Day 17: The Letters

It was a beautiful, cloudless summer afternoon, Margaret was laying down on her favourite pier, her feet dipped in the lake, enjoying the connection to the water's vibrations; her mind was overflowing with thoughts about her predicament, about her friend's, and without meaning to, mentally wrote lengthy letters, imagined situations, interactions; most of them filling her with a mix of affection and disgust — at herself.
The girl had a (bad) habit of losing herself in thought, especially when they were dreadful; the pang of self-loathing, adrenaline, something else? She couldn't tell, the rush she felt, despite her disapproval of it was so addicting, soothing. She couldn't get enough of it.
A gaggle of geese flew over her: little dark spots in the bright blue sky, soon to become orange.
She felt undeserving of what she had encountered, she almost didn't want to believe the ghost was who she thought she was, she didn't want to believe it even was a ghost. The taste of blood slowly filled her mouth, she clicked her tongue at the uncontrollable habit, all the while enjoying the taste, closing her eyes and sucking on the lip.

"Burning the midnight oil, eh, Megamelons?" said a familiar voice.
She hummed quietly in response, slowly opening her eyes: Elliot Evers, grinning, was standing next to her, his foot on the baluster, with his arm on his leg.
"You stil have that flower?" He inquired, pointing at the girl's hair.
She hummed again.
"It was a gift, wasn't it?" she replied, too quiet to be heard, before stretching and standing up.
Watching her stand up mesmerized Elliot, her swimsuit still glistening he couldn't help but ogle the child's body, his eyes stopping at her well defined adominals before slowly climbing up to her chest: its sight sent a thunderbolt through his spine and brain, he quickly averted his gaze, confused and angry at himself.
"I-its easy to forget how young you are, do your classmate tease you? Because of your looks?" blurted Elliot, flustered.
"You're pretty much the only person I've spoken to." answered Margaret, buttoning her shirt.
"Really?" he smiled at the idea that his protégée was all his.
"Mhm." hummed Margaret, fully clothed.
The boy felt a little annoyed and a little reassured she was wearing her full robes again.
"Your... Body. That's unusal. For a witch. Especially your age... Are you... Muggleborn? Planning to play Quidditch?" he asked, unable to forget the earlier sight; if it wasn't for the black cone hat she would look at right home in his own class. "Hm, she does have a kid's plump cheeks, even if she's tall..." he thought.
"Hm? No, Pureblood, I don't like Quidditch." she answered, glancing at her watch.
"Are you? Your..." he chuckled "Name, isn't part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, though."
"Excuse me? What is that?" the confused girl stared at a nearby bird.
"The twenty-eight Pureblood families of Britain." he answered matter-of-factly "You definitely aren't a Pureblood if you don't know that, there's no shame, you know."
"Oh. No, I am. From Belgium."
Elliot looked both impressed and surprised.
"Why aren't you at Beauxbatons?"
"Both my parents attended Hogwarts... And... I was... Conceived here."
Taken aback, Elliot choked on his saliva and coughed, under Margaret's concerned gaze.
"Anyway, what do you think about Muggles, what do you know about them?" he asked, grinning.
"...Not much. The Brontë sisters? I practice English reading their books." she answered after a while.
"That's... Old."
"So am I."
"No you're not." Elliot laughed.
"Goodbye." she declared after glancing at her watch.
"Already?" he asked, she didn't answer.
"Keep wearing the flower in your hair." he ordered, she didn't react.
"So am I..?" he wondered out loud, confused. "Weird kid."
He couldn't help but think he was given a hint but he couldn't connect the dots yet.

