Chapter 159: Petals in the Wind (2)

Catherine skipped lunch on Thursday. Her stomach still growled with hunger, but the sight of Sirius alternating between feeding Marianne and kissing her made the young witch feel sick. She excused herself, citing unfinished Ancient Runes homework, and retreated to an empty classroom, flipping through her textbook without much focus. Frustration welled up, much of it aimed at herself. There were far more important things in her life than Sirius' romantic escapades—which shouldn't have bothered her at all. Yet, she couldn't shake the irritation. Her thoughts drifted back to the conversation she'd had with her brother two days earlier, hidden away in the passage behind a mirror on the fourth floor.

"What's this place?" – the young witch asked, her eyes scanning the vast, empty hall. It was big enough to host a gathering of ten or more people, though now it echoed with only their footsteps..

"A secret passage." - Greg replied with a sly grin - "It leads to the Hogsmeade graveyard. You're not the only one who enjoys unearthing this castle's hidden corners."

The girl raised an eyebrow, a spark of curiosity in her gaze. "Handy for secret meetings, then." - she mused, still surveying their surroundings - "But, you did promise me some answers."

"I did." – the wizard nodded – "I take it you're asking about the unicorn?"

"Yup." – Catherine's lips curled into a smirk – "I find it hard to believe our family's newfound passion for improving wizarding schools."

Greg chuckled softly. "I know, right?. We had... other motives."

"What kind of motives?" – the girl asked with curiosity.

"Let's just say, we suspect a few of the major Houses have their eyes here. Spies, possibly. We wanted to test the waters."

The mention of spies made Catherine's brows knit in concern. Greg noticed immediately, offering a quick reassurance.

"They're watching me." - he said, voice softening - "Don't worry, it's part of the game. I'm the McMahon heir, after all. They have no reason to suspect you."

"But if that's the case, shouldn't we avoid being seen together?" – the young witch's voice betrayed a note of disappointment at the thought.

Greg felt a wave of tenderness as he saw her pout. "No." - he said, gently but firmly - "Acting differently would raise more suspicion. Besides, they're probably using students with ties to their Houses to keep an ear out. It's not that they're hunting for information, just... keeping aware in case something valuable slips."

"So what exactly are you testing with the unicorn?" – the girl asked, her scepticism still lingering.

The fifth-year glanced at her, his tone casual. "We've heard that Lauren Whiters has recently developed quite the interest in unicorns. There's no way he wouldn't jump at the chance to get his hands on a rope made from Veela hair. It was the perfect setup to see if House Whiters has active spies among us—and to offer the Marquise a favour he wouldn't refuse."

"House Whiters is known for their special connection to magical creatures, right?" - Catherine asked, trying to recall everything she'd ever learned about Larren Whiters and his family.

Greg nodded. "Exactly. They also used to be renowned for having the strongest Fire Mages. But now things have changed. The current Head of the House is a Water Mage, and his eldest son is an Earth Mage. It's a sore spot for them, no doubt."

"Why would that bother them?" - Catherine asked, memories of Whiters ancestors from her dreams flickering in her mind.

The boy smirked. "Because they've always prided themselves on their Fire Mages' raw power. Nothing compares to the sheer might of true fire. And now the current Marquise isn't even a Kraken-type Water Mage—he's a Siren. I don't know much about his son, but I'd bet it frustrates them not to hold the same dominance in magical strength they once did."

"Does it even matter? It's not like the Heads of the Houses are going to duel each other." - Catherine scoffed.

"But if they did—hypothetically—House Whiters would be in serious trouble." - Greg replied, his tone more thoughtful - "The seven Houses are supposed to be equals, but that depends heavily on each generation's strength. Right now, the strongest Elementalists are Dad, Adrian Borealis, and Raven O'Dargan, an Earth Mage. Duke Prince is also a Thunderbird-type Air Mage, but he's getting old, and I doubt he could take on Borealis in a fight. Of course, as the Head of the Council, he's protected by the first three Guardians, who only answer to him. That leaves Houses Redmond, Lovett, and Whiters at a disadvantage."

"And we're trying to capitalise on that." - the black-haired witch concluded, a spark of pride in her voice for her father and brother.

