Chapters Grasping for a Happy Memory
Ember Quill’s eyes began to dart from side to side as she followed the thing that vaguely resembled a path in the Everforbidden Forest. This was not her brightest shining moment, that was for sure.
She should have paid the highway robbers at Slug & Jiggers Apothecary for their vastly overpriced Moonflower pods she needed for her project. Should have grinned and bore it. Then she wouldn't be jumping at shadows and scorching random portions of the forest thinking they were coming at her. Why hadn't she been smart and sensible and done just that? Even as she berated herself, the mental image of her pitiful bitpurse greeted her mind’s eye.
Despite her negative thoughts, she continued trudging onward. She’d been through the forest not too long ago, during the day. Everything had been fine, and despite her cautious, quiet pace, she was nearly back to the spot where she had found the closed flowers buds on that excursion into the forest.
If only the flowers had been in bloom… But it was more potent if they were harvested on the night of a full moon, and potency was important. She had grand plans for this batch of brew. And you couldn't charge top bits with substandard ingredients.
Finally, through the tree she saw a semi-open field, clusters of glowing white blooms pointed skyward. A grin sprang to her lips and she picked up her pace. The petals were milky white with mottled grey rings on them, miniature versions of moon with the exception of a small grey marble sized seed pods in the center of each bloom. With visible relief she gathered them by hoof and dropped them gently into a packet that she tucked inside her uniform sweater.
Any direct contact with magic before brewing would have rendered them useless, not terribly hard to make sure didn’t happen. But by gathering the pods manually took time, and the moon crawled across the sky as she worked. The temperature gradually began to drop, till Ember was shivering in earnest.
She turned back to the path and began to trot quickly back the way she had come. Still the air grew colder, Ember’s teeth chattered as she kept up the quicker pace, despite that it was nosier than her initial approach to slipping through the forest.
Why was she even doing this anyways. Something was bound to go wrong with the brewing process. Who would even pay top bit for something made by a student— one who’s focus wasn't even potions? It was ridiculous to think otherwise. Memories of words from some of her old classmates rang in her ears. Reminding her of all the failures she had dealt with to get to this point of proficiency where she’d even imagine selling the product at the end.
Her hooves slowed with each new unpleasant set of words to flow through her mind. Really— what was the point of it all. She’d fail and then— seeing the breath in front of her muzzle made her blink sluggishly. What was wrong.. these things had stopped making her so weepy— or so she had thought initially.. But there were tears growing in the corners of her eyes… These things now made her more angry than sad…? Didn't they?
She realized then that she had stopped moving entirely, swaying slightly she raised her head to look around, dizzy and confused. The tears were still building strength in the corners of her eyes.
"You’re going to end up alone. Just a crazy catpony." Her ears flicked back flat on her head as half-forgotten voice of some colt from her childhood sounded in her ears.
"You don’t belong here Halfblood." That was the venomous one of her housemates, the first time she realized how the dynamics of Slytherin House worked.
"They only made her Prefect because she’s such a brown-muzzle." The hiss of one of her year mates, talking late at night, in that behind your back in front of your face way that only a Slytherin could truly master.
"Miss Tibbles has passed away Ember." She was only eight years old again, as the Veterinarian told her briskly that her kitten died after being run over by a cart…
"You’re never going to amount to anything." "Everyone will forget about you the moment you’re dead." "It’s over, stop pinning like a lovesick filly." "Stop taking up her time, she’s got more important things to do than to speak to you!" ”She’s a freak of nature!” "I can’t believe you did that to me!" “I hate you!” "Just leave me alone, you were never worth the effort Ember."
Ember’s eyes overflowed, no longer able to withhold the tears. Dry heaves built up in her chest, eyes darting around into the all encompassing gloom. What was going on? Why was this happening?
Was this a panic attack? It was hard to think, her mind felt dizzy and disjointed as tears dripped down to make small dark circles in the dirt and the air trembled in her lungs.
In the distance a floating figure began to emerge from the fog. Ember’s blue eyes locked with the glowing red embers in the sockets where eyes might have once rested. The moment that happened, the waves of bad memories transformed into a torrential flood.
Trembling, Ember fought the terror-paralysis that had seized her mind. The charm came to her mind quickly and easily enough— but the other part— the other part— how, how was she supposed to focus on a single happy memory?
Her ears were drowning in the sounds of every insult, every bad memory she thought she had half-forgotten already.
The dementor continued it’s progress toward her, as though it could sense that she was unable to collect herself to protect against it, and it relished the added fear.
