The Theory of Magic (Book 1)

15 // Trolls & Victorian Ladies

Hogwarts looked magnificent in the sunrise.

The first nip of the coming winter's frost shone upon the ramparts and on the high, steep roofs, the towers brilliant, the surrounding lake aglow like liquid mercury poured by a heavenly god's hand. Fi paused in her trek to admire it, her breath issuing forth in white plumes. Her braid swayed toward her waist, fine wisps of black hair tangled about her ears and over part of her brow.

Beautiful the sight may be, but Fi was rather irked to be seeing it in such a manner. She had spent much of the night in ritual and had only caught a quick nap on a bed of clover before being forced to clamor back down the mountain. Once beyond the wards, she Apparated to the Hog's Head, intending to use the Floo to return to the staffroom, than her own office—only to find the Floo blocked.

"Bloody inconsiderate," Fi muttered under her breath as she walked the breadth of the idyllic wizarding village, her feet sore with new blisters and her legs aching with exertion. The walk from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts was a considerable one, which was why carriages were utilized when students arrived at the station in the beginning of the year. "Won't even have time for a bath at this rate, will have to go to class smelling of smoke and mud and salt."

"Please, do the world a service and bathe, Delphinia."

"You don't even have a nose, Ever."

"I don't require one. You simply look smelly."

"Thank you, High Witch," Fi growled. The castle gates swung open on their own accord as Fi crossed onto the grounds. It reminded her of her first time coming to the school, following Filch along like a misbehaving pup, though the weather was a touch gloomier now, a palpable residue of decay clinging to the Forest's edges. The Kiss of Death, Ever would have called it—had she not been in such a rotten mood from being jostled for hours.

Fi came into the entrance hall and exhaled, relieved, then frowned when the creaking of the doors echoed into the silence. Naturally it was quite early, but the hedge witch had become accustomed to the bustling of early-risers, the scuffle of shod feet on the tricky stairs, the murmur of voices speaking around yawns, the sharp tone of Snape in the staffroom replying to whomever dared enter with the dawn.

I swear he never sleeps.

As if summoned by the mere thought of him, a shadow swept from one of the dungeons' lower corridors and the Potions Master bore down upon Fi, his upper lip curled and his eyes wide in a vision of frank anger she hadn't seen him wear before. Fi took a step back before she could think better of it.

"Ah, so you've returned," he commented, voice cold and smooth as the water of the mountain springs. Beneath the frigidity, however, Fi could hear the undeniable shiver of an emotion far more volatile than the one he displayed. "Dullahan deems us worthy of her presence again. Where were you last night?"

She blinked. His eyes went to Ever tucked under Fi's arm and narrowed. "Not that it's any of your business, Professor Snape, but I was with my family. I had permission from the Headmaster to leave school grounds."

Her words did nothing to adjust the man's mood, and she surmised he had already heard this from Dumbledore himself. Who spit in his cauldron? Why is he so upset?

"Yes, how convenient. The perfect time for your...excursion. Did you know about the mountain troll, or was that a serendipitous addition on your co-conspirator's behalf?"

"Who? What are you talking about?" Fi's brow lowered and, as she adjusted Ever, her body froze. "Did—did you just say troll? What troll?"

"The troll that managed to find its way into the castle." Snape's sneer was unkind. "Quite the coincidence, isn't it?"