Metanoia • Harry Potter • Book I

Chapter 18

Keziah hated whoever invented the idea of exams in summer. Wizards had potions to grow extra heads but couldn't even bother to get airconditioning. Ridiculous.

The school robes didn't help either, sticking to Keziah's back as she tried to remember the origins of the levitating charm before her brain melted and sweated right out of her.

"Snape is a bastard," Blaise said through gritted teeth as they all but ran away from the dungeons, having finished the potions exam by the skins of their teeth.

"It wasn't that bad," Keziah shrugged, stifling a yawn.

"Says the one with her potions set," Theodore snorted. "Though he does have a sense of humour."

"Making us try and remember how to brew a Forgetfulness Potion isn't funny," Daphne growled. "I still have frog guts stuck under my nails."

"I told you those acrylic nails were a stupid idea," Theodore said triumphantly.

Daphne stuck her tongue out at the boy, flicking some frog guts at him. He blanched, dodging the slime. Instead, it splattered against a gloomy painting of some sort of monk.

"Sorry," Keziah said. "Sir?"

"It's fine," the portrait sighed. "I've been in this castle for half a millennia. Some slime won't kill me."

"Obviously," Blaise laughed. "You can't exactly die. Can you?"

"Sadly not," the portrait said sadly, walking away.

"Cheerful," Keziah said dryly.

Suddenly Blaise gasped dramatically, bouncing up and down on his heels.

"You okay, Zabini?" Daphne asked slowly, poking his arm.

"I've had the best idea ever," he said. "That guy should meet Professor Binns! They could out-bore each other."

"I mean Professor Binns isn't that bad," Theodore said. "Hey, Keziah, wake up!"

Keziah jolted. She had nearly nodded off, leaning against one of the giant hourglasses. Ever since the night of detention, although she refused to admit it, nightmares had plagued her. They weren't the sort that you could explain unless you wanted to be dragged off in a straitjacket.

She was so sick of being trapped in a mirror, watching Harry face-off Quirrel. The flames would lick at her clothes, so hot they nearly felt real. A chilling snarl would ring in her ears, the product of a faceless evil. Several times, Keziah swore that Harry and Quirrel changed into herself and a strange woman clothed completely in white.

She was oddly familiar like Keziah should've known who she was and unless she didn't remember, she'd meet a grisly end. There was also, of course, the ominous voice hissing that she would never be truly part of the story, but that couldn't mean anything, could it?

Instead of facing that every night, Keziah just stayed awake, her eyes burning as she read over the creation of self-stirring cauldrons and ways to combat deadly plants. The only problem with the solution was that her body had to get that rest somehow.

"You're still not sleeping, are you?" Daphne said worriedly.

"I'll be fine, Daphne," Keziah said confidently, resisting the urge to rub her eyes.

"After dinner, we're all taking a week-long nap," Blaise declared. "Grades and classes be damned."

Theodore held up an imaginary goblet, swaying slightly as though drunk.

"Here here," he said.

Keziah opened her mouth to say something but was distracted by the appearance of Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were all hurrying down from the main staircase. Hermione was waving around a piece of parchment and talking, while Ron shook his head. Harry was ignoring them both, rubbing his scar miserably.