She had barely written the opening line when she set the pen down again and reached into her trunk for the video camera. But when she pressed the power button, nothing happened.
Electronic devices, of course, didn't work inside Hogwarts Castle. She recalled reading that somewhere — something about magical fields interfering with electronic circuitry. Whether that was a deliberate enchantment or simply a natural side effect, she couldn't say.
There was nothing for it. She'd write by hand.
She returned to the desk. "I hope you've had a pleasant three days in my world."
"Regarding Harry Potter — that was an accident. I happened to help him, and in doing so inadvertently left him stranded. I thought having someone to practise English conversation with would speed up his language learning, so I got involved — and the rest followed from there."
She paused after writing that last sentence. Why am I explaining myself as if I've actually done something wrong?
She deliberated — and ultimately left it in.
"Over the past seven days, I first took Harry to Diagon Alley… then… after that… up until today, when we boarded the steam train to Hogwarts Castle, and I met…"
The room was still and quiet. The scratch of pen on paper was the only sound — soft, steady, the kind of sound that could lull you to sleep.
The night deepened.
The next morning, after washing and dressing, Bernadette made use of the time before the swap to go exploring. She walked a full circuit of the ancient building, taking it in. Vincent had mentioned in a previous message that this thousand-year-old castle was likely an alchemical construct of some kind — that it possessed certain remarkable qualities that couldn't be easily explained.
She wandered down to the Black Lake, then followed the fringe of the Forbidden Forest for a stretch. The centaur colony that inhabited its depths were, she'd heard, exceptionally skilled in stargazing and prophecy. As someone who had once been a Star Reader and was now a Prophet, Bernadette found herself genuinely curious about them.
There were also, she remembered, unicorns somewhere in the forest. Unicorn tail-hair was a wand core material. Harvesting a few from a willing — or unwilling — subject would probably be more profitable than hunting dark wizards in Knockturn Alley. She filed the thought away.
As the time for the swap approached, she turned back toward the castle. She was almost at the door to her room when she heard it — a faint, furtive rustling from inside.
Her eyebrow went up. She slowed her steps without a sound and crept closer to the door.
The rustling grew more distinct. Underneath it was a lighter, familiar sound — the clink of coins.
Someone is stealing my money.
Bernadette flooded her body with magical energy and shoved the door open.
"???"
She stopped dead.
A cat stared back at her.
A cat that was using two remarkably nimble front paws to stuff an assortment of objects into a pouch on its belly.
How is it doing that?
What is that pouch?
Is this cat somehow related to Doraemon? — a reference to a children's story her father had once told her.
Wait. Wasn't this Hermione's orange cat?
"MRRROW!!"
For a long moment, cat and woman stared at each other.
Then the orange cat let out a shriek of pure terror. Its orange fur turned, in the space of an instant, chalk white. After a brief moment of paralysis, it raised both front paws and pressed them firmly over its own eyes.
Can't see me, can't see me, can't see me.
If I can't see him, he can't see me.
Bernadette: "…"
So that idiom — 'burying your head in the sand' — is a real thing after all.
Half a minute later, the cat — white cat now — cautiously peeled its paws apart and peeked through the gap, only to find the large human was still standing exactly where it had been, looking at it with cool, unimpressed eyes.
Its heart sank.
Time for the last resort.
It blinked slowly. Then, in the softest, most endearing voice it could produce: "Mrrrow~ (๑>ᴗ<๑)"
Bernadette reached out, grabbed it by the scruff, and lifted it into the air. The little creature immediately curled its fluffy tail over its bottom for protection and tilted its head with another pitiful little mew.
Bernadette was unmoved. With her other hand she seized the cat's tail, flipped it upside down, and pried open the pouch on its belly. Then she shook it. And rattled it. And thumped it on its little rear end.
Coins, cracked pottery, chipped dishes, a small suit of armour, battered pots, old books — a cascade of miscellaneous objects began raining out of the pouch onto the floor.
The cat went absolutely berserk. It flailed its paws desperately, trying to catch each item as it fell, and caught nothing. Tears streamed freely from its eyes.
No!
Those are MY coins!
Every last one of those I saved up myself!
You THIEF!
You MONSTER!
You absolute VILLAIN!
Nooooo!
After half a minute, when nothing more would come out, the cat hung limp — drained of colour, drained of everything, staring into an empty future with the expression of a creature that had given up on the world.
Bernadette said, cool as ever, "Why were you stealing my money?"
They're MINE!!
The instinct to argue surged — but the cat's face shifted quickly into perfect blankness and wide, bewildered innocence. Doesn't matter — first priority: escape this monster.
"Can't understand me?"
Bernadette set it down on the chair. "Fine. You can go."
I'm free!
It sagged with relief, cast one last, agonised look at the scattered treasure, and began making its way toward the door with a heart that felt like it was bleeding.
All those years of collecting, completely gone. Waaah.
It had almost reached the door when Bernadette spoke again. "If you can't understand me, how did you know I said you could go?"
"???"
The cat went rigid.
No. No no no.
But this time it caught itself faster. It simply continued walking, exactly as if it hadn't heard a thing. "Ha! I'm not falling for the same trick twice."
Bernadette picked up a small silver candlestick from the pile. "You don't want any of this back?"
Of course I do.
"Take it then."
Is this real? No. It's a trap.
"If you don't want it, I'll get rid of it."
The white cat's step hitched almost imperceptibly. The eyes reddened. Out with the old, in with the new.
"Do you think I could throw it into the Black Lake from here?"
Bernadette's lips curved. She walked to the window, held the candlestick out over the sill, and let a thread of magical energy run into her fingers — ready to launch it at any moment.
"…"
The white cat turned in the doorway, and in silence it padded back. Without a word, it began scooping its treasures up one by one and feeding them back into the belly pouch.
Bernadette watched. Patient. Still.
When the last piece was in, the cat hopped up onto the table and looked up at her, extending one small paw.
These magical creatures really are something.
She tossed the candlestick back. The cat caught it neatly and dropped it into the pouch. It then moved toward the coins — and received a light tap on the paw from Bernadette. "Those are mine."
The cat's eyes locked onto the pile of Galleons and began tracking them with the single-minded focus of a creature whose soul was in genuine pain.
"If you come to steal from me again," Bernadette said, "I won't be so patient."
She could guess, of course. The coins that had inexplicably appeared yesterday must have come from this cat. Somehow, in trying to steal the staff, it had spilled them. What she found genuinely puzzling was why the cat had thrown them out in the first place.
Was it because of the staff?
She glanced over at the staff leaning against the wall. Ollivander had said something, hadn't he — that the staff had a tendency to attract wild cats and lynxes.
Bernadette settled onto the settee and picked up a book from beside her foot. "Tell me, then — why does this stick have such a hold over…"
She stopped.
She was looking at the book. At the writing inside it.
Her breathing hitched.
Her eyes went wide with something that had no name yet.
This book… this book…
That's impossible.
Why is this book written in Roselle's script?
Why does this world have a written language that was invented by her father?
To be continued…
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