Chapter XVII: The Potions Master’s Daughter

Once again, Morgaine was wandering about the house several hours before any of its other inhabitants had even a thought of stirring. Should someone ask, she would blame the early sunrise and claim that the first golden beams had tickled her nose and coaxed her out of bed. But in fact, she had awoken long before the sunlight had peeked through the gap in the curtains. Just what had awoken her, Morgaine did not know. She never did. There was never any noise, nor could she remember any of her dreams.

She wrapped her cold fingers around a cup of hot tea, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply: valerian root, mint, camomile and lavender, her grandmother’s own blend. The third morning Morgaine had ventured into the kitchen before sunrise, the tea had been standing on the counter, right beside her favourite cup. And as there were no house-elves around, Morgaine assumed that her grandmother had placed it there. Naturally, the old woman knew exactly what was going on in her house, even in the wee hours of morning. She must have known that Morgaine wasn’t sleeping. But she never said a word.

The tea was sweet and made Morgaine unwind, but going back to bed was not an option. She wouldn’t find any more sleep. Instead she opened the backdoor and placed a woollen blanket on the bench outside. She would await the morning there, as she had done so often lately.

The garden had not changed: lavender was growing close to the door for protection, kitchen herbs had been planted to the left, medicinal plants to the right. The little greenhouse, heated by an underground hot spring, still held exotic flowers and bushes, and all over the lawn grew flowers in small groups. Some were indigenous to Iceland, others were not. But all the plants and flowers had one thing in common: they were healthy and well taken care of. Margaret had always had green fingers, and she loved her flowers dearly.

Not far from the backdoor grew a tender rose bush. Only a couple of weeks earlier, that bush had looked as if it were ready for the compost heap. No wonder really. Despite the Gulf Stream, the Icelandic climate was harsh, and roses were delicate flowers. But Demeter had insisted on taking care of the bush, and now there were new buds, some looking ready to open any moment.

Morgaine smiled. She herself had never shown any talent for making things grow. And Severus, well, he had had a small garden at Spinner’s End where he had grown plants for his potions. But he had never struck Morgaine as a devoted botanist. Demeter could certainly not have inherited her talent from either of her parents.

When Morgaine heard steps behind her, she did not need to turn around. Besides her, there was only one person in the house who would leave her bed at this hour. Moments later, she found the empty cup in her hand being replaced by a new one.

‘How did you know back then, when Demeter was just a baby?’ Morgaine asked as her grandmother had settled on the bench beside her. ‘How did you know that she would have green fingers?’

Margaret smiled and brushed her granddaughter’s cheek with the back of her wrinkled hand. ‘Are you implying that I knew about Demeter’s gift and chose her name accordingly?’

Morgaine nodded silently. She did not look up at her grandmother. Instead she concentrated on the trace of warmth that the old woman’s touch had left on her cheek. It seemed to be seeping right through her skin and into her very soul.

‘How do you know that it was not the other way around?’ Margaret continued. ‘How do you know that I did not just find the name pretty and that the Earth Mother later on blessed the child who carried her name?’

Morgaine frowned slightly. Despite having been brought up with the Old Faith, the idea of gods and goddesses had never appealed to her. She found it therefore hard to imagine that any deity had blessed her daughter in any way.

‘Don't frown like that, child,’ Margaret said and once more patted Morgaine’s cheek. ‘I have seen enough babes to just know that Demeter would have the gift of making flowers bloom.’

‘You didn’t choose my name, did you?’ Morgaine asked. It was a stupid question, she knew that. She had not been born far away from Iceland, far away from the protective hands of her grandmother.

Margaret shook her head. ‘Your name still fits you, child. Morgaine le Fay was a wise woman and a gifted witch. She was loyal and loved passionately. Just like you.’

‘Depending on who you ask, Morgaine le Fay was also a traitor and an evil sorceress,’ Morgaine interrupted. And all of a sudden, the early sunny morning seemed chilly and cloudy. And she wished she had not asked.

‘Don’t be silly, child,’ Margaret chided, and Morgaine bit her lip as if she were indeed a little child that had just been scolded for being cheeky.

