Ten years after I began at Hogwarts, Sebastian Sallow is back. And he's Professor Sallow now. He disappeared after the fall of Ranrok and Rookwood, after I lost Professor Fig, and after Ominis and I couldn't keep him from losing himself. But I never...
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Both April and I are instinctively drawn towards the large, welcoming furniture. As I kick my shoes off, my overcoat and suit are replaced with a sweater and knit pants with a swish of my wand. At the edge of one of the large, wide sofas I drop back, letting my body fill the entirety of it. April smiles in a melancholy way at the sight.
"What?" I ask, propping myself up on my elbows.
She bites her lip as she pauses. With a hint of nostalgia she smiles as she says, "Ominis would always do that. Once he found the side of the sofa, he'd turn around and flop all the way back just like you did."
I feel a buzzing in my bones at the thought of a ghostly memory Ominis in this very spot. It feels somehow intimate. Too close of a connection to him that I'm not ready to face. The sour taste of shame bubbles into my throat.
Maybe she senses it. Or maybe she simply has no more to say about it. But quietly, April moves towards a tall, large wardrobe and begins to unlace her boots. I sit up and lean over the back of the sofa as I watch her work the laces and pull them off one by one, tucking them neatly into their place. An impressive number of vials and knives that she had tucked into them and strapped to her legs are put away into drawers. She removes and neatly hangs up her overcoat. Then the cross-body satchels of various sizes and purposes are strung over empty hooks. Her fingers work the buttons of her vest, which she slips off and carefully hangs. Then the same of her shirt and the corset beneath.
I am mesmerized to witness it, as grand to my eyes as if it were a ballet and full orchestra. I watch her ribs expand with their new freedom and see her shed a weight from above her eyes and shoulders with the release of air. I note the series of new, pink scars up her side from the other night's splinching incident. It draws my eyes to a series of other scars on her back and torso I hadn't noticed yet. They beckon me like an explorer's treasure map to journey me through so much of her life that is yet unknown to me.
I watch as she pulls a large cable knit sweater over her head. Then she gathers her hair up with a dark red ribbon into a haphazard knot on her head. I watch her deftly navigate out of her leather pants that somehow contain more knives, vials, and satchels. They all find their way to their appropriate drawers with her attentive guidance. She dons a pair of loose knitted pants that have enough length to pool slightly at her bare feet. She stretches her neck side to side and takes in another deep breath like a benediction to her ritual, and I breathe with her.
She joins me on the sofa and tucks her feet and legs up into herself, just next to me, and leans one arm on the back to rest her head in her hand, matching my eye line. "You are exquisite," I say. She scoffs with smiling, sleepy eyes and says, "from changing my clothes?" I nod, as seriously as I meant my observation saying, "yes. No magic. Just you."
I reach towards her and trace my fingers up and down her forearm as she says with a pensive look, "guess I just needed to feel a little control or something." She sighs deeply and searches my face as intently as I search hers. It's as though each of our faces could be the crystal ball from which the other might suss out what to say or do next.
