starlit supernova
❛ iv. hogsmeade ❜

━━━━━ NOVA NEVER THOUGHT of herself as an irritable person, but things were swiftly changing her mindset. Things only kept going downhill, and nothing seemed to be going her way.

               Now, being irritable wasn't a Hufflepuff trait, but it technically wasn't any trait for the four Houses. Besides, there were plenty of irritable Slytherins roaming the halls, infecting others with their horrible energies. Her third year was off to a great start — little to no leads when it came to her birth mother, and this dog that was an omen of death kept stalking her. (Really, a good start.) And the one lead she might have regarding her mother seemed to be completely bogus. It shouldn't have been as shocking as it was, but it still left a nasty taste in her mouth.

               It was also proving impossible to meet with the Headmaster Dumbledore. Which Nova expected, but again, that was just another nasty taste she had to swallow down.

               "Please, Professor Sprouts," Nova pleaded after the end of her Herbology lesson.

               "I'm sorry, Miss Holloway." The Herbology professor shook her head. "Unless you have an appropriate reason to meet with the Headmaster, I can't give you the password."

               "But I do!" insisted the Hufflepuff.

               Professor Sprouts placed her hands on her hips. "And what would that reason be?"

               Nova paused. "Er ... it's sort of a private matter, Professor."

               Sprouts shook her head as she pursed her lips. "Then I'm sorry, Miss Holloway," she repeated. "I can't give you the password."

               She watched her Head of House bustle around the greenhouse with a sour expression. Professor Sprouts was cleaning up for the next class, perhaps for some first years. She debated whether or not to tell Professor Sprouts the truth, wondering if the professor would take pity. Maybe she should cry, that was always a good way to get pity.

               "Professor Sprouts," she spoke up. "I want to talk to Dumbledore because of this letter from my birth mother."

               The Herbology teacher stopped, holding onto four clay pots. "Birth mother?" she asked.

               "Yes." The black-haired girl nodded. She looked away, hoping her expression looked as hopeless as she felt. "It's the only thing I have from her and I think Dumbledore may know something."

               "But ..." Professor Sprouts trailed off. She looked at Nova closer. "I thought you had ..."

               Nova leaned against a dirty table. "I was adopted, Professor," she said glumly. Her shoulders were slumped. "And my birth mum said I would receive that letter on my eleventh birthday, the day I would receive my letter from Hogwarts. The reason I want to talk to Dumbledore is because ..." She trailed off, frowning. "I think he kept the letter for those eleven years. He may know who my real mum is."

               The professor picked up another muddy clay pot and tucked it in the fold of her arm. She looked at the student cloaked in a yellow and black scarf. "I will have to talk to the headmaster, Miss Holloway. He's a busy man."

               Nova tried her best not to smile. "As long as you try, Professor. That's what matters to me."

               At least she had gotten somewhere with that. Now she was tasked with surviving her classes. And as it was, that task wasn't going too well. Defense Against the Dark Arts was going well, but Nova still tried to avoid Professor Lupin to the best of her ability. She didn't want him asking any questions that pertained to her boggart.

               Compared to previous years, Defense Against the Dark Arts was exciting. After boggarts, they studied Red Caps, nasty little goblin-like creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed: in the dungeons of castles and the potholes of deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had gotten lost. From Red Caps they moved on to kappas, creepy, water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.

               But Nova wished her other classes were going as well. The worst was Divination (although it barely surpassed Potions for The Worst Class of All Time). She dreaded spending time in Professor Trelawney's stifling tower room, deciphering lopsided shapes and symbols, trying to ignore the way Professor Trelawney hovered around the girl the way a predator hovered around its prey. She also dreaded how Neville looked at the girl like she was a bad omen, flinching every time she moved even slightly in his direction. Nova couldn't like Professor Trelawney (not that she honestly tried), even though the teacher was treated with respect bordering on reverence by many of the class. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown had taken to haunting Professor Trelawney's tower room at lunch times, and always returned with annoyingly superior looks on their faces, as though they knew things the others didn't.