‘I would have chosen a very different name for you,’ Margaret explained, cupping Morgaine’s chin and making the younger woman look at her. ‘I would have given you the name of a protector, a caregiver. Because taking care of people is your greatest gift, Morgaine, no matter how much you are denying it. Just make sure you do not forget your own needs along the way.’

Two pairs of blue eyes locked onto each other, and Morgaine swallowed drily. Never before had she realised just how much her grandmother’s eyes resembled Dumbledore’s. Like her own, they were of the brightest blue, and they seemed to be able to look right into her soul.

She was, however, spared having to fortify her mental barriers by Demeter appearing in the door. ‘I thought I’d be the first one up.’ The girl yawned and rubbed her sleepy eyes.

Morgaine tore her eyes away from her grandmother’s and looked at her daughter instead, who was standing in the door, her black hair ruffled and her feet bare. ‘You will have to get up with the sun to beat me, little one.’

Demeter yawned once more and padded through the grass to inspect her roses. ‘They will bloom soon,’ she pointed out. ‘I knew it!’

‘I’ll get breakfast started,’ Margaret declared and once more tried to catch Morgaine’s eyes. But Morgaine just gave her a sad smile and rose to join her daughter.

‘Do you enjoy taking care of flowers?’ she asked.

The girl nodded eagerly, and Morgaine pointed towards a cluster of dark blue and purple flowers. ‘Can you tell me what this is?’ No time better to test her daughter’s herbal knowledge than this.

‘Aconite,’ Demeter answered at once. ‘It’s highly poisonous, but Granny uses it in an ointment against her rheumatism.’

The next flower Morgaine pointed at was violet.

‘Belladonna,’ Demeter answered. She was beaming with pride. ‘It’s a hallucinogenic and also highly poisonous.’

‘Don’t you think it is dangerous to grow all those poisonous plants?’ Morgaine enquired.

‘They are only dangerous for ignorant people,’ Demeter explained with a serious tone. ‘With the right knowledge, those plants can be very useful.’

Morgaine smiled. This was exactly the kind of answer she had expected from her daughter. ‘Looks like there is a chance that we will all survive when I let you near your first cauldron.’

Demeter’s mouth fell open. ‘A cauldron? Does that mean you are going to teach me Potions?’

Morgaine nodded. ‘Potions, Herbology, whatever you like. It is time for you to learn magic, little one.’

~ ~ ~
Morgaine smiled at the amazed look on her daughter’s face. The girl was staring in awe at the water goblet that moments earlier had been a little grey rat.

‘Will I learn how to do this?’ Demeter asked with an incredulous tone in her voice.

‘This and much more,’ Morgaine affirmed.

‘Like what?’

‘You have read my old books, little one,’ Morgaine replied. ‘You know exactly what you will learn.’

But it was obvious that the girl did not want to learn about magic from books alone. ‘I want you to tell me, Mother. I want you to show me and teach me!’

Demeter was almost levitating with excitement, and Morgaine laughed lightly. She had forgotten that the child had grown up without magic. And she had also forgotten how she herself had stared at Remus in awe when he had shown her how to do magic all those years ago.

‘You don’t want to wait another few weeks and be taught at Hogwarts then?’ she joked.

Demeter shot her a look that more or less declared her insane. ‘Of course not!’ she exclaimed. ‘Teach me now!’

Once more, Morgaine smiled and extended her wand towards her daughter. ‘Be careful with it,’ she warned. ‘This wand is getting old. I’d like to use it for a couple of years more.’

Demeter’s eyes widened as she carefully took the wand from her mother’s hand. ‘What is it made of?’ she wanted to know.

‘Birch tree. The core is made of dragon heartstring. Ollivander said it was a protective wand.’ Morgaine grinned. ‘But I reckon it’s quite good at Transfiguration, too,’ she added with a shrug.

Demeter was still holding the wand reverently in her open hands, gaping at it as if were made out of pure gold and adorned with precious gems.

‘It won’t do any magic like that, little one,’ Morgaine teased. ‘Take a hold of it.’

Demeter hesitated for another moment but then closed her left hand firmly around the handle. ‘It feels warm,’ she exclaimed.

Morgaine nodded. ‘Then it might just work for you.’ She put a feather on the table in front of them. ‘Now, the movement you want to make is a swish and a flick,’ she instructed and mimicked the motion with her empty hand. ‘The spell is Wingardium Leviosa.’

