clean cauldrons by hand, Miss Philips?"

A look of confusion crosses my face before I remember that I had, in fact, gotten detention earlier this week. For once, a rare once, I am relieved I have the excuse of being blind so someone could fetch me for things like this, my mind is so full of everything else going on I would have forgotten and received additional detention.

"Surely you haven't forgotten your earlier mishap among all your others?"

"No, sir," I reply coolly, refusing to rise to his bait. What is his problem anyway?

"They are lined up and waiting for you. You will need to get water from the faucet in the at the back of the room. Sponges are in their usual place. Here is the soap," a large glass vial is placed in my hands, "you will not be leaving until they pass my inspection."

I say nothing and walk towards the cauldrons, feeling for them with my hands outstretched. To my left the line would reach the corner of the back wall, so to my right I would find the beginning of this line of cauldrons. Twisted bastard, making me clean cauldrons. I had since learned that magic was strictly forbidden in the corridors between classes, and definitely not in potions class to clean up after oneself.

Biting back a sigh, I head to the back to fill up one of the many buckets surrounding the wall-fountain that are used to tote water to cauldrons already filled with ingredients. I fill cauldron after cauldron half full with water then dump in some of the cleaning solution to let it set for awhile as I move down the line. I don't bother to count, as it will only depress me.

To get the sponges in the supply room I cross in front of Professor Snape's desk, where I hear him scratching away on parchment. Probably grading papers. He doesn't pause as I pass, nor when I return sponge in hand.

The scrubbing begins as I bend over the first cauldron. This one smells of burnt eucalyptus and mink fat; some beginner clearly had not added enough water to their simple burn salve. It only gets worse as I progress down the line; apparently the Potions Master has not had his beginning potions classes clean their cauldrons this week to save them for my punishment.

I am bending over yet another cauldron, this one relatively less dirty than most of the others. This one is quite deep, so I am nearly cut in two as I scratch with my fingernail at some stubborn gunk at the bottom. Finally, I manage to scrape it off in a long, sticky strip. Ewww. I bring it close to my face to sniff the offending object carefully, ignoring my chemistry teacher's firm instruction about smelling foreign objects, especially of the chemical kind. The metallic-like smell of blood, with a peculiar scent of dust or sand.

"Professor?" calls a voice from the other end of the room.

I sneeze and immediately hide the hand holding the object inside the cauldron just in case Professor Snape or the unknown voice is looking in my direction.

"Excuse me," I murmur demurely and lean back over the cauldron.

"Excuse me, Professor. I did not realize you had company."

"It is of no consequence. Miss Philips is merely serving her detention."

I scowl into the cauldron before lugging it over to the fountain to rinse it out with fresh water. Judging from the amount of time that took I wasn't too far from the end of my line of cauldrons.

"I was just...."

The voice is lost to my none-to-quiet pushing and the water coming out of the fixture at the back. As it fills, I use the opportunity to pop my back.

Cripes, I am going to be sore tomorrow. Sore hands, arms, back. My back is killing me. Doesn't this fall under some sort of child labor law?

I continue cleaning, trying to listen to the conversation inconspicuously. I can't hear anything specifically, just a low rumble of voices. That voice sounds vaguely familiar. It is going to bother me if I don't figure it out.

They are still talking when I finish my last one. Hadn't that been a good three quarters of an hour ago? I put my hands under the cool water of the fountain hoping they'll finish so I won't have to interrupt them. Or make an ass of myself. I give up after five minute of running water and no sound of goodnights.

I grimace at the wall, then turn about to walk to the front, feeling my way along the rows of tables. Why do science classrooms always have tables instead of desks?

"...all he would like."

"Very well, Mr. Theophilis, I will bear this in mind. Good night," says Professor Snape as I draw nearer. "Ah, Miss Philips, I see you think you are finished."

Theophilis? Who the hell is that? I think, giving myself up to being noticed despite my efforts. "Yes, sir," I reply out loud.

