The Stirring

8. Síoga

Róisín wrung her hands together. She was in Dumbledore's office for the first time. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she waited for the headmaster to appear. Various glinting instruments whirled and vibrated from every surface in the room. The quiet was decorated by their soft clicking and purring, as if they were curious woodland creatures chattering about the intruder. Life-like oil paintings of stern wizards hung on any inch of wall that was not covered by a bookcase or cabinet holding strange artefacts.

"Good evening, Miss Feral"

The headmaster arrived from the corner of her eye, his long snowy beard bouncing against his knees as he approached her.

"Please"

He gestured to a chair in front of his imposing, and somewhat cluttered, desk. Its golden clawed feet flexed and gripped the ground, as if strained by their burden. Róisín sat and greeted him with an awkward nod. The previous headmasters scrutinized her from inside ornate, golden frames. The brush strokes describing them flickered as they shifted in their seats to get a better view.

Dumbledore regarded her from beneath bushy eyebrows that reached inches away as if trying to escape his face. The apparent hesitation from the normally eloquent professor was unsettling.

Just as Róisín opened her mouth to interrupt the uncomfortable silence, the fireplace roared. She looked around to see Professor Snape step out of the luminous green flames. He walked across the room and deposited a hefty tome in front of her with a thud. Its title read, "Enchanted Life - A Classification of Magical Beings" in spiky cursive. The edges of its pages did not line up as if it had been bound by hand.

"Miss Feral, I understand you have been having some unusual problems this year," Dumbledore stated.

Róisín fidgeted in her seat. Snape stood at the window with his back to them, silhouetted against the shapes of the castle glazed with moonlight.

"I suppose I have," Róisín replied.

"I believe Professor Snape may have found the cause of your problems." Róisín's eyes flicked back to Snape. "He suspects you are a sióg."

The hard front-cover of the book hit the desk as its pages flew open, causing Róisín's hair to flick backwards. It landed open on a page with a scratchy animated sketch of a girl strolling through a meadow, the foxgloves around her blooming as she brushed past them. The drawing was in grey pencil except for bursts of colour in the flowers. At the top of the page was written "Sióga".

Snape turned around.

"Headmaster, I don't think my presence at this meeting is necessary-"

"-Your insight is always valuable, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted.

It was the first time Róisín had heard Snape addressed by his given name. She saw a ripple of irritation darken his features. He murmured,

"Muffliato magna"

Róisín felt as though he had plunged her head into a beehive. Her ears were filled with a loud, incessant buzzing. She watched Snape's pale lips move rapidly as he spoke to the headmaster, as if his normal slow drawl was for the benefit of his dim-witted students. Dumbledore replied stiffly, his expression stern. It was as if both of their personas were discarded during the tense exchange. Róisín felt perturbed. Then the incantation was lifted.

"Read"

Snape's brusque order made Róisín flinch. She reached out a trembling hand to pull the book closer. Out of habit, she rubbed her fingers of one hand together to light a candle beside the book, to see better in the dim light. Instantly, flames shot like whips towards the ceiling from all the candles in the office, illuminating the room like daylight for a second. Then the flames died, leaving the room dark.