53 CH53 - Irreparable

Calm.

Edmund's mind was an impregnable fortress of calm suspended in an endless abyss of darkness. However, the feeling of timeless serenity it exuded was abruptly shattered by several agonizing lances of pure energy attacking it from various angles.

Some were unfathomably large, comparable to the size of the moon if Edmund was the earth. Others were tiny, needlelike in both their dimensions and surprisingly penetrative capabilities. Faced with the sudden challenge, the ball of light symbolizing Edmund's brain instinctively glowed brighter, disintegrating its would-be assailants instantly.

With the mental battle over, Edmund was yanked back into the physical world. He winced preemptively, knowing a lecture was about to come his way.

As expected, Elspeth snorted disdainfully. To her credit, even as she ground her teeth in frustration, she gave no other indication of the excruciating pain he knew she must have suffered from his actions.

"I don't know how you can so easily summon the sheer amount of magic necessary to bulldoze through a legilimency attack the way you just did," she began, after a few seconds to gather her wits.

Edmund tensed.

'Oh, it was no biggie... Just a set of rituals personally designed by some of the greatest magicians to have ever walked the earth,' he thought to himself sarcastically.

He was under no obligation to explain anything to Elspeth, but he was wary of his unresponsiveness ruining the growing friendship between the two.

Her following words, however, dissipated his internal tension immediately.

"Frankly, I don't care," she dismissed. "I may not have the power necessary to defend against that sort of brute force. But practitioners at the level you are looking to defend yourself against most definitely will."

Elspeth looked at him pointedly before forging onward.

"Your natural talents will only take you so far," she grinned suggestively as she mocked him. "It's what you do with what you have that matters."

Edmund sighed, ignoring Elspeth's crass innuendo expertly—a skill he had picked up quickly from his time with her.

"Hmm? What, no reaction? Little firstie's all grown up, huh?" she pouted, upset about her inability to get a rise from him. "Let me have some fun! I can't exactly transfigure you into a puppy, now can I? I have to make do with what I have, just like you!"

Edmund grimaced.

It was his turn to be annoyed as his thoughts turned to the now infamous seventh-year transfiguration class he had participated in.

The whispers in the hallways were inconsequential to him, as were the second glances from some of the older girls when they caught sight of him on the grounds.

Even the ribbing from his friends was bearable, something he was long accustomed to.

What was not tolerable, however, were the photos of a four-legged Edmund that now sat framed within McGonagall's office. Apparently, a camera "just happened" to be there that day, a blatant lie McGonagall had not even attempted to obfuscate.

The first moving image captured him dashing behind the professor's legs for safety; his ears adorned with scrunchies and butterfly hair clips courtesy of the more enthusiastic schoolgirls. Another one, which Edmund would deny to his dying breath did not make him go fuzzy inside, featured him licking the older woman's hand as she scratched him under the chin with a tender smile on her face.

Edmund's only saving grace was that the images were well camouflaged, nestled among hundreds of others that the deputy headmistress had collected and hung up over the years.

The earliest ones were of McGonagall's own school years, including her receiving her Hogwarts diploma from a weathered-looking Armando Dippet. It was striking how similar yet different the girl from those pictures looked to the woman he knew now.

Slowly, the frames showed her growing older, aging more gracefully than any muggle could hope. There were snaps of her teaching, having tea with Dumbledore, and smiling alongside students and their children. There was even a photograph of her holding baby Harry, cradling him gently in her arms.

A beautiful collage of the course of her equally illustrious life.

A stinging hex impacted him on the thigh, at the exact point that Elspeth always targeted him.

He could evade the hit, but that would only bring him more significant ire from his unwilling tutor. By now, Edmund was sure that the specific area on his quadriceps had begun to necrose from the prolonged abuse.

He settled with glaring at Elspeth instead, huffing out his displeasure.

"Focus!" she reprimanded uncaringly. "Subtlety has its place in legilimency as well! You cannot sustain such a concentration of magic in your brain 24/7! I will not have you falling prey to insidious means of invasion because of negligence! Not on my watch!"

Edmund nodded resolutely.

"Again!" he demanded for what must have been the millionth time during one of their sessions.

*-*-*-*

- (Scene Break) -

*-*-*-*

Elspeth leaned back with a jolt, blood dripping from her mouth due to her accidentally biting her tongue.

For once, Edmund had managed to keep her stronger attacks at bay while following them back to their origin. Seizing the opportunity, he had struck decisively, clinically implementing his legilimency like a scalpel in her vulnerable state. Of course, with Elspeth's talents, he had not made it far before he was violently ejected.