Her thoughts fixated on the letters, Margaret walked briskly through the castle; confusing the two versions she took a few wrong turns but thankfully quickly found her way around the least traveled corridors, most of them having barely changed over the century, and soon after she found herself in front of the painting room.
"Painting detention, this is the only place. I heard Mr Filch maintains the paintings, this has to be it..." she thought, sitting down on the floor, enjoying the peace and quiet.
"At night... That's after sunset, so... Now." she stared at her watch.
Sitting in silence, she stared ahead, unmoving, waiting, unbothered, in her corridor. Head full of terrible, terrible thoughts.
Reaching into her bag, she grabbed a bottle of water and drank her fill. "Just what are you thinking... You barely know her, you can't write all that nonsense..." she thought.
"Why do you care... Why does she care... Why would she care?"

"Well, well, looks like she didn't do a runner, after all, eh?" remarked Mr Filch, half annoyed half pleasantly surprised.
"Hello." said Margaret, standing up and nodding at her classmate, who was waving excitedly at her.
"You two are lucky the Headmistress is magnanimous, if it were me I'd have you hung by the ankles all night in the dungeons..." he grumbled.
The room was cramped with a high ceiling, filled with paintings, frames and drapes, with only a few seats, most of them covered in tools; the pungent smell of an old artist's lair — a mix of dust, fabric and chemicals filled the trio's nostrils.
"You two don't touch nothing!" barked Filch "You hand me what I tell you to and you keep your mouth shut!"
Looking pained and annoyed, Margaret crouched and wiggled her fingers at Mrs Norris instead, who surprisingly rubbed her cheeks against the girl's hand while her classmate hurriedly brought over various brushes and paints.
The man worked in silence, often glaring at the girl petting his cat and barking orders at the Ravenclaw.
"Tea?" asked Margaret, out of the blue.
"There's no teapot here." hissed Filch, only to watch the girl pull out a pot and cups out of her bag, much to the joy of the other girl.
"I'm making tea, why don't you sit in the sofa?" asked Margaret gently, holding Mrs Norris in her arms and carefully placing her in a more comfortable seat.
"Hello..?" the Ravenclaw slowly lifted the pot's lid.
"Turner! The paint!" barked Filch, the girl hurried over, her left hand holding her beret.

"Chamomile." said Margaret, holding two cups.
"Good, now that you're done lazing around maybe you can do some work and clean up." said Filch.
The man sat down in the sofa with his teacup and was soon joined by his dear cat, he took a sip and sighed, wishing the brats would leave soon. "I'm the one being punished..." he grumbled.
In contrast, Lottie was sitting on a stool, swinging her legs while happily enjoying her tea, watching Margaret scourgify an hour worth of painting messes in a single wave of her wand.
"Shoulda told her to not use magic..." thought Filch, annoyed.
"Isn't that a fourth year charm?!" exclaimed the Ravenclaw, jumping off her stool.
"Is it?" asked Margaret bluntly "My father taught me soon after my Magic Awakened."
"It is!" cheered the girl "Also, I love the flower in your hair!"
"Mhm." she turned towards the sour caretaker "Can we go, now?"
"Get out of my sight." he hissed, slowly.

"I think he enjoyed himself. He needs to be more honest." said the Gryffindor "Not that I could tell, it must be my imagination..."
"I agree, I think I caught him smiling a little when he thought no one was looking." smiled Lottie.
"Hm. Another Hogwarts Mystery. Good night."
The girl could barely make sense of the answer that a black and white gust rushed past her in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower.

Slumping down in her bed, Margaret closed the curtains and stared at the parchment: putting her thoughts and feelings into words was so much harder than the kind of writing she was used to; she had no references to mimick, she didn't know how to start, she couldn't remember which words to use...
As if in a trance she started writing, inexorably she filled the parchment with mushy and self-deprecating prose, while profusely thanking her friend for still remembering her, telling her she of all people didn't deserve it, wondering why her and not one of her many (better) friends.

Margaret felt an overwhelming feeling of disgust, of hatred as she wrote, as if a dry ball blocked her throat, her hands tingled with Ancient Magic as her frantic heartbeat filled her ears, she remembered the smells and sounds of the Killing Curse.
"It would be such a satisfying way to get rid of this abomination I dared to write..." she thought, glaring at the two pages of shoddy handrwriting.

