Dianthus Stories
Chapter Twenty Two - Van Winkle
xmlns:st1="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"
xmlns="http://www.w3.org/TR/REC-html40">
Anything you
recognize belongs to someone else, namely, JK Rowling.
characters from same. Sadly, I have no
hope of publishing this story outside the fan fiction base, although I hope you
enjoy the plot and the original characters I’ve created.
including flames and harsh criticism. I
may delete it afterward, so as to reduce my personal embarrassment, but I do
promise to read it and incorporate it if I feel it improves the story.
*****
This is Chapter
Twenty Two. Smut begins in Chapter
Twenty Six, so if you’re only looking for that, feel free to skip ahead.
of the stuff in those later chapters if you don’t stick it out.
*****
Chapter Twenty Two
– Van Winkle
After spending
what seemed like all night in the common room, the roommates finally decided to
call it quits. Dianthus hadn’t quite
finished everything, but she felt she’d gotten a good start on each assignment.
alarm for a bit earlier than usual, and when it sounded at the crack of dawn,
she rose groggily and dashed off a letter to her granddad.
After posting the
note, she rushed back to Ravenclaw tower to see if she could get a bit more
done on her Arithmancy. By the time her
roommates came down the stairs, yawning and stretching, she had finished the
most difficult portion of the homework, and was feeling extremely smug about
having been so industrious. “Shall we go
to breakfast, then?” she said brightly, ignoring the glares her friends shot at
her.
“Did you owl your
granddad?” growled
“Yes, and I’m
almost done with Arithmancy.”
“Oh, good, you’ll
let me take a look, right?” Melanie said, around a huge yawn.
“Of course.”
“Let’s go, then,
so I can look at it while we eat.”
Dianthus had just
sat down when Professor McGonagall approached their table, looking daggers at
Erin, Melanie, and Martine. “Miss
Brandywine,” she said, “the Headmaster would like to see you in his office.”
“It’ll be about
your potion, then, Di, you’d better hoof it,” said
excitedly.
“I’ll leave my bag
here, then,” said Dianthus, scrambling out of her chair.
She had to trot to
catch up with Professor McGonagall, who was already cutting a wide swath through
the river of students now arriving for breakfast.
McGonagall made directly for Dumbledore’s office, with Dianthus struggling
vainly to keep up with her. McGonagall
said nothing, and Dianthus was grateful – she was entirely too excited for idle
conversation – not that she would have expected it from her stern
Transfiguration teacher.
The stone
gargoyles had already sprung away from the entrance to the Head’s office when
Dianthus puffed up to the door, and she immediately stepped between them.
staircase that she caught a glimpse of McGonagall’s face – noticed that it bore
a grave expression – and felt the first cold finger of fear slither down her
back.
She didn’t have to
knock on the door to Dumbledore’s office:
he was waiting for her in the entrance.
“Ah, Miss Brandywine,” he said quietly.
“Please join me. I’m afraid I
have some bad news, my dear, bad news indeed.”
He led her over the threshold with an arm around her shoulder.
“Professor
Dumbledore, is – is it my potion?” Dianthus asked in a quavering voice.
“I’m afraid it is
worse than that, Miss Brandywine,” the old man said sadly.
been on her previous visit.
“What is it, then,
Professor?” she whispered, feeling a tingle in her arms that she suspected was
the first sign of a full-fledged panic.
She knew what he was going to tell her.
GranGrandpa?” Dumbledore
nodded. “He’s not–he’s not–”
“He is still
alive, but very ill. I think he would
have preferred I not tell you, but…”
Dianthus felt
faint. Dumbledore helped herthe the same
chair she’d sat in before, and she collapsed into it.
and sat next to her. “What do you mean,
very ill?” she finally choked out.
“He has Van
Winkle’s disease,” said Dumbledore heavily.
“He’s in the final stages. I am
sorry.”
Dianthus
gasped. She had heard of Van Winkle’s,
of course, but she’d never known anyone who’d had it.
usually began disguised as overwork or lack of sleep.
later and going to bed a little earlier each day, unable to keep their eyes
open, until finally they simply didn’t wake up.
It was dreadfully difficult to diagnose until its later stages.
strong version of the Draught of Death rather than go into the final coma.
this from her.
“Why didn’t he
tell me?” she yelled, jumping out of the chair to pace the room.
Christmas. She thought he’d just been
tired – he must have known even then what was happening.
“He wanted you to
finish school,” Dumbledore replied, standing as well.
doesn’t appear that he will. I believe
he has only a few weeks, before the last sleep overtakes him.
I called you in here so that you could floo home to see him.”