When— when had she smiled— when had she laughed. A time, during the last summer holiday break sprang to the forefront of her thoughts. On the train platform, it was the first time her younger sister had accompanied her father to pick her up from school— Fauna had been wide eyed and so excitable— so unlike her usually— and since it wasn't technically home— she’d levitated her sister onto her back to give her a ride back to the train that would take them home.
It had been the first time her little sister had been impressed, awestruck even, it had been such a relief then— to know her sister still felt like she was someone to look up to, not that she was unnatural, not that she was some alien. Fauna had begged Ember to crash in a pillow and blanket fortress in the living room, like they had years before— and trying to focus on this memory, Ember carefully spoke the incantation.
It felt as though all the images of that evening spun together into a single rope sized thread, spouting from her horn and bursting into existence above her head.
The phoenix launched itself at the dementor, glowing brightly.
Author's Note
Follow Ember's non-Hogwarts adventures on tumblr at:
It was finally her turn to step up to the cauldron and take a whiff. She was torn, as her hooves brought her closer to the rim of the cauldron. The Slytherin was curious, of course, but watching the faces of her classmates had left her uneasy.
There was a vulnerability in their faces when they drew back from the softly shining mixture. Stallion and mare alike, no one had been prepared for what they smelled. Everypony’s interest— no, their attachment, to whatever they smelled was obvious— it revealed a manipulable weakness in them. Her fellows in Slytherin house had walked up there like she had planned to, with a blank mask in place, but all of them had failed to keep the shock and longing from their faces.
They however were not the ones telling their friends in hushed whispers what it was they smelled. Very foolish, Ember thought, cataloging whatever scents her classmates told their friends they had smelled. Did none of them realize how vulnerable that smell had made them? Did they not realize they were telling everyone with ears what made them tick, something that could help them be taken advantage of?
It was not the sort of thing she wanted to display before the class. But she knew better than to believe that she could keep her casual blankness in tact when all of her classmates before her could not.
Carefully she drew up and placed her hooves gently on the lip of the cauldron to balance herself, and breathed in a delicate sniff of the spiral shaped steam that rose from the mother of pearl colored liquid.
Evergreen— pine, oak— the woodsy smells hit her like a physical thing— but not like a brick wall— rather, it was as if that physical thing she ran into were another pony. The smells were — intimate? Somehow. It was love potion after all— but woodsy? Ember’s face flushed as she took in a deeper breath, and she found it was hard to tear herself away from the cauldron, despite the fact she knew she had to look like all her other classmates had been.
She’d never found the scent of a forest so intoxicating before… Getting a hold of herself quickly, she took another deep breath in before carefully stepping away from the cauldron and back down on all four hooves. Her face still felt hot when she settled by her table, but she had time to compose herself.
Her table mates had already gone, and Slytherin to the core there was an unspoken agreement that they would not make eye contact until they were all composed. To any outside house it might have looked cold. The silence, the lack of chatter about what they had experienced— but really, one of the nicest things any Slytherin could do for you is politely decline to acknowledge a momentary weakness.
Ember looked back at the front of the room while the next few students took their turns. How strange… she was an indoors-y type pony, but every nuance of the smell that she remembered had been natural and earthy. The Slytherin rubbed her nose with her hoof until she had her blush under control.
She’d wonder about it some other time. The lecture was about to start.
Author's Note
See other OC's in the wonderful crossover of MLP and Harry Potter at the tumblr blog that inspired these snippets:http://mlp-hogwarts-au.tumblr.com/
If she hadn't been a fifth year student, she would have been able to admit to herself that she was thoroughly lost. But pride kept her from acknowledging it as she stepped through the darkening corridors of the castle.
Somewhere in the last fifteen minutes, trying to find stairs that would lead down to the dungeons had turned into a ‘well-deserved stroll to clear her mind’ —- while looking for stairs that would lead down to the dungeon.
A muscle ticked near her temple with exasperation. The Slytherin had been looking for the last half hour, and every set of stairs she had been on leading down had switched to swing upwards when she stepped on them.
As a Prefect, she was allowed out of her dormitory past curfew, but she’d been done with rounds ages ago. If the caretaker found her here, or if his insufferable pet cat found her out here, she’d get written up for detention for sure.
Still the stairs continued to lead her upwards despite her best intentions. Her hoofbeats slowed till she was standing stock still in the middle of the stairs, brows knit together.
What if she went upstairs, where the castle clearly was trying to lead her? Her brows slowly unknit as her frustration with herself morphed into curiosity, after all, if the castle wanted her to go someplace, how was she, a student, to stop it?
With noticeably less frustration, Ember turned and began going up. Stairs didn't shift or turn in the opposite direction as she wound her way up them. The mare’s mind drifted from her current predicament as she followed the path the castle set out for her, it was going a lot faster now that she had given in to it’s mysterious plans.
