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❝ Hope can be a source of strength, but when it fails to deliver what I want, I've found a good degree of stubbornness to be an appropriate substitute. ❞ —Andrew Rowe, On the Shoulders of Titans
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A year ago, when Breeze sent my Hogwarts acceptance letter in the mail and then came to talk to my mother, a world of possibilities opened for me. Learning that I was a witch and that my mom had known about it all along, both in one day, had led me not to think twice before I packed my bags and ran away.
So here I was again. Same exact position, not even a year later, except this time it was someone else's life that depended on escaping. Not that it mattered that Theo didn't believe me. Maybe he'd rather kneel by his bed, clutch his Crucifix and send a prayer up to his God to get him out of this misery or at least end his pain, but that wasn't me. I couldn't sit around with hands in my pockets, relying on something as unreliable as hope to help us.
I had to let the others know about my plan, but telepathy wouldn't do. And talking to them in person would be too big of a risk to take.
"Tell me something, Maureen," I told her one evening before heading to bed. "You've been reassuring me up and down that I'm gonna be okay. So be honest. Am I immune?"
She didn't respond immediately, but her eyes held a look of mild concern when she turned her head and studied my face. "Yes."
I was surprised to find that the response didn't bring me as much relief as I thought it would, but it was an advantage. I reached out to Joseph.
"It's Polly," I said. "We need to talk. Face to face. You're the only other person immune to Dragon Pox, so there's no risk in us leaving our cells."
"If you got some genius idea to convince the guards to sneak Dragon Pox Potion in Azkaban—"
"Even better."
He considered. Had he been standing in front of me, I'm sure I would've seen his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Alright then."
I was almost at the beginning of the food line, letting the serving lady put two slices of toasted bread on my tray (she remembered me from the incident where I flicked mashed potatoes at her and still seemed to be holding a grudge), when I spotted Joseph sitting at an empty table. I filled my glass with water from the near-empty pitcher, which refilled by itself when I emptied the last remains. The cafeteria was now guarded by five Aurors, all standing like FBI agents with wands between clasped hands.