Dianthus felt
close to hysteria. Some distant part of
her brain screamed for her to maintain control.
I should have pressed him more!
she shrieked to herself. Her chest felt
too tight, her face too hot.
cursed silently.
As if reading her
thoughts, Dumbledore placed a restraining hand on her arm and said, calmly, “He
would not have told you in any case. I
have known your grandfather since he was a young boy, and Peregrin Brandywine
is a proud, headstrong man. You cannot
rstarstand what it meant to him when you gained admittance here, and he has
followed your progress with potion experimentation closely.”
“I know,” Dianthus
said, her voice sounding strangely dull to her ears.
“Don’t judge him
too harshly,” Dumbledore said sadly. “He
had only your best interests at heart.”
His words, though, rang hollow with Dianthus.
Dumbledore led her
to his fireplace, and Dianthus had a sudden thought as she grabbed a pinch of
floo powder from a small jar he held out to her.
results of the test.” Dumbledore
nodded. After tossing the floo powder
into the flame, Dianthus stepped into its cool center and said, “Maedulas
Farm,” so dully that for a second she worried the floo network hadn’t
understood her. Then she felt the
familiar spin that told her she was on her way, and closed her eyes.
She fell out of
the fireplace in the library on the second floor and spent a few seconds
beating the ash that dusted her robes.
She thought idly that perhaps she should change, but she wanted to find
her grandfather. Even though the
rational part of her knew Dumbledore was telling the truth, a very tiny piece
of her heart thought that perhaps the old man had been mistaken.
sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading The Daily Prophet. He would
be surprised to see her, certainly, but would reassure her that everything was
going to be alright. She pounded
downstairs and skidded to a halt in the kitchen doorway.
It wasn’t her
grandfather who sat at the table – it was Aster, her head buried in a school
book, her ancient tutor Rhumias Sullivan sitting next to her.
the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”
she shrieked, jumping up immediately, looking as if she’d seen a ghost.
“Grandpa,”
Dianthus gasped. “Where is he?”
Aster’s
countenance changed in an instant.
“Still in bed,” she said shortly.
She turned to her tutor and barked, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rhumias.”
creakily, and tottered out the back door without a word.
“Finally can tear yourself away from your precious potion, huh, Dianthus?”
Dianthus took a She crept the last She found Aster Aster glared at Dianthus “He wouldn’t let “Why are you “Because it’s Dianthus sat, Her grandfather “I will not,” she “There, now, Di,” “Does – does it He laid his cheek She spent the “You’re so like “Grandpa,” she “You’ll do no such Dianthus could not Aster refused to “Aster, why are She was thoroughly Dumbledore hurried “She’s just Dumbledore gazed “There’s no need “But I am already She scowled at “Ah, but it would “I must agree,” Once they were in Snape’s lip curled
step toward her sister, angered and bewildered by this display of
hostility. With some effort, she
controlled her temper. “I’m going to see
Grandpa,” she said, coolly. “And then
maybe you’d like to tell me what the fuck you’re on about.”
to her grandfather’s bedroom at the end of the landing.
bed, sound asleep, blankets pulled up to his shors.
few feet – he had always been such a light sleeper – but his snoring continued,
and his eyes did not flutter open at her approach.
at her heart. Even as a small child, she
had counted on him to awaken instantly when she’d come into his room after a
bad dream, ready with a quiet word of comfort or an offer of hot chocolate to
coax her back to sleep. She stretched
out on the bed next to him and huddled close to his unconscious form.
herself sobbing uncontrollably into a pillow for the second time that week.
still sitting at the kitchen table a half hour later.
made herself a strong cup of befobefore seating herself opposite her sister.
on.”
her and said, “What in the bloody hell do you think is going on?
few months, but what the fuck difference does it make?
over.”
flinched. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
me!” Aster screeched, so loudly that Dianthus thought she must have strained
her vocal cords. “I wanted to, but he
told me he’d turn me into a toadstool and plant me in the garden!”
yelling at me?” Dianthus hissed. The
room was vibrating with Aster’s anger.
always been about you!” her sister yelled, even louder.
goddamned letter, has been about you.”
She jumped to her feet and grabbed the edge of the table.
lessons, hearing him talk about you and that school – and you show up here in
your robes, like you’re coming to the rescue now, now that you’ve
that he wouldn’t stop talking about.”
She gave Dianthus an icy look and scoffed, “What good is your fucking
magic, if Grandpa is still going to die.”
dumbfounded, as Aster turned on her heel and ran from the kitchen.
time after Aster’s pounding footsteps faded.