I feel the whoosh of air as Snape walks past me to inspect my work and I wait expectantly to hear the Mr. Theophilis leave. Instead he walks towards me.

"Madeline Philips?" queries the fine, smooth voice that I am still trying to place.

"Yes, but I'm afraid I don't know who you are," I reply, sticking out my hand.

"Jude Theophilis."

A pause wherein Jude shakes my hand.

"Are you in any of my classes by any chance?" I venture.

"Yes. We have potions together."

Great, he's seen me screw up royally.

"How do you like Hogwarts?" Jude asks.

"I, um, like it. It's different, you know. I was taught magic at home before, but it's nice to be," -making an ass of myself in front of my peers- "around other witches and wizards my age. And there are actually students to compete against." I nod my head, finally running out of things to say.

"My father considered teaching me at home also, but Hogwarts is one of the finest wizarding schools in Europe so I ended up here. It will be over soon, though. This is the last year; it will be nice not having school again."

"Oh definitely," I agree, thinking of the detention I had just finished serving and of long hours of having Silas read to me.

I have always been the bookish sort, but I feel as though I've done nothing but study since coming to Hogwarts. There are N.E.W.T.s this year as well, which means I have twice the homework load I would normally have, or so Silas has assured me. I wasn't sparing much worry for the N.E.W.T.s at the moment; I had enough on my mind to worry about. Besides, I had done quite well on the O.W.L.s. Well, not as well in Charms, which was my difficult subject, or in Defense Against the Dark Arts either; my mother had only taught me just what was likely to be on the test and little more.

I still remember the day my mother took me to Diagon Alley to take them. My mother had specially prearranged a time with one of the members of the board, and I had done all the tests in a week and a half, instead of the regular two weeks, taking some of the exams over the weekend. My mother had taken me on the pretense that I had been selected to go on a special science trip at the very end of the school year and she would chaperone. That had been one of the best one and a half weeks of my life, the most time I had ever spent in the wizarding world at one time in my entire life. Walking about Diagon Alley among other witches and wizards, doing magic without fear of being caught...I smile involuntarily.

"It is better than I expected, coming from someone who had little discipline exerted upon her regarding the use of magic before coming here," Snape speaks out of nowhere, startling me and making me realize that Jude is still standing across from me.

I raise one eyebrow, but say nothing; whatever else he seems to know about my past life, he doesn't know about the hours spent cleaning things without magic thanks to my father's phobia of it.

"I will take you back to your room," he adds with little grace.

"Very well," I reply, resigning myself to being inexorably linked with Mr. Popular. "Good night, Jude. Glad to finally know someone in my potions class."

"Mr. Theophilis is extremely talented in potion making," Snape says, his tone implying I do abysmally in his class. "He is near the top of his class."

"Thank you, Professor," he replies deferentially. It was a wonder to me the boy isn't choking at the way Snape was buttering him up; the boy obviously has some class to glide through it like that. "Good night to you both. I will look for you next potions class, Madeline."

I hear his footsteps die away as I wait for Snape to finish something up at his desk before escorting me back to my room. His parting words at the tapestry are, "Don't forget you have your first dose of the Caecus potion early Saturday morning. I expect you to be on time. If not taken within a certain amount of time after removal from the cauldron-"

"It loses it's potency I know," I interrupt irritably. "I've done research on this you know," I feel him staring at me disbelievingly, "with Silas' help," I add defensively. "I don't just trust people to make decisions; especially decisions about me, without being well informed on the issue myself."

There is a silence, and I am afraid I have again crossed the line that will earn me another detention.

"And that, Miss Philips, is one of the most intelligent things I have ever heard you utter. Perhaps you are not without hope. Good night, Miss Philips. And please, try to apply your brain to your other school subjects, and not just the ones that specifically involve you. Then, perhaps, people will not wonder what possessed Ollivander's to sell you a wand."