Demeter tried it at once, but nothing happened.

‘Don’t worry, little one,’ Morgaine said in a calming voice as she saw the disappointed look on her daughter’s face. ‘It’s not your own wand, and it’s the first time you’ve tried.’

She stepped behind Demeter and placed her left hand on the girl’s wrist. ‘Swish and flick,’ she repeated, guiding Demeter’s hand until the movement was just right. Then she stepped away. ‘Wingardium Leviosa. Have another try.’

At the third try, the feather lifted from the table. Slowly, slowly it rose into the air, and the higher it rose, the broader became the smile on Demeter’s face. ‘I can do magic!’ she called out. ‘Look, Mother!’

Morgaine smiled happily. She had never doubted her daughter’s magical abilities, but the girl’s joy was like balm on her soul. ‘I never expected anything less from you,’ she pointed out.

Slowly she took her wand from Demeter and carefully tucked it away in the folds of her robes.

‘Tomorrow we will see how well you do in Potions.’

~ ~ ~
Demeter had a hard time falling asleep that night. She was so excited! She had done magic today!

She had always known that she was a witch, and she had now and then been able to do things the other children in the village could not. She could swing higher than them, and when she jumped off the swing, she would soar through the air as if she were flying. Sometimes she could make small objects move without touching them. Once she had stopped a pot of boiling water from falling onto a little boy. Her great-grandmother had explained to her why she could do those things. Apparently, all wizard children could do some magic, even without a wand. But today, she had for the first time done magic because she had meant to. And it had been a glorious feeling that had made her heart beat faster in her chest.

But the best thing that had happened today had not been her making a feather levitate from a table. It had been the look on her mother’s face. She had looked so happy today, genuinely happy. She had been smiling and laughing, and her eyes had been glittering. And that had meant the world to Demeter.

Whomever she talked to about her mother, they would sooner or later always mention her mother’s smile and how her eyes smiled as much as her lips. But as much as Demeter wracked her brains, she could not make herself remember many such occasions. Her mother’s eyes had always been kind and friendly, but smiling? No, they were rarely smiling. If Demeter were to describe the emotions she could see in her mother’s eyes, she would choose the words sadness and loneliness. Especially over the last couple of years, since her mother had returned from the Wizarding world to tell her that her father had fallen in the war, those two emotions had always been reflecting in her eyes. Her mother had not cried the night she had returned from Hogwarts almost six years ago, but Demeter had sensed that something had died inside her. But she had never asked, because she had not wanted to make her mother even sadder than she already was.

Demeter slipped out of bed and lit a candle on her desk to be able to find her copy of Hogwarts – A History. The pages she was intending to look at were so worn that she didn’t need to bookmark them anymore. She knew exactly where to open the book to find the picture of her father.

Demeter let her fingers trail over the photograph. It was a strange feeling to look at it. They looked so much alike, Severus Snape and her, and still he was a stranger. Half a year ago, during the Christmas holidays, her mother had for the very first time talked about him. She had answered every question Demeter had asked, but still the girl was thirsty for more.

She was wondering why he had not moved on, of course, why his ghost was still lingering at Hogwarts. But her mother had said that she did not know. Demeter wondered if her father knew. Maybe, if she asked, he would tell her.

Or maybe he would not.

The thought of that possibility made Demeter flinch. What if he did not want to talk to her at all? He didn’t know her. For eleven years, he had not even known that she existed. And now that he did know, he had never contacted her.

Maybe ghosts could not write letters or use the Floo, Demeter tried to calm herself for the umpteenth time. Yes, that must be it. He was unable to contact her. They’d meet each other once she was at Hogwarts. There was no rush and no need to worry.

Demeter extinguished the candle and returned to her bed. But as she lay down, the uncertainty crept back into her heart. Part of her wanted to get up again and walk to her mother’s room to tell her about her fears. But she didn’t dare. Her mother had been happy today, and Demeter did not want to spoil it. She would tell her tomorrow, or any other day when the time seemed right.

With a sigh, Demeter pulled up her blanket and closed her eyes, silently praying that asking about her father would not extinguish the light she had seen in her mother’s eyes today.

