Lustful Alchemy

2. CASSANDRA

I immediately place the glass on the tea table, making a sudden noise that startles Morgan. Normally I would apologize, but not this time. I would recognize that paper among millions, as it had changed my life seventeen years ago. With my hands shaking a little, I grasp the corner of the envelope poking out from under the others, exposing it fully to the candlelight. That green ink... and that handwriting! I turn the envelope to the front to ascertain further about the origin of the object in front of me, and my memory has not deceived me: imprinted on the sealing wax is the Hogwarts coat of arms.

I break the wax seal and pull out the letter. Just like the first time, Deputy Headmistress Weasley's very faint scent of rose powder invests me and takes me back in time: back then, I had no idea why she was writing to me... and honestly, I don't now either. Why would Mathilda write to me with official Hogwarts paper, stamp and ink, all these years after graduation? If she wanted to know something about me, she could do so privately as she always did in years past, when she would congratulate me on some article I had written that had particularly impressed her. The reason could not be informal. Nervously, I start reading:

"Dear Miss Cassandra Doyle,

It is with immense pleasure that I inform you that, after a full twelve years, a sufficient number of sixth-year students have applied to be taught Alchemy at Hogwarts. You can imagine that the news has taken us by surprise after such a long time. But, as you well know, we are committed to providing an excellent education. Our need, therefore, is for a capable teacher with an outstanding curriculum. I couldn't help but think of you.

You were, in turn, one of those students who in 1886 requested that the subject be taught, and the results you achieved are still remembered with admiration. It is not my intention to distract you from your work as a journalist or from your life, but I think you would be the most suitable person for the role. If you wish to return to Hogwarts, you know that the school would welcome you with joy.

Please respond by no later than August 15th. Have a wonderful day,

Deputy Headmistress Matilda Weasley"

I have to re-read and examine the letter several times. I can't believe my eyes: Matilda Weasley, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and talented Transfiguration Professor, has written to offer me a position as a Professor of Alchemy, one of the most difficult subjects ever. This is just yet another token of her esteem, and I can't help but smile at the thought. But am I ready to leave my life? My job? Am I ready not to stay close to the women who in recent years have inspired me and kept me company at times when I felt most alone and had no one?

I can't stay seated; I get up from the couch and start wandering around the room, weighing the pros and cons of my decision. A myriad of questions floods my mind, preventing me from thinking concretely. I still have three days to respond; I could go to bed and decide tomorrow with a clear mind, but I already know that the whirlwind of thoughts would keep me awake. Teaching at Hogwarts would be a choice that would drastically change my life: I would be immersed in a dynamic environment, surrounded by experienced professionals and students with a thirst for learning that matches the wonder they experience every day in the school, honing their skills. Perhaps, I could manage to fill, even if just a little, the void that I have carried within me for too long.

Continuing to ponder the decision, I draw back the curtains and light a cigarette, my gaze lost on the horizon. The darkness has settled over London like a blanket, but it doesn't prevent me from seeing that something, in the distance, is approaching at a certain speed — two dots like glowing embers shining in the darkness, growing larger. I reach my right arm out of the window, certain of what it is. And indeed, a few seconds later, a small owl finds its perch on my arm, attempting to climb up slowly to hand me an envelope — another one! — clutched in its beak. I assist it in the task, but before handing over the money to send it back, I want to read the letter, in case there's a response to include.

The envelope contains a note that simply says: "Do it! Kevinus". The news has already spread, it seems – or perhaps Professor Weasley had pre-informed the Daily Prophet of her intention to entrust me with the position of Alchemy Professor. "Kevinus" refers to Kevinus Morrisons, a journalist at the Daily Prophet just a bit older than me, with whom I shared the entire apprenticeship period. I don't need anything else. If Kevinus, who knows me to the extent that he has had a taste of my great ambition several times, not to mention the fact that he knows how much effort and love I put into my work as a journalist, is advising me to choose the best job from every point of view, let it be. If he has advised me, it is because he would do the same in my place.

I pay the little owl, which takes flight into the night, leaving me standing in the living room, unable to manage the rush of emotions jostling to surface. I don't know what my life will be like, but I do know that I have spent too much time missing opportunities. I don't make this choice lightly, but then again, what is easy when it comes to ourselves? Everything seems to be an act of selfishness, even if it brings us happiness. Only Merlin knows how long I've yearned to feel the fire of motivation burning within me instead of the dim flame flickering.

To help rationalize what is about to happen, I decide to do the most logical thing: I open two large suitcases and start filling them with everything I might need (with a little help from the Extension Charm). The process takes me a few hours, and at the end, I find myself sitting on the couch, exhausted and hungry. Here's the beauty of magic: uttering "Accio!", a few slices of bread land on the table now covered with various items. I start nibbling on one while unfastening my pants and letting them drop to the floor. I stretch my legs on the couch and take a final sip from the wine glass. I don't even bother to answer Matilda: I know exactly what to do when I wake up tomorrow. With a lighter head (thanks also to the wine) and a heart full of emotion, my eyes gently close and I finally fall asleep.