"Glad to have met your approval," I mutter, ignoring him and walking into my room and closing the door behind me, "you enormous git."

Plans for sleeping in on Saturday were shot. I am woken by the creaking of my door and Professor Snape yelling, "Why aren't you up? Your dose of the Caecus potion is this morning in ten minutes! I told you specifically on Thursday about this and yet you still manage to forget, you useless child."

I pull my blankets up closer around my head. I must be having nightmares again. Besides, this Professor Snape masquerading as my father should know that I am wonderfully adept at ignoring someone yelling at me early on Saturday mornings; I'd had seventeen years worth of practice after all. "Five minutes," I mumble into the sheets.

"You do not have five minutes. Get up at once."

The voice is much closer this time and motivates my groggy brain into action. I open my eyes, still unused to the absence of light that greets me.

"Professor?" I say tentatively, prepared to feel like a fool.

"Are you so vapid as to not understand what 'get up' means?"

Hearing his reply made me jump and sit up in bed.

"Eight minutes, Miss Philips! You have wasted two. Get ready immediately; I will meet you outside in the corridor."

A creak as the door closes, and silence.

I practically fall out of bed in my haste to get ready, blankets entangling me. I kick them off and crawl forward to my dresser, searching for clean clothes.

"Judith!" I cry, my voice rising in panic.

No answer.

I swear. She always disappears at the most inopportune times.

Pulling out a pair of jeans and lord knows what kind of t-shirt, I throw my pajamas on the floor. Panties, bra, jeans, t-shirt, hair--What should I do with my hair? There is no time to wash it and I don't want to walk into the healing ward with gross, unwashed hair.

Fumbling around on the floor, I discover the handkerchief I had worn the other day upon returning to my room--the dark blue from grade school field day games--grab it, put it on, and walk more or less confidently out the door.

Professor Snape says nothing when I come out, just sniffs, so I assume I have made decent time.

He grabs my arm roughly and proceeds to drag me to the hospital ward at an alarming pace, managing not to run me into anything until I get to the door.

"Hey, Maddy."

I turn my head toward the voice automatically, succeeding in hitting the door frame with my nose.

"Oh bloody-!" I cry before remembering I am with Authority.

Professor Snape sighs and presses some cloth into my other hand. "Hold you nose and tilt your head back slightly, Miss Philips."

I do as I am told and continue onward to a bed, which I sit down on, continuing to hold my nose.

"Oh good heavens! What happened here?" exclaims a high female voice.

"I jub hib by nobe," I reply, but am overridden by Silas' deep voice.

"It was my fault Madam Pomfrey; I made her hit her nose on the doorframe."

"Really Mr. Wells, you should know better," she says, clucking her tongue.

Snape makes no snide remark, so I wonder where he has gone.

I feel Silas' solid weight settle at the foot of my bed and I deem it safe to remove the cloth and feel my nose. No fresh blood, only a little dry, crusted stuff. I sniff the air suddenly.

"Does my sore, bleeding nose deceive me, or is that breakfast I smell in your hand?"

"Your adjectives will elicit no sympathy."

"Well, what can you expect from the cold hearted bastard who did it to me?"

Snape interrupts coldly, "Miss Philips, if I have to warn you about your language one more time there will be consequences."

"Yes, sir," I mutter quietly, sitting up straighter in the bed.

"Mr. Wells, you had better not be leaving crumbs on the bed."

"No, sir," Silas replies equably.

They are silent for awhile. Silas finally speaks, and I assume Snape is gone again; he is a quiet bugger when he moves.

"You can't have food anyway, you'll get nauseous. And I would prefer if you did not throw up all over me."

"Why are you here anyway? Professor Snape is quite capable of administering the potion."

"You're my patient," is all he says.

"He will be reading to you from your course books while you lay perfectly still and allow the potion to do its work."

I cannot stop my nose from wrinkling slightly.

