Promises (Temporarily on Hiatus)

I was at the podium, organising notes for today’s lecture and examples of the ingredients they’d be needing, when Harper finally stumbled into the room. The Hot-Seat was the only chair available (it possessed that name because whoever sat there was usually the one to be grilled about some potion or another), and the girl threw herself into it just as the bell rang.

“You’re late,” I mumbled without looking up from my papers. I hardly cared if one of my Slytherins were tardy, as the entirety of Hogwarts knew, but those comments that she made earlier still smarted.

“No, I’m not.”

My eyes darted towards her for a moment and narrowed in agitation. She was slumped down, arms folded over her chest, a grim twist to her mouth.

“Yes, you are. Sit up straight and stop acting so... like a Gryffindor.” That comment earned me glares from the respective House.

“I wasn’t late and I’m not pouting. I assure you that before the bell, there was flesh to seat contact. Now, can’t we just proceed with class?”

All of my students were following this exchange of words like they would a duelling match. “No, we may not. Apologise for your rudeness and then we’ll begin, Miss Harper.”

“I’m not apologising for something I didn’t do,” her voice was sharply rising in pitch and rate.

My voice, of course, remained steady as ever. I learned early in life that shouting only makes a person seem foolish and overly-passionate. “Oh? Well, forgive me then for having the audacity to demand some level of respect from my students. Now apologise.”

“No.”

“You will, or I’ll add another hundred centimetres of parchment to that essay you’ve been working so furiously on.”

“Don’t care.”

“And if I were to say that I’d add those same hundred centimetres to everyone else’s paper?”

The entire room groaned and people began hissing at her to apologise to me. She seemed unwilling to repent and was about to say something, when someone chucked a crumpled ball of paper at the back of paper at her head. Normally, I would have deducted points from their House and given them a sound tongue lashing, but this wasn’t a normal situation: no Slytherin would ever talk back to me, especially not one of my most well-behaved students.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled thickly.

“What was that, Harper?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry—what?”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Harper sighed. A melancholic sort of rue played on her features, which left me perplexed.

“Today we will be brewing a contraceptive potion, as is required per mandate from the examination board. Anyone caught trying to remove some from this room will be immediately expelled. Light your cauldrons and begin preparing the first ingredient. What is the first ingredient… Miss Harper?”

She mumbled something indistinguishable into the table, and I prompted her again.

“The first ingredient, Miss Harper?”

“Raw asphodel root.”

“Yes, now what comes next?”

Silence.

“Miss Harper?” I snapped.

“I—I’m sorry. I have to go!” She picked up her bag and sped from the room, leaving me there with a bewildered expression on my face. I wouldn’t chase her; if she wanted a zero for today’s class, it was no business of mine.

“Detention,” I called out after her. “This classroom, nine o’clock tomorrow evening.”

---

The class ended at precisely three o’clock, as it was a double Potions that day. After the students had cleaned up their supplies, cauldrons, and workplaces and deposited their completed potions on my desk, I neared the doorway to shut and lock the aperture; however, I was stopped by the sight of an abashed, mournful looking Harper dithering in the hallway.

“Professor—”

I held up my hand for silence. “My office.”

She nodded her assent, and we made quick progress to my office. Once I had secured the door behind me, I insisted she take the seat opposite my desk. She placed herself lightly on the wooden chair; her back was rigid, fingers laced together and placed primly on her lap, a slightly disconcerting, harlequin smile on her face.

“You may relax, Miss Harper; you’re not under scrutiny, and I’m hardly concerned with your posture.” She slumped a little before collapsing entirely onto the rim of my desk. I took my seat and, well… scrutinised her. It looked as though she had been crying long before her departure. I noted her red-rimmed eyes and her haggard appearance. “We have quite a bit to talk about, it seems. Would you care to begin, Evelyn?” I used her first name as a means of putting her at ease. I wasn’t angry so much as confused. Her belligerence and hasty flight left me puzzled.

She gave a small sigh and rummaged through her bag for something. She tossed something in my direction, and a piece of parchment slowly drifted onto my desk. I fixed my glasses on my nose (there weren’t any snide comments from her this time) and read.

Róisín,
Your mother and I regret to inform you that we must deny your request for access to your inheritance. We hope that you’ll find some other means of achieving what you fancifully refer to as “dreams”. Perhaps those very same dreams will change into something more befitting a young woman your age; marriage, perhaps? We hope to see you at the end of term; I know that Caoimhe and Murtagh will be quite pleased to see their older sister again. Keep studying.
Bail ó Dhia ort,
Father

P.S. This is from mummy, muirnín. Don’t let your father’s words upset you too much; all we want is what’s best for the family (and for you, of course).

I set down the paper, quite nonplussed, and started with the simplest question. “Who is Róisín?”

Evelyn smiled sardonically and gestured towards herself. “My middle name. They would have made it my first, had my cousin not been born a few months earlier with the same name. That little incident caused a schism in the family before I was even present in this world; that’s me: Evelyn Róisín Harper, always making waves. I’m just lucky I wasn’t stuck with Caoimhe, like my sister, or God forbid something unpronounceable like Aoibheann or Odharnait. Harper isn’t even my last name…”

“And you’re upset because you can’t get to your inheritance?” I was angry she had wasted my time, sympathy, and concern.

The nit had a psychotic episode because they won’t give her money. I swear—

“That’s the Oxford fund,” she moaned.

Ah.

“Miss Harper, I’m sure that there’s some way you could manage. A generous relative, perhaps.”

“My parents are about as lenient as they come amongst the Delaney clan.”

“You’re related to the Delaneys?”

“Yes,” she practically spat. “My mother—well, she was one. My father is from another prominent wizarding family. They had the courtesy to lie to the school when they registered me. I thought the professors were informed of that fact, but I suppose not. I’m sure that they wouldn’t be nearly as kind to me as they are now if they knew. Professor, you can’t tell-”

I held up my hand. “Everything you say to me here will be kept in confidence, Miss…”

“Harper,” she affirmed. “My name is Evelyn Harper, and I’m from Wandsworth, Greater London, SW18. I like to stroll around Richmond Park and take tea in cafes along St. John’s Hill. I have family up in Derry, but I don’t associate with them. No, we do not marry our siblings nor are we cannibals.” The entire spiel seemed like one she had had to repeat one too many times, one she had used to convince one too many a person.

My head was reeling by that time. Evelyn Delaney was a member of one of the most infamous clans in the wizarding world. They were elite, right up there with the Malfoys and Rosiers; the only thing preventing them from being quite as prominent as they could be was the fact that they were from Northern Ireland and not descendents of Mercian kings like the other families claimed to be. It was often said that they were brutish thugs; uncivilised, dangerous, and merciless. Their customs were supposedly too gruesome to fathom.

“I suppose that clears everything up,” Evelyn wryly sneered. “So, nine o’clock tomorrow then?”

“Miss Harper, rest assured this doesn’t change my opinion of you in the least. I don’t care who your family is or what they’ve done. Bloodline is of little concern to me.”

“Forgive me if I remain sceptical, sir. A lifetime of bad encounters has proven otherwise. Nine then?”

I nodded tacitly and the girl trudged out of the room.