"Mother Newt helps me," Nastasia went on quietly, staring down at her hands. "She's the only person who knows about it, and she explained it all to me. The Muggles have something sort of like it. They call it Dissociative identity disorder. I memorized that. I like the sound of it. The witch version is really rare. It has a name I can barely pronounce."
James shook his head slowly. "I'm… a bit lost here, Nastasia."
She looked up at him again. "I have… a fractured personality." She smiled weakly. "Two of them, actually. Two versions of me, both totally different, both living in the same mind. There's Nasti, the mean one, and there's Ashya, the nice one. That's simplifying things quite a bit, actually, but you get the point. I can't control which one appears at any time. That's pretty crazy, I suppose, isn't it?"
"Actually," James replied seriously, "that sort of explains quite a lot."
"Don't make fun of me," she said, dropping her eyes again.
"I'm not. Really. I just…" he shrugged. "It sort of doesn't come as a great surprise. It… sort of helps."
Nastasia sighed again, shuddering. "In the Muggle world, they have medicines for people with more than one personality. In the magical world, they have… other methods. Mother Newt, she taught me that what I have, it doesn't have to be a curse. She said that it's lots different for witches than it is for Muggles. I can train both halves of my personality to work together, like partners, if they have the same ends in mind. The trick, she said, is to have very clearly defined goals, to make sure both of my… versions… work toward the same things."
James was morbidly fascinated. "How do you do that?"
"Ah," Nastasia said with a smile, glancing up at him. "That's between me and Mother Newt." There was a flicker in Nastasia's gaze, a mischievous glint, and James wondered if he was seeing a glimmer of her other personality: Nasti. It chilled him slightly.
"So the snake thing?"
The glint in Nastasia's eyes became a hard glare, burning in the darkness. Then, with a seeming force of will, she blinked it away. "Mother Newt says there are words for that, too, if you ask the healers at the medical college. They call it a 'transmorphic event'. Mother Newt calls it something else. She calls it a magical release valve."
James cocked his head. "A way to relieve pressure?"
She nodded. "It started when I was three or four years old. Normally, it takes years to learn the art of the animagus, but under certain conditions, when a witch or wizard's brain experiences extreme stress from within, it can happen spontaneously, as a sort of escape. When both sides of my personality, Nasti and Ashya, went to war against each other, my mind couldn't handle the strain. So it… just changed me."
"I see," James said slowly. "As a snake, things are much simpler, I suppose. A bit more… er, singleminded. Right?"
Nastasia shrugged and looked away. "Something like that."
"So when the Lady of the Lake attacked Lily," James said, narrowing his eyes, "you saw what was happening and… you were at war with yourself?"
Nastasia still did not meet James' eyes. "I've learned to control it," she answered duly. "As the years went by, I began to understand the mental muscles that made the change happen. Now, I can do it whenever I want to. It's a pretty useful skill. Sometimes, like you say, it's handy to be able to turn into… something else."
"So you fought the Lady of the Lake and saved Lily's life." James nodded. "I haven't thanked you for that."
She laughed darkly. "I'm not sure it was this 'Lady of the Lake' you're always talking about. It doesn't matter. But don't thank me. Don't ever thank me."
"Why not?
She looked at him sharply, piercingly. Suddenly, she slid off her chair and knelt in front of James, leaning close over the arm of his chair.
"You can't trust me, James," she said in a hard whisper. "Don't you see? The parts of me, they don't always agree. I try to make Nasti and Ashya work together. I really do! But I can't always make both sides of me want the same things. I don't always know what it is that I'm up to. And I don't… I can't trust that it's always good." She stopped suddenly, her face pinched into a frown of concentration. "Did I… did I tell you I would come along with you to talk to Professor Avior at Durmstrang?"
James studied her face incredulously. "Well… yes. Of course you did. You don't remember?"
Her eyes drifted away slowly, lost in thought. "Yes…" she said vaguely. "Yes, I guess I do. But…"
There was a long pause. Finally, Nastasia shook her head wearily. "Just, be careful when you are with me, James. I'll try to control it. I have… ways."
"The snake," James nodded.