"Mr. Wells, would you make yourself useful and put this piece of cloth securely around Miss Philips head?"

"Why?" I demand immediately.

It is Silas who answers, "While the potion is working your eyes are very sensitive. The smallest amount of light could further damage them."

"It can't get any darker," I remark darkly, but allow Silas to tie the cloth about my head.

"Here. Drink the entire glass," Snape says, pressing a goblet into my hand.

I hold it up to my face and sniff it delicately, grimacing.

"Just drink it, Miss Philips, before it ruins," Snape says, exasperated.

"I'm just making sure it isn't poison. Wait a minute. I smell something amiss in here...what is it?"

"I put some basswood flowers in it to relax you just a bit and not make lying down all so terribly trying; this will make you feel like lying down."

I sniff again. I guess that bitter scent could be the flower of basswood. That means the potion would be bitter as well. Fantastic.

"Oh," I say.

Whoa. Snape had actually done something kind of...thoughtful.

While trying to wrap my brain around this thought, I open my mouth and swallow the potion as quickly as possible. "Ugh. It tastes the way cleaner smells."

"Lie back and I'll read to you now," Silas says.

"I will check in on your periodically. Let Madam Pomfrey know if there appears to be anything wrong, any bad reaction."

I hear the door to the infirmary close and give a quiet sigh. I could already feel the arrowroot doing its work.

"All right. What do we have today?"

"Arithmancy. You didn't do well on your last quiz."

"There was a time when my grades were my own business."

"Times have obviously changed," he pauses. "That muscle relaxant--the basswood flowers--I'm not sure I've heard of it. I hope it won't make you sleepy."

"No, it won't. Basswood flowers are rarely used because they have negative reactions when mixed with nearly anything." I frown, trying to remember the ingredients list I had read. "I hope this Caecus Potion doesn't have red salamander blood in it--you get the most hideous boils."

"Maddy, how do you know all this stuff? I didn't learn a lot of that kind of stuff until my apprenticeship as a Healer."

"Oh, you know. I read it. I'm beginning to think I'm a better visual learner than audio. But then again, I've never had quite so much on my mind before...." I trail off, realizing I've said a bit too much. I'm obviously beginning to feel comfortable around Silas. "Er, read on, then. Chapter twelve," I say to get off the subject as quickly as possible.

Silas begins reading and time passes slowly. We pass the morning this way and then break for lunch. Or Silas does. I get to sip on pumpkin juice while Silas goes down to the Great Hall for lunch. I had not known that I would be fasting.

"How are your eyes feeling?" he asks before going.

"If they're supposed to burn and ache as though you've stayed up all night studying, then we're okay," I reply, resisting the urge to rub them. In one of the books I had had Silas read to me, he had made perfectly clear, turning what was a passing statement in the book into a near full-on medial lecture, that I was not to touch my eyes at all while the potion was working.

"That's how it feels I'm afraid. I'll bring back something you can eat later this afternoon when the potion has finished its work."

"Thanks," I say half-heartedly as my stomach rumbles.

He leaves and I am by myself, except for Madam Pomfrey who comes out to check on me again right after Silas has left, filling my cup with more pumpkin juice so that I can sip on it all afternoon.

I am wary of moments like these when my thoughts were allowed to roam free: they eventually lead to my mother. I try recalling to mind what Silas had read to me earlier; it would have been so much easier if I had read the words myself, or even watching Silas read them would have helped.

These thoughts are soon overcome by memories of my mother. Some days I miss her more than others. I have realized over the past week how little I had known about my mother. It is almost like I had spent the last seventeen years living with a stranger, one who took care of me, but a stranger none the less. Every time I have tried to recall things about my mother, it is always scenes from my old life. Never facts about her, never stories about her, just scenes from our day to day life. I guess some people would argue that was the most important thing. But that is what is so strange to me: I knew extremely little about my mother before she was, well, my mother. She never talked about her childhood, going to Hogwarts, what happened after she had graduated. She didn't even have any pictures. Or at least none I had found, anyway.

