40 Insecurity

'I'll catch up,' I write to Anne, who looks like they're prepared to wait for me the whole night.

"Ok," Anne responds in uncertainty as she walks away slowly, hoping I'll be able to join back up before she gets to the door.

'Yes, Madam Hooch?' I ask, already guessing why she held me back after class.

"Your progress has been slow, I insist on Remedial Flying. Meet me in the courtyard after class on Tuesdays," Madam Hooch's words bring a punch to my gut even though I expected it. I struggle to get her attention as she starts to walk off.

'I can't do Tuesday,' Writing my response, I sped in front of her to show her. My words hang in the still air as a stray gust of wind trots across the field.

"Why not?" she asks, ready to give a lecture but also showing a hint of confusion.

'I already have a Remedial lesson that day,' I explain, her scowl falling to concern and pity.

"Well…" My words penetrate the drill sergeant as shock radiates from the blow. Even with the shock painting her, the terrible expression of pity still held. I'm a wreck of a flyer, how can it be that shocking that I'm failing other classes? Well, Remedial Potions is just a cover but still.

"What days are you not meeting a teacher after school?" My jaw clenches at her concerned tone. Let's see, on Mondays, I'm meeting with Professor Babbling to go over Magic Theory, Tuesday's are typically Wandless Spellcraft lessons, and Friday's are "Remedial Potions".

'I don't have anything on Thursday's,' I answer, remembering Astronomy lessons on Wednesdays.

"You know I can, um…" The warrior woman, once vibrating with confidence, before me has shifted to that of a teenage boy asking his crush on a date, "If it would be better I could talk Dumbledore into dropping the Flying requirement for you," My fist clenches at her words, oozing with pity, as she looks down at me.

Holding back to the temptation to just run, I try to answer as neatly as possible, 'No thank you, but I appreciate the gesture.'

Not wanting her to insist, I leave as quickly as socially possible. Why do people always pity the small one? The one who can't speak? The one who's a few inches to a Squib? I'd prefer anything over being pitied. Most of the students have been fouled by my mask so why can't adults? My mind continues its barrage of attacks as I get back on a pathway and into the building.

By now the hallways are barren, with only my thoughts to echo through the rafters. I'm failing, I'm actually failing a class. I'm meeting with teachers after classes most nights, but this is different. Why can't I get this flying thing down! I'm managing to maintain concentration while absorbing and feeding the broom, so why won't it listen to me?

On the topic of my failures, Why won't my mouth keep shut? I've gotten good at that, spending my whole life doing that, so then why can't I hold back when trying to do nonverbal spellcraft? Reaching up to open the door to the Great Hall, the pain hits me.

An excruciating pain crawling simultaneously on and in my skin. The chill of frostbite and the soldering heat of fire force its way into me in an instant. My death flashes before my eyes as the pain of every prick, pinch, stab and spell that has ever hit me at once. NO! I use every minuscule of strength I can gather to force the pain back. And, just as quickly as it came, it goes; a sleeping dragon lumbering in my body.

Thank Merlin that it was a short one, I think as I reach up to the handle again, only to hesitate. It's not like I really need to be there. All my stuff is in the potion room anyway. What good would sitting there and waiting for it to be over will do?

Taking a step back, I descend the stairs. Recently, Sectumsempra has been acting up a lot more. I asked Madam Pomfrey and she seems to think it might have to do with how the movement of Mana aggravates it.

Getting to the Dungeon stairs, I realize something. Anne was worried about me when I stayed behind. Slightly stepping out the main doors of Hogwarts, I reach into a pocket and pull out a simple wooden whistle. blowing it twice, I take out my pocket watch and calculate the distance from here to the Owlery. Now that I'm no longer on deathwatch (Yay!) They replaced that button for an owl whistle.

Surprise pokes its head out as I look up to see Serg swooping down to me. His eyes contrast the dusk sky as he stares at me. Challenge in his eyes, I use a bit of twine to keep the rolled-up note closed. Throwing it up in the air, delighted hoots beam from above as he catches it.

Anne,

Everything went fine with Madam Hooch, so don't spend your dinner worrying about it! I did however decide to skip dinner to study in the Potions room while I wait for Snape. Because I'll be in the Dungeons you won't be able to respond. Also, if anyone asks, I'm not abusing the owl whistle to pass notes. Shhhh!

From, Catl- I mean, your mother.

Chuckling from the memory of the note, I resume my journey to the Potion's room. Blowing on it once, Serg will get the attention of the nearest professor and take them to me. Blowing it twice will simply have Serg come to me. Darkness engulfs me as I continue to thank how tame that attack was and enter the Dungeons. I've missed four separate days of class because I couldn't get out of bed.

My vampiric hunger has been getting worse too. Some days I've missed a class or a meal because I can't handle walking in and not getting overwhelmed by my thirst to rip their throats out.

The weight of feeling like a failure on all fronts hangs over me as I get to the Potion's room. Looking around, the unusual emptiness of the room unnerves me as I remember where Snape put my sack of a bag.

Using a chair and the countertop, I'm barely able to reach the cupboard. Hopping down and placing the chair back, I make a mental note to remind Snape of my height. How can you forget that? Setting aside Snape's unusual obtuseness, I lay my bag on a random table. Moving a chair into the middle of the room, I grab the largest animal I can find, a toad, and set it on the chair.

Unholstering my wand, I visualize the spell. Think about how it looks, the feeling its Mana gives off, the wand movement, "Stupify!"

***

"Why weren't you at dinner today?" Snape asks, skipping pleasantries, from the door of the Potion's room.

'I had some stuff I wanted to work on,' I respond, closing "The Lost Art of Potion Making and Why". After I practiced the Stunning Spell, I wrote some notes on potential potion ingredients and some notes on Mana, 'The prototype should be ready, right.'

"It should be just about," Snape responds, letting go of whatever comment he was about to make as he came to the center of the room. Following his lead, we both crowd around the cauldron bubbling in the moonlight.

"Is there Mana in there?" Snape asks, prompting me to open myself up to Mana. The potion felt normal for a potion. The Mana of each potion typically points me in the direction of its effects if I focus hard enough. This potion feels similar to the feeling of the moon, but also empty. As if it wouldn't have an effect or wouldn't be as effective.

'Yes, but it also feels very similar to the moon,' I write as Snape scoops some of it out with a flask.

"The whole theory of a Mana Potion is to have it absorb and condense Mana, and then have no effect to just push the Mana into you. The moon's properties should condense the Mana. Flobberworm mucus will help hold the Mana. The Griffin Claw should strengthen that," Snape lectures, telling me everything I already know, as he passes me a cloudy white liquid splashing around the small tube.

Taking a moment, I mentally prepare myself. Downing the liquid, its chalky flavor slides down my throat and into my stomach. Closing my eyes, I focus on it within my body. As it settles the Mana flairs out, flowing through every inch of me. If it worked as we wanted it to, it would have gone to my soul and acted as my Mana beads. Opening my eyes, I look at Snape in disappointment only to see his eyebrows raised.

As I look down to ask him why, my question is answered. My skin, pale as the moon, gained another property of the moon, its glow.