Her hooves clicked solemnly on the marble floor. She’d heard older students speak of the castle’s movements as though it were a living being. Professors regularly spoke of the castle as knowing what was needed for students and instructors alike, to keep the school happy and running. But this was her only first-hoof experience with the phenomena.
What on earth could it possibly want? She resigned herself to just hoping that it wasn't trying to get her caught for being out of bounds past curfew.
Finally, Ember stopped when the castle dropped her off on a level, near the top— without a second staircase swinging up to take her higher. She considered briefly taking the stairs that pointed down— but she didn't really want to start this process again.
The mare stood at the end of the hall and looked into the gloomy depths of it. A quick glance at the clutter of the hall granted her bearings. This was where her Advanced Charms and Thaumaturgy classes were held. Her ears drooped. She’d been able to avoid thinking about both classes this evening. After her less than stellar performance on the tests in them two days ago.
Why did the castle want to bring her here… Her patience and curiosity started to ebb away, hurt pride bringing a scowl to her muzzle. She glanced back at the stair that led down, hopefully to the dungeon. Ember didn't want to be here, but the stair rumbled, as if it were rising upwards, almost threateningly. The Slytherin rolled her eyes and stared forward down the hall. All of the classrooms doors were shut. No surprise this far past curfew.
The door of one of the underutilized study halls across from the Thaumaturgy classroom creaked open in a way that almost drove Ember to shrieking.
The mare dug her hooves into the hard stone of the hallway’s floor, white showing all the way around her eyes as she tried to get over her momentary heart attack. She felt like she’d been transported to one of the muggle horror movies her friends had dragged her to during summer break.
The half-blood tried to get the very muggle comparison out of her head and compose herself. Just like a muggle to jump at the thought of ghosts and demons when she’d seen the school ghosts in the past. Picturing some of her classmates sneering idiocy at her helped cool her head.
Ember stiffened her shoulders and stepped purposefully towards the door. She had listened to the castle this far, why stop now? She nudged the door open with her forehoof and looked around before stepping inside.
It was an average empty room. She was aware that the tension in her shoulders and back started to loosen despite trying desperately to pretend that it didn't exist at all. She let out a relieved sigh— no, a small yawn, that was all, and stepped up to one of the desk cushions to sit for a moment.
Perhaps the castle was trying to tell her to practice? The notion seemed absurd, why would a enormous magical building tell her to study? If it did that it wouldn't have time to sleep— well, it didn't really sleep did it, but meaning behind the expression held true still. The Slytherin looked around again, now that she was fully inside the room and her keen blue eyes landed on something tall and fabric covered just behind the door, out of eyesight from where she’d originally stood.
She stiffened, wary again. Ember stared at the tall thing for long minutes, holding her breath in case it was someone standing beneath the fabric— doing what exactly? The long minutes passed with absolutely no motion from the cloth, not even breathing… And the Slytherin released the held breath.
Curious now, and inwardly cursing herself for foolish muggle fear, she stepped forward and stepped on the covering to pull it down. The dusty cloth fell in a heap, sending clouds of dust in every direction. After a few sneezes, Ember opened her watery eyes to try and focus on what was beneath the cloth.
It was a large— gilded mirror..? Except that wasn't right, her reflection was hazy and fading away, and it continued to do so after her eyes cleared from the dust. The image swirled slowly, like the surface of a pond that was disturbed by the barest of winds. When the mirror’s surface stilled, it showed bookcases— a row of bookcases, full of books and signs like Flourish and Blots, proclaiming in enchanted voices about new arrivals or special editions or sales.
Something tugged at the mare’s heart when she saw them. These— these books were important— so important, how did she even know that? She leaned forward to look closer at the bindings. When it came into focus, her gasp echoed in the silent room.
Blue eyes darted from spine to spine. They all— they all were written by her! E. Quill adorned the spines of every single book— and there were so many different spines— it wasn't just multiple copies of one book— there were at least ten or twenty in the bookcases, all credited to her.
Struck dumb by the shock of it, Ember didn't even attempt to move when the mirror began to swirl again. Each time it stopped swirling she was bombarded with a new image, they lasted shorter and shorter as it became clear what they all had in common. The books on the shelves, herself at a signing table, the faces of mares and stallions, fillies and colts, all reading her books.
The last image in the reel remained as she sat there in stunned silence, and it was the one that brought the tears in her eyes cascading down her cheeks. Her charms professor stood in front of a class… he looked older, the students younger—- and the books they had before them on their desks— were hers.
Her eyes closed, squeezing shut for all their worth to shut out the image in the mirror. After this week— the image seemed more of a cruel joke than a foretelling of future events. This— this is what she wanted more than anything.
