Candescent

“Hey Alyssa!”

An unfamiliar voice called my name from the crowds flowing down the hallway. I turned my head to see an awkward boy with jet-black hair and red Quidditch robes running towards me. Harry Potter actually seemed to falter in his tracks when he saw my face but he continued to battle the crowds a moment later.

“I was walking past Professor Quirrell,” he said finally as he reached me. “He said to tell you to meet him in the Defence Against the Dark Arts room at 2.”

“Thanks,” I sighed. “Hey, by the way, good luck on the game yeah?”

Harry looked at me curiously.

“It’s not like it’s against Slytherin or anything,” I responded catching sight of his look. “Give Snape hell from me Potter.”

“Why?” he asked incredulously. “Aren’t you one of his favourite students?”

“Well he gave one of his favourite students a detention. So I hold no favouritism for him at the moment.”

“All right,” Harry said as he saw Oliver Wood waving at him from down the corridor. “I'd better go. Wood turns tyrannical if we’re more than two minutes late.”

“See you!” I called after him as he ran down the hallway. Wow, I thought to myself as he and the crowds emptied the corridor.

That was the first conversation I'd ever had with my brother.

xxxxx

After spending a match sitting in the Gryffindor stands rather than the morose Slytherin ones, I was actually feeling rather happy as I went to my first detention.

I waited impatiently in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom for Quirrell and his turban to come out of his office. After hearing loud muttering from inside the office, I assumed he was arguing with someone, but when he came out alone I became extremely confused.

“Ah T-tyler. There y-you are.”

He went on to tell me in annoying detail, complete with twitchy fingers and intense stuttering, about how bad it was for a student to attack a teacher in any form, however jokingly. Of course, then the real work began and I had to clean the chewing gum off all the desks in the room.

I must admit, I'd expected the time to go faster. Two hours seemed to drag on. At four o’clock, I sighed aloud and leant forwardbefore giving a yelp.

Hitting my head on the leg of the upside down table I was scraping gum off, my hand flipped up to my left cheek where my lightning scar was burning against my skin.
Having never felt it before, I cried out in pain making Quirrell come out of his office inquiring what was wrong.

“Splitting headache,” I lied, as the pain intensified. I blinked profusely but it made no difference – the pain was getting worse. Actually, it was getting worse as Quirrell got closer.

“Can I go to the hospital wing?” I asked desperately.

“C-Certainly,” Quirrell responded. “The t-time is finished anyw-way.”

I ran from the room, not even righting the table before I left. After initially intending to run to the Hospital Wing, instead I began to travel up innumerable staircases towards Dumbledore’s office. For some reason, a hurting cursed scar didn’t seem to fall into the same category as a broken arm. So if it was minor, or major, Dumbledore seemed like the obvious choice.

As I travelled further from the classroom, the pain seemed to ebb but kept coming back and attacking with the same, if not more, force.

Reaching the stone gargoyle I said, “Beans,” in a hushed voice, as I tried to restrict my pain. But it seemed that the password had been changed since September.

As another surge of pain hit my scar, I felt it seeping towards my eyes and jaw and causing a major headache. I fell into the wall and to the ground scraping my knees on the stonework in the process. But it didn’t make a difference.

How dare you fail me again!

I squeezed my eyes shut as I tried to get the foreign voice out of my head. But it didn’t go away. The shouting just seemed to get louder as another voice mentally apologised profusely. The apologies seemed familiar, but I couldn’t dwell too much because the pain drowned out any thought.

“Alyssa!”

Dumbledore’s voice seemed like a distant echo in comparison to the voices screaming in my head.

“Get them out!” I shouted, tears falling from my eyes. “Make them shut up! I can’t-I can’t stop it. Make it stop!”

An old hand placed itself on my dark red hair and muttered incomprehensible words that I couldn’t understand. And after what seemed like an eternity, the pain stopped.

It wasn’t even a gradual ebb; it was literally as though it had never happened. My face was no longer burning with the heat from my scar, but actually felt rather cool. Looking up at Dumbledore with hopeless confusion, he answered my look with, “Your scar appears to have reacted to something.”

Funnily enough, I'd figured that out myself. I wanted to know what it had reacted to because I didn’t ever want to feel that pain again. That was just…I'd never felt that before. That was honestly what I imagined the Cruciatus curse to feel like. I'd never had it performed upon me of course, it was unforgiveable, but from what I'd read…

“Is it supposed to do that?” I asked, as I pushed against the wall so I could stand up.

“I don’t think that cursed scars are necessarily supposed to do anything,” Dumbledore answered. “I however, believe it may be something that you and Harry share in common. Sugar Quills. ”

“But what is it reacting to?” I inquired after realising Dumbledore hadn’t just said that Harry and I had ‘sugar quills’ in common. We walked up the stairs to his office and said to me, “You were in detention when this happened?”

“Yes sir,” I replied awkwardly, befuddled that he knew that. Although, he was Dumbledore – that pretty much explained everything. But if he was as all-knowing as he was supposed to be, why didn’t he know why on earth my scar was hurting. “But there was no sudden changes in anything in the room or any person. It just started hurting and getting worse. Then there were the voices-that’s definitely not good,” I added more for my own benefit that Dumbledore’s. Voices in my head?

“I honestly do not know Alyssa,” Dumbledore answered. “But when I find the answer, you will know. For now, I will ask Professor Snape to postpone tonight’s detention. You should rest.”

“I'm fine to go ahead with it,” I responded. I just wanted it over and done with so I could get on with my life.

“Alyssa,” Dumbledore said as I made to leave. “How are you coping?”

“Trying not to think about it actually,” I replied, annoyed that he had brought my father’s passing. “Goodnight Professor.”

“Goodnight Alyssa.”

I exited the office making sure that my hair was covering my cheek again. My scar became hidden again – just like the rest of me.