               At a close second for The Worst Class of All Time, Potions was as horrible as the previous two years. Professor Snape was in a particularly vindictive mood these days, and no one knows without any doubt as to why. The story of the boggart assuming Snape's shape, and the way that Neville had dressed it in his grandmother's clothes, had traveled through the school like wildfire. The Potions professor didn't seem to find it funny; his eyes flashed menacingly at the very mention of Professor Lupin's name.

               Nobody really liked Care of Magical Creatures either. The class soon turned into a letdown after its action-packed first class. It had become extremely dull after that. Nova glared at Draco Malfoy every time they were making the trek down to Hagrid's hut, muttering things about "rich kids" and their "shitty attitudes." The professor seemed to have lost his confidence. The students were now spending lesson after lesson learning how to look after flobberworms, which had to be some of the most boring creatures in existence.

               "Why would I want to take care of this?" Nova said, poking at the flobberworm with the stem of a piece of lettuce.

               "Aren't you supposed to love this class?" asked Justin.

               The black-haired looked over her shoulder, glaring at Draco Malfoy. "I would if Malfoy wasn't such a bitch."

✴

It was October 31st before anything interesting happened within Hogwarts' stone walls. A couple of days before, a paper was pinned to the battered bulletin board in the Hufflepuff common room. It was giving the dates for the first Hogsmeade weekend.

               Nova was excited to go until Professor Sprouts pulled her aside as they were getting ready to leave for Hogsmeade to give her some news; "The headmaster said he could see you this afternoon," she said.

               "Er — what?" said Nova.

               "I suggest you stay here for the day so you don't miss it," advised Professor Sprouts. "You still want to talk to Headmaster Dumbledore, don't you?"

               Nova had forgotten about asking Sprout to speak to Hogswart's headmaster since it had been so long since she had asked. "Uh, yeah!" she agreed, nodding. "Of course I do. What time can I go talk to him?"

               "After lunch today," said Sprouts. "Go to the kitchen and talk to the house elves if you want to speak to Dumbledore earlier. I've written down how to get into his office and the password. Don't lose the paper. And don't give it to anybody."

               It was morning, leaving Nova with some hours to waste until she could talk to Dumbledore. She hadn't been nervous — hadn't even thought about being nervous until now — but now she was. Maybe the headmaster would just look at her and the yellowing paper and laugh her out of his office. That would just about suck. She already had growing disapproving feelings for the Headmaster (she was just sour about the possibility of Dumbledore having kept the letter for all those years and kept Nova in the dark all those years).

               With hours left until she had the chance to talk to the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Nova figured now would be the best time to send her parents a letter. Of course, she would leave out the details of dementors, those dreams (the recurring one of Harry Potter and the new ones of the black, shaggy dog — or was that the Grim? — and the full moon), the boggart turning into the Grim, the visions she saw in the swirling darkness, and the stuff Professor Trelawney was —

               Nova wondered if there was even a point to send a letter if she had to keep so much out. But she knew if she went a week of silence from Lee and Gail, they would learn how to send a Howler, despite having no magical capabilities, and send fifteen in a row, all yelling and screaming about the promises of weekly letters.

               The Hufflepuff climbed a flight of stairs, crossing steps two at a time. She hurried for the Owlery, folding a white paper into threes and stuffing them inside an envelope. She took the pen she had smuggled onto Hogwarts grounds (sue her, okay? Writing with quills was horrendous) and wrote out her name and then her parents' names on the envelope.

               Lyrid seemed happy to see her, twittering excitedly. He nipped at her fingers as Nova tied the letter around his leg.

               "Give this to my parents, okay?" she said.

               The owl clicked his beak and took off into the air. Nova left the Owlery quickly, seeking warmth from further inside the castle. As she was hurrying back down the corridor, heading for the Hufflepuff common room, she spotted a scrawny figure going in the opposite direction. She found it odd, she figured every student third year and above had gone to Hogsmeade.