Tears welled up in her eyes, she had to do it, if she didn't care about her friend it wouldn't hurt this much, she had so many questions, so many she didn't want answered, she didn't want her friend to become a ghost, even if it meant she could see her again.
Utterly dissatisfied, feeling like she didn't say half of what she wanted she placed the letters on the bed's ceiling, where only she and a ghost could read them, while slowly dozing off, feeling intense relief after unburdening her heart, a little voice in the back of her mind whispering that she whould have to do it again tomorrow, for real this time.

Tossing and turning, Margaret struggled to find relief in dreamland, so many things she still wanted to write but couldn't, all the while dreading having a visitor in this state. Many times over the night she fell asleep and woke up, the note stuck on the ceiling taunting her, as if it had trapped her here, until finally she felt comfortable and unreasonably tired.
"Those sheets... I'm home..." she thought, still dazed, as she clutched her pillow, well intent on going back to sleep despite the light seeping through the curtains.
Enjoying the temporary mental respite she almost frolicked around the dormitories, enjoying the feeling of the wooden floor, diving head first in Margot's fur and giggling, walking down the stairs of the common room illuminated by the beautiful stained glass windows.

Too late for her morning routine, Margaret briskly walked towards the Potions classroom, she couldn't get used to how cold or smelly it was but she enjoyed the lesson.
Scanning the room, she felt disappointed when she noticed her friend was skipping class again, which reminded her that she had another letter to write, a much more real one.
Unable to focus on the lesson, the girl had to rely on the notes on the blackboard to complete the asignment, prompting her to have to walk around the class more than she'd have liked.
Having inspected her Draught of Peace, Professor Sharp smiled warmly "A welcome surprise, you seemed distracted, I expected you to fail."
"Mhm."
"Would you like to see me after class? In my office." He wasn't really asking.
BOOM Margaret jumped.
"Mister Stephald, I said Draught of Peace not Erumpent Potion!" said the man, rushing towards the other end of the room.

Absent-mindedly scribbling notes, Margaret waited for the students to exit the class, sighing more often than she realized.
"Margaret?" beckoned the professor.
She nodded.
Taking a seat quietly, she looked around the office, waiting for the man to talk.
"You seemed unusually distracted today, is something troubling you?"
"No, sir. Sorry."
"There's no need to apologize, Hogwarts is a place of growth, and sometimes it can be painful, do not hesitate to rely on others, including your teachers."
"I will, sir."
Professor Sharp chuckled, feeling like he was talking to a wall. "Something I learned while being an Auror, is that you shouldn't face your problems alone, heed my warning."
"I will, sir."
The man clicked his tongue involuntarily.

"There was something else. Perhaps you could enlighten me, there seems to be... Activity in the potions storeroom; as if ingredients were used and replaced. Of course I'm not one to discourage extracurricullar pursuits but, if you were the one responsible for it, I would prefer if you made it more... Formal."
She didn't answer.
"Hm... Perhaps you would be more comfortable sharing your troubles wwith Professor Hecat?"
"I'm fine, professor." she looked for something in her bag.
"Thank you for your concern." she produced a bottle — obviously liquor "I noticed you enjoy drinking."
Taken aback, he "confiscated" the drink. "Margaret..!"
"Please taste it first." She chuckled.
Intrigued, he uncorked the bottle and poured himself a drink, he closely inspected the glass, sniffed it and downed it.
"I didn't take anything from the potions storage."
"This is... This isn't alcohol is it?" asked Professor Sharp.
"I loathe alcohol. Indeed it isn't." she answered, attempting to stand up to leave.
"...Elixir to Induce Euphoria?"
She nodded, sitting back down. "And Pepperup Potion. Both diluted and in minute quantities."
"Fascinating." The man laughed.
"My aunt in Louisiana came up with the recipe... Of the potion, this is... Peket." she stood up again.
"It appears I won't have to punish you for smuggling alcohol on school grounds." he chuckled.
"Have a nice day, thank you professor." she curtsied.