Still, he had caught a glimpse of what made Elspeth... well, Elspeth.

"Kitty got claws!" she rasped with a cackle, clutching her head all the while.

"Are you alright?" Edmund asked with concern in lieu of answering her.

Elspeth grinned, licking up the blood from the corner of her mouth. "That's normally my question for you. Don't worry about me. You're finally getting good enough to give me a challenge. I'm not going to stop now that I'm getting something out of this as well."

Edmund hesitated. "That's not what I was talking about."

The room was silent save for the sound of the pads of Elspeth's fingers massaging her temples.

"You don't have to talk about it," Edmund hurried to add. "You don't push me about anything you find out. You deserve the same from me."

She shrugged in response. "There's not much to say."

Taking the opening for what it was, Edmund dipped his head, showing his attention.

"I don't know what you saw, but everything is alright, ok? My mum loves me, and I love her," Elspeth prefaced sternly. "I don't doubt that, and neither should you, got it?"

Edmund raised his hands in the air in surrender.

"But..." she hedged.

"But?" he asked.

"It's hard to talk to her sometimes about what's wrong, you know?" Elspeth admitted.

"Why? Does the conversation never come up?" he questioned curiously.

Elspeth clicked her tongue. "The discussion comes up too much. Except, it's less of a dialogue and more of a checklist for her. Like 'Elspeth, you've made your bed, right?' or 'Elspeth, you're doing well in school, right?' or 'Elspeth, you've got some friends you can trust, right?' It's just one of the tens of questions like that."

"And that's an issue?" Edmund asked.

"She doesn't want to hear the truth. She doesn't want to hear that I'm actually struggling. Or that I'm unhappy, lonely, or depressed. The only words she wants to hear are yes, yes, and yes," she said sadly. "Even before she finishes the question, it feels like she's just waiting for me to reply with an affirmative so she can move on with her day."

"For her, it's less about checking up on you and more about reassuring herself that things are alright," he summarized.

"Yes!" Elspeth exclaimed. "That's exactly what it is! And I get it! Mum already had it so hard; she just wants everything to work out without a hitch now! But it's like she's trying to convince herself that there's nothing to worry about every time we interact."

"And it's not like I haven't tried telling her," she continued bitterly. "But as soon as I start talking, she just starts searching for an answer to the 'problem.' But there's no solution to the kind of bigotry we experience. There's no trick she can teach to stop me from being miserable."

"She wants to be able to fix whatever's wrong," Edmund deduced.

Elspeth nodded. "I don't need her to 'fix' me, though. I just want her to say 'that sucks' when I tell her something that happened to me, or to be there as a shoulder to cry on when I need it. Is that too much to ask?"

"No," he said simply.

"Maybe it's harsh, but why didn't she or dad notice when I was under Felix Rosier's thrall? Looking back on it, I was a complete mess when I returned home after first year. I wasn't eating, I wasn't sleeping, I wasn't talking. I was barely alive. And nothing. They only asked once, 'is everything alright?' and that was that," she explained.

Edmund said nothing, for there was nothing he could say to that.

"God, look at me," Elspeth scolded herself as she wiped away the moisture that had begun to gather at the corners of her eyes. "I'm pathetic, aren't I? Ranting away to you, of all people, about how my parents treat me instead of being grateful. I sound like a bitch."

He half-smiled consolingly. "You can be thankful for what you have and recognize that it's not perfect at the same time. That's no crime."

Elspeth gave a watery smile back to him before her face twisted into a mask of determination. "You're right. Let's do it then."

Edmund looked at her quizzically.

"A contract," Elspeth clarified. "I'm ready to sign one. I'm sick of existing like this, always feeling disjointed and incomplete. The solution isn't perfect, but it'll do."

In a rush, Edmund checked his defences for any gaps Elspeth might have slipped through.

"Relax, kid," she laughed. "I'm not in your head. I just know what kind of person you are. Or was I wrong?"

He shook his head ruefully before rummaging inside his expanded satchel. Elspeth may have only mentioned the possibility of a contract offhandedly, but she was correct that Edmund liked to be prepared for anything. From its depths, he retrieved a hefty scroll, its parchment wrapped around itself tens of times because of its length.

Unfurling it slowly, Elspeth began to read, taking in the words diligently.

"What's with the lack of faith? I thought you knew what kind of person I was," Edmund teased.

"Kid, I trust no one in the world enough to sign a magically binding contract without reading it first," she retorted without heat. "I don't think I'm alone in that either."

Edmund only smirked in response. 'She's not wrong.'