               Unknowingly, Nova slowed her pace considerably, trying to see who she was about to pass. The person looked up, noticing the slowing sounds of her footfall. Nova tried not to show her shock, but she wasn't sure how well she hid it behind a poker face.

               Standing in front of her was the green-eyed boy, Harry Potter.

               "Hey," she greeted lamely. And with a strained smile, she tried to pass him.

               "Nova, right?" he asked, grabbing her arm. "You sit with Neville in Trewlaney's class?"

               Nova tried not to roll her eyes. "Don't bring up Divinations," she groaned. "That class is horrible."

               He grinned at her. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks that. Lavender and Parvati seem to love her. I don't understand why, if I'm honest."

               The black-haired girl shrugged, shaking off his hold. "Maybe they really have those Seer abilities Trelawney's always moaning about. I think she's just off her rocker, personally. I mean — the Grim thing?" She rolled her eyes, but Harry's smile turned sour, as if Nova had mentioned something he had wanted to forget about.

               "Yeah ..." he said, glancing down the deserted corridor. "Look —"

               Before he could say anything further, a voice came from inside one of the rooms some doors down; "Harry? Nova?"

               The two looked down the left side, spotting Professor Lupin looking around his office door. "What are you two doing?" he asked the two. "Where are your friends?"

               Harry's eyebrows knitted and his expression soured even worse. "They're all at Hogsmeade," he said in what Nova assumed was his best I'm trying to be casual but I'm incredibly annoyed voice.

               "Ah," said the professor. He considered the two students for a moment. "Why don't you come in? I've just taken delivery of a grindylow for our next lesson."

               "A grindylow? What's that?" asked Nova

               She and Harry followed Professor Lupin into his office. In the corner stood a very large tank of water. A sickly green creature with sharp little horns had its face pressed against the glass, pulling faces and flexing its long, spindly fingers.

               "Water demon," said Lupin, surveying the grindylow thoughtfully. "We shouldn't have much difficulty with him, not after the kappas. The trick is to break his grip. Do you notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle."

               The grindylow bared its green teeth and then buried itself in a tangle of weeds in a corner.

               "So — what?" said Nova, shrugging. "You take a hammer to its fingers and it's done for?"

               Lupin peered at her, as if curious by her choice of wording. "I guess so, Nova. I guess if you 'take a hammer' the grindylow would be — like you said — 'done for.' Cup of tea?" he asked, changing the topic and looking for his kettle. "I was just thinking of making one."

               "All right," said Harry awkwardly, trying to exchange a look with the Hufflepuff beside him. Despite being shoulder-to-shoulder with him, Nova refused to look his way.

               Lupin tapped the kettle with his wand and a blast of steam issued suddenly from the spout. "Sit down," he said, taking the lid off a dusty tin. "I've only got teabags, I'm afraid — but I daresay you've had enough of tea leaves? Both of you?"

               Nova stopped, mid-way into sitting in the chair in front of Lupin's desk. She stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. Lupin's eyes were twinkling. "How did you know about that?" she demanded.

               "Professor McGonagall told me," said Lupin, passing Harry and Nova chipped mugs of tea. "Professor McGonagall relayed to me the story of Professor Treawlney seeing a Grim in Harry's cup?" He looked to the Gryffindor. "You're not worried, are you?"

               Harry shifted in his seat. He glanced at Nova again; she took a long drink from the cup. "No," he answered. "I'm not worried."

               Nova swirled the drink around her cup. "Something just tells me Trelawney's full of it," she said, her voice scathing. Even she seemed shocked by her own words, nearly clamping her hand over her mouth. "That came out wrong. I mean — she just seems to say what's going to get the most reactions, not that ... I'm not saying she can't really See or anything, just that — Nevermind."

               She slumped in her seat, an embarrassed look crossing her face. Lupin seemed to pick up on something else, however, as he asked; "Are you worried, Nova?"