"Yes," she said, almost dismissively, her eyes growing glassy again, distant. "But not just that. There's something else. Something I have to concentrate on, something that keeps all of me working toward the same thing."
James suddenly felt very sad for Nastasia. For the first time, he saw her not as a capricious, manipulative pixie, but as a tortured girl with a weighty secret, struggling to keep herself-- and everyone around her-- safe from her own nightmares. In some ways, she was very similar to Petra.
He touched her lightly on the shoulder. "It can't be that bad," he said. "What is it you concentrate on?"
Nastasia looked into his eyes again, gravely and intently. "The thing both parts of me have agreed on since the beginning of this school year," she answered softly. And then she kissed him. It was quick, darting, and over before he even realized it was happening. His heart crammed up into his throat and his face heated, reddening his cheeks.
"Goodnight, James," Nastasia said, her lips still only inches from his. "Close your eyes again. All right?"
"You're mental," he whispered faintly.
A smile twitched the corners of Nastasia's mouth. "That's what I've been trying to tell you."
James shook his head, his heart still pounding in his throat, his cheeks still burning. He closed his eyes.
Nastasia shrank away with a dull, complicated thump. He heard the soft rasp of her slithering as she moved away across the rugs of the common room floor, beneath the sofas and chairs. Seconds later, there was only silence.
He opened his eyes. His head was spinning, as were his emotions. He barely knew how he felt. He only knew one thing with certainty.
Nastasia's visit certainly had not made things any simpler.
"Run, students! It's called tag rugby, not tag standing-around-wheezing-like-old-women!" The iron voice of Tabitha Corsica, in her Yorke teacher guise, rang out over the muddy field with the assistance of an electric bullhorn.
"She's enjoying this way too much," Ralph panted, hands on his knees, mud staining his St. Brutus' tee shirt all the way to the chest.
Graham nodded weakly. "It's state-sanctioned torture, I tell you."
James looked up to see a herd of students galloping toward them in pursuit of a terrified looking Kevin Murdoch, who held the football in front of him like a bomb. The mob bowled over James, Graham and Ralph, capturing them in a melee of bashing shoulders, muddy knees, and sharp elbows. James fell, tripped a particularly beefy Yorke student, and felt two more stampede across his back, their large, gratefully mud-caked cleats driving him into the mushy grass. A second later, the entire scrum collapsed onto Murdoch, burying him in a massive, grunting tackle.
"Remember, students," Corsica called, the bullhorn turning her voice into an electric squawk. "This is tag rugby. But I do commend your enthusiasm. Carry on! We've twenty-five minutes before cool-down calisthenics!"
"You won't believe what I just heard," Graham moaned, limping back toward James and Ralph as the rugby scrum boiled away toward the far goal.
"Don't tell me this is a double-period and she's going to make us run laps after this," Ralph begged, wide-eyed.
"Worse!" Graham spat. "Corsica's going to be doing double teacher duty, filling in part-time at another school with an unexpected vacancy. Just heard the captain of the Yorke squad talking about it. Corsica told them about it this morning and they'
re all broken up about it! They totally love her!"
"That's impossible," James shook his head.
"Who cares?" Ralph interjected, digging a dollop of mud out of his ear.
"They were laughing about the name of the teacher she's filling in for," Graham added pointedly. "A real gut-buster, they said! The teacher she's replacing is some barmy duffer named… Longbottom!"
James startled so hard that he slipped on the mud and nearly toppled back onto the wet grass. "Longbottom? Are you sure?"
Graham rolled his eyes. "Pretty hard to get that name wrong, isn't it? Corsica told them he taught at some yokel private school up north. Can you believe it?"
James shook his head slowly in wonder. "Grudje replaced Professor Longbottom already! He got the Ministry to reassign Corsica to his post!"
"He probably asked for her specifically," Ralph said dourly. "She'd be just his sort."
"No wonder she's in such a good mood," Graham sighed.
Ralph shook his head, flinging muddy water from his hair. "I wonder where Professor Longbottom is now?"
James frowned worriedly. "Probably cooling his heels in some Ministry detention centre along with Professor Revalvier. Maybe dad knows about it. If we have a chance, we'll ask him tonight."