Having only left the room, Margaret found herself facing Professor Fig, he welcomed her with a wide smile.
"Ah Margaret, just who I was looking for!"
"Please let it END." sighed the girl, internally.
"Hello." she answered.
"Aesop, could I use your classroom for a quick chat?" he asked, the man answered with a nod while enjoying another glass.
"Well, I hope the trip home was pleasant!" smiled Professor Fig.
"Mhm."
"I went ahead and found a few clues regarding... You know what, now I insist you keep up with your studies, but, whenever you have the opportunity I would like you to accompany me." the man seem excited.
"Interesting. Sorry... For the misunderstanding." she answered.
"Have you found anything? Experienced anything unusual?"
She didn't know whether it would be wise to tell him about the second Hogwarts, she wasn't yet sure whether it was her doing or her father's.
"I... Practiced, played around..." she said, avoiding looking at him.
"Mhm?" he inquired playfully.
Pointing at her open hand with her wand she focused, bright opalescent sparkles quickly converged in the shape of an apple.
"Conjured food?! Fascinating!" he exclaimed, a little louder than he expected. "Tell me more..!" he half-whispered.
"It's...Exhausting. At first I couldn't get the taste or consistency right... I heard some students did... Dirty things to the fruits, I was angry, disgusted and wished really hard to have my own clean snacks... Thinking about the taste, shape and colour... Ah go ahead, taste it." she explained.
Professor Fig grabbed the fruit and took a generous bite, enjoying the juicy sweet and tart taste.
"It's... Like transfiguration, if the... Mental image is wrong it will come up wrong, and instead I have to wish it out of thin air... I can only do apples, for now. Sorry if you craved figs." she said, chuckling.
"Groundbreaking." said Professor Fig, baffled and laughing, perhaps nervously.
"Goodbye." curtsied Margaret.
The man nodded, enjoying the fruit and chuckling.

Finally out of the castle, Margaret sighed, exhausted; she didn't want to see any more people today, her ears were buzzing, her eyes and head hurt and she felt her limbs aching to exercise despite her fatigue.
"...Could the magic run wild and do things because I wished for them..?" she felt the telltale balls of stress in her lower back: what if the magic obeyed her heart, not her head, what kind of calamity could she turn into.
"I already am a calamity though..." she thought, thinking about her family, her "friends"...
"Not friends, friend."
Approaching the lake, she cracked her knuckles nervously.
"Not even friend. Acquaintance... Classmate..."

Staring at the empty pier, Margaret undressed, sat down and dipped her feet while rubbing her eyes, lost in thought.
"What if there were people here... But I wished them away..?"
The cry of a flying thestral interrupted her thoughts, attracting her gaze and making her smile uncontrollably.
"I want to hug it..."
Feeling more comfortable in the cold water, she jumped in the lake, well intent on washing away her worries.
She couldn't; the previous letter's faults, things she forgot to say, things she wished she hadn't written, her mind kept feeding her sentences and ideas, reminding her of things...
Following her underwater dance, a kelpie playfully spiraled around her.
It would be different this time; it didn't matter to her which kind of time-travel shenanigan based rules would apply to her actions: she would do her best, try her hardest, for her friend's sake, for her smile.
Emerging from the waterr, she noticed Sebastian dipping his feet on the pier; he waved at her.