               "No," she said quickly. She drank a bit of tea and watched the grindylow brandishing a fist at her. Part of Nova was tempted to retaliate by giving him the middle finger.

               "You know that day we fought the boggart?" Harry asked suddenly, placing his cup on Lupin's desk.

               "Yes," said the professor slowly.

               "Why didn't you let me fight it?" said Harry abruptly.

               Lupin raised his eyebrows. "I would have thought that was obvious, Harry," he said, sounding surprised.

               "Why?" Harry asked, looking surprised.

               "Well," said Lupin, frowning slightly, "I assumed that if the boggart faced you, it would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort."

               Nova stared. One; that answer also seemed obvious to her. You-Know-Who was many, many people's greatest fear. If anyone had to be scared of him the most, it certainly had to be Harry Potter. Two; the fact that Lupin had said You-Know-Who's real name, and not, well, You-Know-Who. People didn't like calling him Voldemort.

               "Clearly, I was wrong," said Lupin, still frowning at Harry. "But I didn't think it a good idea for Lord Voldemort to materialize in the staffroom. I imagined that people would panic."

               "I didn't think of Voldemort," said Harry honestly. "I — I remembered those dementors."

               "I see," said Lupin thoughtfully. "Well, well ... I'm impressed." He smiled slightly at the look of surprise on Harry's face. "That suggests that what you fear most of all is — fear. Very wise, Harry."

               Nova didn't know what to think. She figured fearing dementors made sense considering they almost tried to suck out Harry's soul and all. Maybe she should've feared them as much as she feared whatever she saw with that boggart. She wondered why she feared those visions so much so that she saw them with the boggart; she hadn't even known about them before.

               "So you've been thinking that I didn't believe you capable of fighting the boggart?" said Lupin shrewdly.

               "Well ... yeah," said Harry. He suddenly looked a lot less tense. "Professor Lupin, you know the dementors —"

               He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

               "Come in," called Lupin.

               The door opened, and in came Snape. He was carrying a goblet, which was smoking faintly, and stopped at the sight of Harry and Nova, his black eyes narrowing.

               "Ah, Severus," said Lupin, smiling. "Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?"

               Snape set down the smoking goblet, his eyes wandering between Nova, Harry, and Lupin.

               "I was just showing Harry and Nova my grindylow," said Lupin pleasantly, pointing at the tank.

               "Fascinating," drawled Snape, without looking at it. "You should drink that directly, Lupin."

               "Yes, Yes, I will," said Lupin.

               "I made an entire cauldronful," Snape continued. "If you need more ..."

               "I should probably take some again tomorrow. Thanks very much, Severus."

               "Not at all," said Snape, but there was a look in his eye that Nova didn't like. He backed out of the room, unsmiling and watchful.

               Nova looked curiously at the goblet. Lupin smiled at her. "Professor Snape has very kindly concocted a potion for me," he said. "I have never been much of a potion-brewer and this one is particularly complex." He picked up the goblet and sniffed it. "Pity sugar makes it useless," he added, taking a sip and shuddering.

               Nova's brows furrowed. She leaned forward in her seat. "What —"

               Lupin looked at her and answered the unfinished question. "I've been feeling a bit off-color," he said. "This potion is the only thing that helps. I am very lucky to be working alongside Professor Snape; there aren't many wizards who are up to making it."

               Professor Lupin took another sip and Nova's curiousness started eating away at her stomach. Lupin hadn't answered her question at all.

               "Professor Snape's very interested in the Dark Arts," Harry blurted out, looking green as he stared at the goblet.

               "Really?" said Lupin, looking only mildly interested as he took another gulp of potion.

               "Some people reckon —" Harry hesitated, then plunged recklessly on, "some people reckon he'd do anything to get the Defense Against the Dark Arts job."

               Lupin drained the goblet and pulled a face. "Disgusting," he shuddered. "Well, Harry, Nova, I'd better get back to work. See you at the feast later."

               "Right," said Harry, putting down his empty teacup.