A rumbling of the ground announced the return of the rugby scrum. James braced himself as the mob swept over him again, sweeping the three boys along like a sweaty, mud-spattered snowball.
From the side-line, Corsica grinned from her false, middle-aged face, her oversized glasses glinting white with the reflection of the cloudy sky.
James spent the rest of the day distracted by thoughts of the previous night, as well as hopes for the night to come. He hoped that his dad had gotten their message and would be able to get through via the Gryffindor common room floo. Further, he was worried that Filch would announce some draconian, latenight detention for all members of the Night Quidditch League, possibly interfering with the arranged midnight meeting with his father. As evening descended, however, no word came down about any punishment at all.
"Perhaps Grudje is just content to have nailed Longbottom," Rose whispered at dinner.
"More likely Longbottom took responsibility for the whole thing," James muttered. "The worst part is it's all my fault. It was my idea and I talked him into it."
Scorpius nodded loftily. "That's true."
"Quiet, Scorpius," Rose chided. "The professor never would have gone along with it if he hadn't agreed it was a good idea. There's no point blaming yourself, James."
As they spoke in hushed whispers, Albus approached from the direction of the Slytherin table, walking with almost absurd, forced casualness, hands clasped behind his back, whistling loudly. He slid an eye toward James and ducked toward him, cramming between Lily and Ralph.
"So how are we going to get in tonight, eh?" he asked quietly. "You going to meet us outside the portrait hole? Or do you trust me, your own brother, enough to just give me the password?"
"Tonight?" James blinked at his brother. "You don't mean…?"
"Indeed I do!" Albus nodded vigorously. "Beetlebrick, Fiera and the rest of Slytherin Night Quidditch, we all risked our necks to help send that message last night. We deserve to be there when dad calls just as much as you do."
"That's rich," Scorpius muttered. "If you think we're going to let you winkle your way into the Gryffindor common room, you're even more daft than I thought."
Albus' face darkened. "You watch yourself, Malfoy. I still haven't forgotten our first train ride together, or what happened on the day of granddad's funeral. Somebody owes you a good thrashing."
"You're still jealous that the Sorting Hat sent me to dear old dad's house and you got tossed to the snakes," Scorpius grinned humourlessly. "Isn't that right, Asp?"
"Stuff a sock in it, both of you!" Lily exclaimed, pushing the boys apart.
"Wotcha," Kendra Korner whispered suddenly, sticking her head between James and Ralph. "What time tonight? Midnight on the dot? Me and the other Hufflepuffs were thinking we'd skive out of astronomy club early and be there at half past eleven. What say?"
James boggled at her in horror.
"I say this is getting silly," Rose said with a brisk sigh. "Look, Kendra, we can't have two dozen people sneaking into the Gryffindor common room at midnight tonight."
Albus leaned over the table intently. "You can't just freeze all the rest of us out. We totally helped. You Gryffindors are always trying to take all the credit."
Kendra nodded. "It's not a bit fair, James. You have to let at least me and Albus in."
"Budge up, Malfoy," Herman Potsdam suddenly announced, forcing his considerable frame between Scorpius and Lily. He glanced seriously around the table. "This is about tonight, right? What time are we meeting?"
James threw up his hands in exasperation. "All of you are going to ruin everything. You know that, right?"
Ralph shrugged. "They did help, James," he said. "It's only fair that you let them be in on the conversation."
"I don't even know that dad got the message!" James hissed. "This could all be for nothing!"
"We should probably tell a teacher or two," Albus suggested, ignoring James. "I heard Professor Longbottom say last night that McGonagall and Flitwick are in on the anti-Grudje rebellion."
"Shh!" James hushed suddenly. He glanced quickly toward the head table, expecting to see Grudje watching. Instead, fortunately, the headmaster seemed to be virtually asleep, his fingers steepled, his eyes closed serenely. James heaved a brief sigh of relief. "We can't just go around talking to teachers about this," he went on in a lower voice. "Professor Longbottom said that Grudje has ears everywhere, possibly even in teachers' quarters. If word gets out, we'll get shut down for sure."