~ ~ ~
‘Now, if you stir the potion seven times clockwise, it will cure the hiccup,’ Morgaine explained. ‘If you stir it counterclockwise, it will produce a hiccup, and whoever drinks this potion will be hiccupping one hour for every stir you add.’

Demeter fixed Morgaine with a calculating look, obviously trying to figure out which would please her mother more, her producing a healing potion or a joke. Her mother seemed in a good mood today. Maybe a little joke wouldn’t hurt.

‘I think I will stir the potion thrice, counterclockwise,’ she announced. And so she did. The potion turned pink, and Demeter grinned.

Morgaine stared at her daughter for a moment and then laughed. ‘Your father would throw a fit if he had seen this.’ She pulled Demeter into a hug and planted a kiss on her forehead. ‘Remind me to avoid Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes when we get to Diagon Alley.’

‘Why would we do that?’ Demeter sounded surprised and disappointed at the same time.

‘Because I don’t think Hogwarts is quite ready for a prankster like you.’

When Morgaine let go of her daughter, she saw the little one chewing her lip. ‘I’m only joking, little one. Of course I will take you to the Weasley shop.’

Demeter didn’t answer at once but kept chewing her lip. There was a frown on her brow, and if Morgaine hadn’t known better, she would have thought the child was about to cry.

‘Do you think he’ll like me?’ Demeter finally brought forth. ‘Father, I mean. What if he doesn’t?’

The question hit Morgaine like a Bludger to the guts. ‘Don’t even dare thinking that, Demeter,’ she exclaimed a little more vehemently than she had meant to. ‘Why on earth would you think that your father will anything but adore you?’

Demeter had shrunk away slightly and was still chewing her bottom lip. Soon she would draw blood. ‘He has never met me. He has no idea who I am. Why would he like me?’

‘Because you are his daughter!’ Morgaine brought her hands to her face and took a shaking breath. She had to calm down. Her raising her voice at Demeter and losing her composure was not helping. ‘Sit down, little one. Please.’

Demeter did as she was told, and as she had sat down on the bench, she looked up at her mother with her big blue eyes and a questioning look. And the tear that hung at her dark lashes hurt Morgaine more than anything else. Now it was her turn to be biting her lip. What had she done? Her secrecy had hurt the two people she loved most in this world. Severus not passing on and her daughter thinking that her father would not love her was her fault. Hers alone.

‘I am so sorry, Demeter,’ she started. ‘It should never have come to this. Even if was too dangerous for your father to know about you, I should have told you about him many years ago.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ Demeter’s jaw was set, and Morgaine knew the girl would not let her off the hook. And she had every right to know.

‘There is a reason why your mother wasn’t Sorted into Gryffindor, little one. She’s a coward.’

Demeter opened her mouth to interrupt, but Morgaine kept on talking. ‘When your father was still alive, I thought I was making the right choice not telling you about him. I thought you would not miss him if you never knew him. I should have known better, of course. And after your father’s death ... It simply hurt too much then.’

‘If you hadn’t met his ghost, would you ever have told me about him?’

Morgaine sank onto the bench beside her daughter. She suddenly felt exhausted and did not trust her legs to carry her anymore. ‘I don’t know, little one,’ she whispered.

They sat in silence for a while, each of them absorbed in their own thoughts, and Morgaine did her best to keep her head from spinning and her stomach from turning. Why she was feeling that abysmal, she had no idea. But then again, she had not had a proper night’s sleep in weeks. And she had been completely unprepared for Demeter’s questions.

‘Will he like me?’ Demeter piped up after a while.

Still she was looking at her mother with her big eyes, and Morgaine couldn’t help but wrap her arms around her child and pull her close.

‘He does already, dear child. Ever since he learnt of your existence, he has been asking about you almost daily. He wanted to see you as a little child, he wanted to hear you first words and to see your first steps. And I showed him all of it.’

‘You showed him?’ Demeter sounded surprised.

Morgaine nodded. ‘One of the wonders of magic, little one. There are ways to revisit your memories and share them with others.’

‘And Father seemed to like what he saw?’ Still, Demeter sounded uncertain.

‘He is already very proud of you, little one.’

‘So he will like me?’

‘He will love you and adore you,’ Morgaine assured her daughter. ‘And trust me, little one. He is just as scared as you are.’