Words cut across my reverie, bringing me happily back to reality.

"Has Mr. Wells gone to lunch?"

It is Professor Snape, as flamboyant as ever.

"Yes, sir."

"Did he make it through your Arithmancy before leaving?"

"Yes, sir."

There was silence after my affirmative. Apparently Snape's axiom is: If you don't have something unpleasant to say about a person, say nothing at all.

"How are your eyes feeling?"

"Dry and aching just like they're supposed to, so Silas says."

"Very well then. I hope you are ready for an afternoon of studying. Although we have yet to find a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for you, I have proposed to the Headmaster--and he has agreed--that you go over some of the basics and review the basis for Defense. You will, of course, once your sight improves and a teacher is available, have practical training as well. I have put aside some of my valuable time today so that I can begin instructing you today while you sit and listen," he slightly emphasizes the last word. "There are certain things you can memorize even now and apply to your later lessons. I wish your mother--" he begins, but cuts of shortly. There is an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, and when Professor Snape begins to talk again, it is on the subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Although I am not looking forward to another stretch of hours of trying to learn something while sitting flat on my back with nothing to occupy my hands, I have to appreciate the fact that Professor Snape seems to have discovered the best method in which I learn things. I learn best when all the basic background information is set down before me, a study foundation from which I can build my knowledge. It leaves me with a much clearer picture of what I am doing and also allows me to make connections on my own, which I remember better in the end.

Silas returns an hour later and eventually convinces Snape to give me a short break from the information overload and let me rest for a quarter of an hour. Silas amuses me with stories he heard at lunch and Snape disappears for the allotted amount of time to do who knows what. When Snape returns precisely on time we hit the books again and he shoots review questions at me like I'm before a firing squad. I remember a good deal and earn a, "Not completely incompetent" from Professor Snape, which must mean he was fairly pleased with my performance.

Finally, Professor Snape shuts the book he is holding with a muffled thud and announces, "I think we can take off the blindfold now. The potion should have finished its work."

I sit up quickly, delighted, only to become dizzy from the rush of blood to the head. I sway a little and put my hand down on the bed to steady myself.

"Does this mean I can go eat dinner?" I demand excitedly.

"Miss Philips, you always raise my hopes of your intelligence, only to dash them to the ground three seconds later."

I smile, "Brains must be fed with nutrients, not just knowledge."

"Yes you can go eat dinner. I'll come with you. We can call it a date," Silas says, unwrapping the bandage from my eyes.

"Right, Silas. Right."

"It is unprofessional to have a relationship with a patient," Professor Snape says coldly.

"Yes, sir. Well, does there seem to be any difference?" Silas asks, finishing taking off the bandage.

I look around.

Nothing.

The same blackness all around.

I squint to see if it the darkness is a slightly paler shade of black.

It isn't.

When I don't say anything, merely slump my shoulders, Snape speaks.

"There is generally no improvement in the first several treatments. Your eyes have an exceptional amount of damage that needs to be fixed. We will do this again next Saturday. And I do not expect to have to fetch you again." He stands up in a rustle of robes. "Good evening."

"Good evening," I say, feeling deflated from my earlier jubilation at the idea of food.

"Goodbye, Professor."

We are silent for a moment following the click of the door.

"Come on then, Maddy," says Silas, also sounding a little dispirited.

He takes my hand and I slide off the bed, putting my hand on his arm.

"Leaving with Miss Philips, Mr. Wells?" asks Madam Pomfrey suddenly from behind. "Any improvement, Miss Philips?"

I turn towards her voice and shake my head, "No ma'am."

"Ah well, these things take time. And Silas, next time I expect you to tell me how your apprenticeship is going and when it will be up."

"Certainly, Madam Pomfrey."

We are free to leave at last, and remain silent all the way down to the Great Hall.