Rose frowned. "How would Grudje be able to hear what people are saying in their quarters?"
Ralph screwed up his face in thought. "Extendable ears, perhaps?" he suggested. "Remember those ones that Ted Lupin had last year? The ones that didn't even have to be connected to the source?"
Scorpius shook his head. "Any competent wizard knows how to find stuff like that. If there was some magical receiver in their quarters, a simple Ravaelio spell would show it."
"Either way," James interjected, trying to keep the conversation on point, "We can't tell any other teachers, even if we know they are on our side. Not unless we know there's no way Grudje is listening."
"Fine," Albus agreed. "But you need to at least allow us three to be there. It's only fair." He glanced from Kendra to Herman Potsdam, both of whom nodded firmly.
James deflated. "All right, all right. Be outside the common room door at five before midnight. Someone will let you in, assuming," he added, bolting upright again, "there are no Gryffindors still in the common room who don't know what's going on, and that you don't get rounded up by Filch on the way! Remember, he's got the invisibility cloak now! If you get caught, you don't say a word about this."
"Oh," Albus blinked in mock confusion. "I assumed you'd want us to invite Filch along, perhaps draw him a custom invitation with a check-box for whether Mrs. Norris will be attending as well." Scorpius smiled wryly at this, turning partly away so Albus wouldn't see.
"Joke all you want," Rose said, "Just don't get caught. And bring Ralph, too. He was there in New Amsterdam with us. His input will probably come in handy."
Ralph perked up to protest, then sank back, apparently realizing it would be useless.
"Score for Slytherin!" Albus chirped happily, clapping Ralph on the shoulder.
Scorpius flapped a hand at the newcomers. "All of you clear off to your tables. Grudje will smell conspiracy if you hang about here."
"That's true," Herman nodded. "Last time a Hufflepuff sat with you Gryffindors was…" he frowned in deep thought. "Actually, I don't think there was a last time."
Albus saluted briskly. "See you tonight, James. Don't keep us waiting. Come on, Ralph."
One by one, the non-Gryffindors retreated to their own table
s.
"Well then," Scorpius proclaimed cheerily, grabbing a cupcake from the desert platter. "Looks like we're going to be having quite a little party."
James buried his face in his crossed arms.
At five minutes past midnight that night, James found himself on the sofa before the Gryffindor fireplace, crammed between Rose and Albus in the centre of a bubble of uncomfortable silence.
"You forgot, apparently," Rose hissed at him, "that tonight was a Friday. No school tomorrow means loads of people staying up for no particular reason."
James didn't reply. There was no point. Behind them, the common room was indeed a hive of late night activity, crowded with knots of babbling students, a wizard wireless tuned to a distant Wyrd Sisters Reunion concert, and at least one raucous Winkles and Augers game. In the midst of this, as conspicuous as a third thumb, sat the gathering of Albus, Ralph, Kendra Korner, and Herman Potsdam, all hunched around the hearth with James, Rose, Lily and Scorpius.
"Do you mind?" Albus perked up suddenly, scolding Cameron Creevey as he crept curiously around the arm of the sofa. "We're having a study group! No interruptions!"
"Albus," Rose muttered out of the corner of her mouth. "You're drawing more attention than you're sending away. It's bad enough having people from every house here for no apparent reason."
Albus went on, undeterred as Cameron rejoined his friends at a nearby table. "We're practicing advanced telepathy! Dangerous stuff if you don't know how to do it. If you get within ten feet it'll permanently scramble your brain. Seriously, you've been warned!"
Herman stirred uncomfortably. "It's nearly ten past. Where is he?"
"We don't even know he got the message," Ralph commented. "This could all be for nothing."
James crossed his arms stubbornly. "Give it a few more minutes. Dad just had to have been watching the Map. He couldn't have missed us all out there on the pitch."
"Maybe he was working last night," Albus shrugged, growing bored. "Sometimes he has to, you know. Auror stuff. Happens around the clock."
"Not lately," Lily commented. "Titus Hardcastle has been handling a lot of the late night raids and stuff. After all, he doesn't have a family or anything."
James Potter and the Morrigan Web Page 34