               Nova finished her cup, staring at the goblet as she stood up. A million questions were running through her mind, but if she was going to have any time to ask them, she would need all the time in the world.

✴

She felt queasy. Really queasy. So queasy she feared that she would puke all over Dumbledore's feet by the time she made it up the winding staircase to his office.

               Nova's hands trembled as she made the trek up the spiraling staircase. She was going over, word for word, what she wanted to say to the headmaster. She unfolded the yellowing paper in her hands, reading over the first few words. She knew them by heart now, but Nova couldn't help herself. She had gotten so nervous she was making sure she had grabbed the right letter (how many yellowing, thirteen-year-old letters could she just have lying around); or that the words hadn't magically changed on her (her mother was a witch, yes, but surely if she had put any spells on the paper, they would've shown up by now).

               She looked around when she climbed the last of the steps. The office was a large, circular room with many windows and portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses. The portrait she noticed first was directly behind Dumbledore's desk. She had no idea who was inside the portrait as they were currently gone to who knows where, but Nova figured they were probably just as old and wrinkly as Dumbledore. The office also played host to several spindly tables upon which were set delicate-looking silver instruments that whirred and emitted small puffs of smoke, as well as an incredible collection of books, maybe Dumbledore's private library.

               When Nova noticed Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, a rather, large shabby-looking book open in front of him, she paused. "Er —" She cleared her throat. "Hello, Headmaster Dumbledore."

               Despite her sour feelings for the man at the possibility of him keeping her in the dark for so long, she couldn't bring herself to lash out now that she was in front of him. Again, bravery was not her specialty.

               Headmaster Dumbledore looked up from his pages. His blue eyes twinkled as he spotted her. "Ah, Miss Holloway," he greeted warmly, motioning to the plump seat in front of his oak desk. "Professor Sprouts told me you needed to speak with me."

               Nova sank into the chair, trying her best not to slouch. She laid the yellow paper in front of her. She watched his expression, looking for any sign of remembrance; however, Dumbledore's expression remained passive. Her chest tightened.

               "I do," she said, opening the letter. "I mean, I do — need to talk with you. I, um, I was given a letter on my eleventh birthday by Professor McGonagall. I was raised by Muggle people and all, and you send out your professors to Muggle-born students to tell them. Professor McGonagall came and explained everything to me —" She stopped and took a deep breath. "The day I turned eleven, Professor McGonagall came and explained everything, but she also gave me a letter from my birth mum. I thought she might've known my mum, but she said she didn't. McGonagall said she was given this letter the morning before she arrived at my parents' house, and I thought ... Well, just read it."

               She slid the letter over, turning it around so Dumbledore would be able to read the handwriting. Nova watched as his blue eyes slid down the page, looking for any sort of reaction. Her hope dwindled little by little as his expression didn't change, even by the slightest.

               When he was done reading it, he spoke; "Why do you feel you had to speak with me?"

               Nova tried not to sink into her seat. A feeling much worse than embarrassment was settling in her stomach. "With the way Professor McGonagall worded it to me, I thought she meant you gave her the letter. I was hoping you knew who my mum was."

               Dumbledore looked at her from over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. By his expression, Nova knew she wasn't going to get an answer she liked.

               "I don't, I'm afraid," he answered. "I was given that letter in confidence. Yes, I was the one who gave Professor McGonagall the letter —"

               She sat up in her seat. "Then —"

               "But I don't know the name of the woman who wrote it," he continued, raising his hand to stop her. "I'm sorry, Miss Holloway. I don't know who your biological mother is. I'm sorry."

✴  MAY 13TH, 2024  /  nova the manipulator 💪💪

lupin was def suspicious when he saw harry and nova in the hallway - he was like "what are they up to now? *eye roll*"

i'm not super sold on this chapter but to be honest, i'm never really sold on any of my chapters

anyways, thoughts? opinions?? is dumbledore telling the truth? does he know who wrote the letter? i mean - i know, but none of you do!

(not edited nor proofread)