She understood that Aster was frightened and upset, but even so, she
felt guilt creeping over her like a shroud as she thought of her grandfather
upstairs in his bed.
have been working on a cure for him instead of researching stupid miribilis.
develop something that would make a splash before she left Hogwarts.
of what to do in her seventh.
did not get out of bed until almost
you get back to school this instant!” he roared from the doorway, upon spotting
her in his library. She was already
looking up information on Van Winkle’s disease.
said, snapping the book shut. He looked
like a man on the verge of exhaustion, rather than one who had just risen from
sleep. “Dumbledore’s told me what’s going
on.” Her bottom lip trembled, but she
swore softly and continued, “I’m here to – to–”
She sprinted to her grandfr anr and flung herself into his arms.
the old man said soothingly. His grasp
still felt as strong as ever, as he gathered her into his arms.
away the tear she hadn’t been able to contain.
hurt, Grandpa?” Dianthus asked, in a subdued voice.
on top of her head. “No, love, it
doesn’t hurt.”
weekend in Chapel Porth. Her
grandfather, for the most part, refused to discuss his illness with her.
discovered to her dismay. He kept
directing the conversation to her potion, and was thrilled to hear of the owl
she received on Saturday, not from Snape, but from Dumbledore himself, telling
her of the successful tests he and the Potions Master had performed.
your mother,” Peregrin said fondly as she sat on his bed that night.
potion-making like few I’ve seen. She
could sit and watch your Gran and me all day.
I often wished some of it had rubbed off on your Da.
said hesitantly, “I’ll stay if you’ll let me.”
She no longer cared about N.E.W.T.s, or her stupid crush on Snape, or
even seeing her friends. They would be
around long after – well, for a good long while, anyway.
the house, watching her grandfather sleep.
But every time she suggested this, his answer was the same.
thing,” her grandfather yawned. “You’ll
floo directly back to school tomorrow eve.
I’m fine with Aster – she knows who to call.”
believe he was forcing Aster to assume so much responsibility, and she told him
so. “It’ll be fine, my dear,” was his
only response, and he dropped off to sleep.
speak to Dianthus. “I’ve nothing to say
until he’s gone,” she hissed, jerking her head toward the stairs.
you being like this?” Dianthus roared.
But Aster flounced away without another word, and Dianthus was too tired
to go after her.
exhausted by Sunday night. That morning
Snape had sent her a terse note saying the potion seemed to be working
perfectly, but she really didn’t care.
She had dawdled until almost
hoping Aster would return to the house, but she couldn’t delay leaving any
longer. After a tearful farewell to
slu
slumbering grandfather, and a final futile attempt to locate her younger
sister, Dianthus grabbed some floo powder from the mantle in the library and
sent herself back to Hogwarts.
to brush sooty ash from her robes, and led her to the chair in front of his
desk before returning to his seat. He
cleared his throat and said, “I’m sure you’re exhausted, Miss Brandywine, but I
wanted to let you know that Professor Snape has prepared the final potion for
your grandfather himself. I will send it
to him when the time comes.” Dianthus
nodded mutely. “I understand your sister
is quite upset,” continued Dumbledore calmly.
Dianthus snorted.
dully. “I hope that her resentment of
your magical ability will not cause a permanent rift in your relationship.”
scared,” Dianthus muttered.
at her calmly and nodded. “I hope that
you are right. In any case, it’s late
and you should get some sleep. I will
have Professor Snape escort you to your tower.”
to bother Professor Snape, sir,” she replied, glancing sharply up at him.
him on my account.”
here,” came a soft, resonant voice from behind her.
of Dumbledore’s office and approached Dianthus’ chair.
Draught, and was just leaving the Headmaster’s office when you came tumbling so
gracefully through the fire.”
each of them in turn. “I am perfectly
capable of finding my own way through the castle,” she grunted.
be most unfortunate if one of the prefects stumbled upon you, wandering about
the castle at
sneered.
added Dumbledore, and he rose. He was
obviously not going to tolerate any dissention.
Dianthus shrugged once in irritation, and dragged herself to her
feet. She stomped from the Head’s office
and down the moving staircase, Snape on her heels.
the corridor, she turned to him and growled, “I’m not in the mood for small
talk tonight, Professor.”
and he said derisively, “Do not flatter yourself, Miss Brandywine.
repulsive.” His churlish demeanor
soothed her more than any of Dumbledore’s conciliatory words, and she relaxed
for the first time in days. His hand
once again firmly in the small of her back, they walked in silence through the
quiet castle. He bowed ironically to her
at the entrance to Ravenclaw tower, and stalked away.