"I saw your things, I thought I'd keep my eye on them, just in case." he said, looking at the horizon.
"As if anyone would care." she thought, rolling her eyes. "Thank you." she said as she sat down, dipping her feet again.
"What was that strange shape following you under the water?" asked Sebastian.
"A Kelpie, probably, there was one, I don't know if you're talking about something else..." answered Margaret.
"A Kelpie? What's that?"
"Are you not from here..? It's a... Sea horse. Wait..." she produced a piece of meat from her bag.
"A seahorse? In a lake? You're pulling my leg again aren't you?" he said, before looking at her "Are you going to eat raw meat..?"
"It's for the Kelpie, silly." she chuckled.
A large green shape, looking like a hoarse mass of kelp emerged from the water a carefully approached the pier.
"Oh, a sea horse, not a seahorse." laughed Sebastian.
"It would have been quite specimen if it was a kelpie sized seahorse; in a lake no less." she threw the piece of meat to the creature.
"What do they eat..? I know, meat but..."
"People." interrupted Margaret.
"And you just let it circle you?"
"...Part of me doesn't care, the other would like to see it try." she answered bluntly.
"I bet..." the boy remembered the melted statue
"No... I would never hurt an animal, look at him... Her..?" she giggled.

Sebastian smiled, for the first time it hit him that she was a girl his age, with a heart and feelings, that maybe she enjoyed frilly dresses and ballet.
"Woah! My feet!" yelled Sebastian, panicked.
"Oh! It's a Plimpyyy..." gushed Margaret, beckoning the creature with her hand.
"I thought that monster wanted dessert..."
"You're the monster."
"Why was it nibbling at my feet anyway, why not yours?" he glared as the girl fed little bits of kelp to the round fish.
"Because my feet are clean."
"Sure, just call me a Ravenclaw." he scoffed.
Sebastian couldn't look away, the statue was smiling at a weird round fish; he didn't even know it could smile...
"S-speaking of Ravenclaw... I-I think I might have a thing for one..."
"Why are you telling me?" answered Margaret bluntly.
"I don't know, you're a girl."
"I'm aware."
"Why? Are you jealous?" he teased.
"Don't be silly. You know I'll Obliviate you as soon as I've saved Anne." chuckled the girl before standing up.
Sebastian laughed nervously, unsure whether it was her deadpan humour or not, and a little uncomfortable for expecting her to ruffle his hair or pinch his cheeks.
"You look funny when you're blushing." teased Margaret before leaving.

Walking back to her room, the Gryffindor wondered how she could have met her friend, seeing how far apart their common rooms are; she didn't even have to be careful to not bump into her before her letter was written.
The room was thankfully empty, save for Margot, comfortable on the couch; Margaret grabbed parchment and her quill before staring at the paper for a while.

She wanted to tell her how much she meant to her, how understood she felt, how much she enjoyed their silly jokes, her stories and anecdotes, how knowledgeable she was, how despite feeling like she didn't deserve her friendship she cherished it dearly; how confused she was for feeling so much after such a short time.
She told her everything, the first time meeting at Koldovstoretz, the Ancient Magic, the second castle, the ghost; she told her how utterly inappropriate and disarmed she felt, how much she enjoyed being silly together, she wanted her to come over for the summer, to teach her how to cast a Patronus, to have her teach her how to become an Animagus; she apologized profusely, for "everything" she did wrong, for being such a strange girl.

Hands shaking, she glared at the letter, the urge to destroy it rising again; she placed the Geminio'd picture and the letter in an envelope and attached it to a box of chocolates.

Carrying the "gift", Margaret slowly walked towards the kitchen, keeping her eyes open for small brown rodents.
The girl was nowhere to be found, but it didn't matter to the Gryffindor (yet), she enjoyed strolling through her home castle, she felt at ease.
It wasn't until after curfew that she found a small frail figure in a potion storeroom: hunched over, wheezing and holding a book on wandlore, her Hufflepuff friend stared at her with her big eyes, like an owl, as if she hadn't seen her in months.
Margaret had played and replayed this scene through her head many times during the evening, she expected to drop her package and bolt away.

She instead stood there, paralyzed, feeling tears welling up in her eyes, watching as her friend read the letter, looking at the picture, showing an equally rare smile.
She thought she would hate her.
What a silly witch.