"You could say that." – the young wizard grinned - "Mom's already done a great job getting close to Whiters' wife. If we secure a strong alliance with them, maybe even offer them the backing of a Fire Mage, it could tip the scales in our favour. They'd be more likely to support us in the Council—especially when it comes to overlooking any... breaches of the Pact."

"Greg, if the Whiters have such extensive knowledge of magical beings and creatures, do you think they might know how to cure a werewolf?" - Catherine asked, her mind already considering how a future alliance could benefit her.

The boy raised an eyebrow, eyeing his sister curiously. "That's a strange question." - he remarked - "As far as I know, there's no cure for lycanthropy."

"I ask because a very reliable source mentioned that one of the major Houses might have found a way to cure it." – the young witch replied, her tone dignified, as though daring him to doubt her.

Greg blinked, clearly confused, but he knew better than to press her for more details. "Well, each House has its own unique talents and secrets. That's why we belong to those Houses after all. It could be the Whiters... but it could just as easily be someone else. Take House Lovett, for example— Paracelsus was one of their most prominent members. They've built their wealth through pharmaceuticals and magical remedies, and despite their greed, they've produced more Healers than any other House. Some of them were even pioneers in their field."

Catherine took a deep breath and snapped her book shut. A sharp pulse of pain throbbed in her temples. 'At the end of the day, despite learning more about the other Houses, I'm no closer to finding someone who can help Remus.' - she thought, her frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

The entire game of politics and secrets that the aristocrats played was wearing thin on her patience. She understood her family was doing everything they could to outmanoeuvre the Council, but it all felt maddeningly arbitrary, a tangle of hidden motives and uncertainties. Nothing solid to hold onto, nothing that brought her any closer to what she truly wanted.

'I should just burn them all.' – she thought sulkily, rubbing her temples in frustration. The bicorn horn she had swiped from Professor Slughorn was long gone, and without more Dreamless Sleep Potion, getting through the day was becoming nearly impossible.

Her exhaustion had worsened after healing Davey Gudgeon over the weekend. Using Ancient Magic in such a way always left her depleted, and this time had been no exception. While she was relieved her housemate was safe—Madame Pomfrey had confirmed he'd been on the verge of losing his eye—Catherine struggled to regain her strength. The toll was starting to show. Her spells were less accurate, her thoughts clouded and unfocused, and the constant headaches made it impossible to concentrate.

Tears poured down her face unexpectedly, offering a strange sense of relief. After weeks of being stretched to the breaking point, her body had finally surrendered, as she wept without a sound, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. She stared at the book she was browsing, its pages darkening with wet spots, her mind feeling distant, as though the exhaustion had dulled her to the point of numbness.

A shadow crossed the desk, causing Catherine to glance up. To her dismay, Severus Snape had arrived early. Their eyes met, and in that brief moment, she noted that he looked as tired and drained as she felt. The boy hesitated, clearly surprised to find her sitting there, tears silently streaming down her face.

Expecting the usual sharp comment, the black-haired girl steeled herself and waited—but nothing came. Instead, the Slytherin quietly took out his notebook and started reviewing, his usual snide behaviour replaced with an uncharacteristic silence.

Grateful for his unexpected restraint, Catherine wiped her face and followed his example, forcing herself to calm down before the rest of the students arrived. By the time Professor Oakenscript began the lesson, the Gryffindor had regained her composure and, oddly, felt better after the emotional release. It was a small comfort, especially considering the sheer volume of new material on tenses they had to cover.

As she finished scribbling her tenth page of notes, she heard a sharp mutter from Snape's side of the desk. He had somehow broken his quill, and judging by his expression, he didn't have a spare. His black eyes lingered on the unfinished sentence in frustration, another curse escaping under his breath.

Without thinking, Catherine rummaged through her bag and quietly placed an extra quill beside him. She didn't meet his gaze, but she could feel the weight of his stare, her face flushing unexpectedly. A few seconds passed, and then she heard the familiar sound of quill on parchment—the boy had swallowed his pride and resumed writing.

When class ended, Snape bolted from the room, leaving the quill behind. Catherine sighed, pocketing it before heading toward the Great Hall. After skipping lunch, she was starving.

'The more time I spend with this guy, the less I understand him.' – she shook her head, dismissing the thought. As the aroma of roasted potatoes and rosemary wafted through the air, her focus shifted entirely to her rumbling stomach.