Till Forever Falls Apart

Chapter Eight: Make It Home

December 6, 1991

It had all started with Flitwick's Charm class.

    "I think this is an opportunity a few of you will be excited for," Flitwick tapped his wand to the chalkboard as he made his announcement. Val stopped her conversation with Anthony (much to his annoyance) and turned to face their Charms professor.

    "One student from each year will have the opportunity to meet Miranda Goshawk, and ask her anything they would like. That student can take notes, and use them on their final exams."

    A unanimous gasp rippled through the classroom, whispering as each student claimed that they would be the one chosen.

    "Who's that?" Anthony asked. Val looked at him as though he had lost his mind.

    "She's the one who wrote every single spellbook we're going to read! Can you imagine getting to be in her presence? She created, like, half of the useful ones I haven't quite figured out how to do yet."

    Anthony rested his chin back on the desk, clearly bored.

    "Isn't she old?"

    "Doesn't matter!" Val shoved him playfully. "I would do anything to meet her. Anything."

    "The student chosen from each year will be decided by a written test," Flitwick continued. "Whichever student in their year can answer the most questions about each charm-yes, each and every charm, Carmichael-will be able to meet her. So I suggest," Flitwick looked over his small glasses and glanced directly at Val. "That you get to work."

    And Val most certainly did.

    Val knew with no doubt that she was a fast reader and that her fathers had done exceedingly well in school, and for that, she was thankful that she inherited their quick minds. She tore through the textbook of each year of schooling, feverishly taking notes with her quill almost every night until her hand was too sore for her to go on any longer.

Then she foolishly remembered the pen her Aunt Mary had given her, and her note-taking sessions spread long into the night.

    Harry thought she was going crazy. "It's not that big of a deal," he said as they walked to class together. "She's only an author."

    "She is not just 'some author' Harry!" She said, frustrated at her friend's lack of understanding. "She's the author!"

    "Well, if I really wanted to, I would try," Harry shrugged, holding open the door for her as they entered the History of Magic classroom. "Because Hermione is very determined to be the kid in our year that gets to meet her."

    Val stopped dead in her tracks, whipping around to face Harry.

    "Hermione?"

    Harry raised both his hands to show his innocence. "That's only what she told me."

    And from that point on, Val studied day and night.

    She buried her head in all seven years of reading, revising her notes, and scribbling parts out she felt were unnecessary. Her notes were almost unreadable, ink splattered across the paper, and scratches she supposed were her writing, but her neat cursive wasn't even words anymore. She had begun to lose at least three hours of sleep every night, using her wand as a source of light as she read farther every night, her roommates complaining, ordering her to get rest.

    "You look terrible," Ron said one day as she walked into Defense Against the Dark Arts and laid against the desk, fully ready to fall into a deep sleep.