Chapter Forty-Three: The Reply

Just as the air grew so heavy it seemed about to drip water, an owl flapped its wings and flew into the infirmary, shattering the oppressive atmosphere.

Mrs. Dallaire hurried over, intent on chasing the owl away. She swung a spare candlestick at it, muttering angrily, “Honestly, where is the decorum? What kind of hospital allows owls to deliver letters inside?”

Sheven glanced at the owl and suddenly froze.

“Jabby?”

The black-and-gray mottled tawny owl seemed to recognize Sheven’s voice. It deftly dodged the candlestick in Mrs. Dallaire’s hand, alighted on the nightstand beside his bed, and extended its right claw, revealing a message tube.

At that moment, Sheven noticed Mrs. Dallaire’s displeased expression as she strode toward them with forceful steps. In a fluster, he hastily retrieved the letter, signaled to Abu to open the window, and quickly sent Jabby on his way.

Jabby, disgruntled at not receiving a treat, let out an indignant hoot before flying out the window.

“So that owl was yours?” Mrs. Dallaire asked in a low, menacing tone.

Sheven nodded awkwardly.

Fortunately, he was still considered a patient, so Mrs. Dallaire refrained from scolding him outright.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t resist a lecture: “Do you have any idea how many filthy places an owl flies through on its way here? They eat raw mice, for heaven’s sake! Who knows what harmful things they might carry on their bodies? Cleanliness and hygiene are paramount in the school infirmary. Allowing owls to come in could cause endless trouble. So remember, don’t let owls enter the infirmary again!”

Sheven nodded docilely, replying in a guilty voice, “It won’t happen again, Mrs. Dallaire.”

“Hand it over,” Mrs. Dallaire said, extending her hand to Sheven.

“What?” Sheven blinked in confusion.

“The letter,” said Mrs. Dallaire.

“We need to check the letter too?” Sheven looked at her, baffled. “Isn’t that a bit much?”

Mrs. Dallaire had no patience for his objections; she snatched the letter from his hand.

“You have no right to—!” Aelsiona started to protest loudly. “That’s—”

But her voice faded, for Mrs. Dallaire didn’t open the letter at all. She simply took out a spray bottle and misted the envelope thoroughly before handing it back to Sheven.

“So it was just to disinfect…” Sheven realized with embarrassment that they’d misunderstood Mrs. Dallaire’s intentions.

“Be more careful next time, and don’t let any more owls in!” Mrs. Dallaire instructed, disinfecting every spot the owl had touched until the sharp smell of potion hung thick in the air.

“You two, tuck yourselves in!” she commanded.

Sheven and Professor Kettleburn were puzzled as to why they needed to get under the covers, but, as patients, they obediently complied.

Even so, they felt a sudden rush of wind, even through the blankets.

It turned out Mrs. Dallaire had opened the window and used a spell to refresh the air throughout the infirmary. The harsh scent of disinfectant quickly dissipated.

“That’s much better!” Mrs. Dallaire said with satisfaction, not forgetting to remind Sheven once more: “So don’t let owls into the infirmary!”

Sheven emerged from beneath the covers with a resigned sigh and began to read the letter Jabby had just delivered.

The letter was from Sandrine. The past few days had been so eventful that Sheven had only just remembered sending a letter home three nights before, in which he’d asked about the family’s French branch.

He had only read halfway through when his expression grew more and more peculiar. He couldn’t help glancing at Aelsiona.

The letter read: “I’m glad to hear you and Aelsiona are getting along. Before term started, Lady Greenglass told me that both she and her daughter were quite pleased with you, and that the two families could arrange a betrothal. However, since the girls in the Greenglass family are often of fragile health, I didn’t immediately agree. If you two really do get on well, then perhaps it could be settled…”

“So it wasn’t that they didn’t consult me, but rather that Lady Greenglass’s health was the deciding factor?” Sheven was exasperated by the customs of pure-blood families and resolved that, once he was discharged, he would write home and refuse this outright. Who arranges a marriage for an eleven-year-old!

Aelsiona noticed Sheven looking at her with a strange expression and blushed. “Sheven, wh-what’s wrong?” she stammered.

Sheven realized he was still staring at her and coughed awkwardly. “It’s nothing, I was just lost in thought.”

“Oh,” Aelsiona replied, sounding a bit disappointed.

Sheven, oblivious to her reaction, simply bowed his head and continued reading the letter.

“As for the French branch of the family, we haven’t had much contact lately, but I’ve heard that there has been a lot of financial activity recently, so something may be afoot. You should work hard to improve yourself and take over control there as soon as possible. Don’t let the family’s fortune fall into outsiders’ hands…”

The rest of the letter was just trivialities. Sheven put it away, feeling uneasy.

Unusual financial movements in the French branch, the destruction of the castle’s magical nodes, dark wizards sneaking into the Forbidden Forest—all these incidents happening at the same time could only mean that someone was plotting something big against Hogwarts.

Sheven’s brow furrowed deeply.

“Your five minutes are up, aren’t they?” Mrs. Dallaire’s voice cut through his thoughts. Without ceremony, she shooed the four Slytherin students out of the infirmary.

“Sheven, take care of yourself!” Aelsiona called as she reached the doors.

Sheven waved and called back, “Don’t worry! Listen well in class and tell me what I missed.”

Aelsiona nodded emphatically before Mrs. Dallaire ushered her out.

After watching his friends leave, Sheven rubbed his brow, his mind whirling with the recent strangeness. He felt weary.

“I’m only a first-year student—why does all this have to happen to me?” he wondered in frustration.

The destruction of the castle’s magical nodes had led to his soul being falsely accused and now confined to the dungeons; the strange financial movements in France were connected to his family; even the dark wizards in the Forbidden Forest had been discovered by him and Cerys the unicorn, purely by chance…

“Absurd!” he muttered, venting his annoyance as he grabbed the lunch prepared for him by the infirmary and devoured it ravenously.

…