Bright patches of light lay across the grey-brown stones of the corridor, pouring through the tall windows that pierced one wall and gilding the floor. Beyond the glass, the dense forest still looked like a green lake, yet the sky had already deepened to autumn blue. The season had taken hold.
The corridor was empty save for a single figure moving along it. She had come out of one of the towers and now walked at an unhurried pace — glancing up at the ceiling, then out of the windows, then down at particular stones beneath her feet.
She wore a black dress which, with its heavy loose skirt falling below the knees and thick fabric covering shoulders and chest, aimed at restraint. Yet the corset-tightened bodice made her shape unmistakable. The low heels of her black ankle boots lent a quiet femininity to her step. For a long while, nothing disturbed the stillness of the lesson hours but the measured echo of those heels.
Then came hurried footsteps and the rustle of robes — two boys burst from a side corridor behind her and stopped at once, sensing possible trouble.
"Look at that walk," one whispered, nudging the other and nodding towards the figure who continued on as if unaware. "That's not how anyone moves in school shoes."
"Who is she?" The second voice carried more anxiety than curiosity. "What's she doing here at this hour?"
"Same as us, I reckon."
"No — look. No uniform. Not a student. Who is it?" After a brief pause he inhaled sharply. "There's supposed to be a woman ghost here, isn't there? Could that be her?"
"In the flesh? Don't be ridiculous. Besides, that one wears grey. No — she's one of ours, just in disguise. And not for the first time either — she hasn't even turned round." The boy gave a bold whistle. "Hey!"
When no answer came, he hurried after the stranger.
"Where are you going? Have you forgotten why we came?" his companion hissed — and then followed anyway.
Hearing the quick approach of boots against stone, the woman finally stopped. She did not turn. She waited for them to come around and face her themselves.
When they did, the sight of her left both students stunned.
"The Headmistress?"
"Oh hell — we're done for."
"Don't worry — you still have a little time left to suffer," the Headmistress said calmly. Then she turned to the instigator, whose face, unlike his companion's, showed not fear but stunned fascination. "I'm flattered by the attention, but the method was rather rude for my taste."
The student said nothing and kept staring at her. She glanced over their uniforms, looking for the House insignia.
"You've climbed rather high. Came for bird-watching, did you? Aren't your lessons in full swing?"
"We've got a free period — we're not skipping!" the second blurted out, then hurried to reinforce it. "We were heading to the library."
"That makes it perfectly clear you've never been," the first muttered, finally recovering himself and shooting his friend an irritated look. "At least don't embarrass me."
"The path depends not only on the destination," the Headmistress said, supporting him. "That's actually where I'm going. Shall I take you?" She looked at the other one and smiled. "Or will you find your own way once you've finished your business here?"
"Of course we will — no need to trouble yourself. Thank you, Miss Greenwood."
"We're coming with you, Miss," the first said quickly, contradicting his friend.
"What?!"
"Let's go then."
That was not what 'Miss' had been counting on, but there was nothing else to do. She slipped between the boys and continued down the corridor a little faster.
"Why did you say that?" one of them whispered behind her back. "We're not done here yet."
"I'm in love."
"Tobias, you're always in love. That's why we're here."
"This is different." The student quickened his pace and followed the Headmistress.
"Toby! Damn," the other muttered and hurried after him.
"So," the woman turned to her unexpected companions walking a little behind, "Tobias and…?"
"Robert."
"Thanks, buddy," came through clenched teeth.
"Well then. At the moment I can't accuse you of lying — I haven't learnt all the timetables yet. But I will. And when I do, if I catch you skipping, you won't get off so easily."
"That's very generous of you, Miss," the speaker said, catching a puzzled look from his friend but ignoring it.
They walked mostly in silence. From time to time, joking or sardonic remarks from the portraits they passed led to brief exchanges. To avoid awkwardness, the new Headmistress used these moments to learn more about the school — after all, compared to her, the boys were old-timers.
Once in the library, she thanked them for the company and, saying, "Now everyone is on their own," went to the witch at the book registration counter.
"Good afternoon. Can you tell me where I can find information about the Ancients?"
"Of course, Headmistress. In the historical books section."
There was a pause.
"Is that all you can do to help me?"
"The section is over there," the librarian said with a smile, pointing towards the cabinets around which dust drifted slowly in the air. The Headmistress's look shifted from disappointed to sceptical, but she asked no more questions and went to the shelves.
"Books like to be found — that way they reveal more," she heard a good-natured whisper behind her.
"I couldn't find anything about the Ancients." The woman turned again to the portraits on the wall. She was sitting directly on the desk, her palms braced against the edge to ease her tired back, her equally tired legs swinging idly. "Why not? You didn't say it casually — you even stressed the capital letter. And the librarian wasn't surprised by my question at all. I'm sure she expected me to find what I was looking for. But I've been digging around for hours and found nothing."
"That is rather strange," the same man in black replied thoughtfully, a faint look of puzzlement crossing his face. "Perhaps it isn't what you're meant to find just now?"
"The School probably knows what I need. Why are you all so certain there is someone — or something — that knows everything and leads you in the right direction?"
The portrait paused, considering the unexpected reproach. It seemed to the woman that, from the corner of her eye, she caught movement in another frame.
"Never mind — it was a rhetorical question. Honestly, I don't regret the time I spent, especially since it mysteriously cost me only ten minutes."
Silence settled in the office. The woman stretched, rolling her shoulders and rotating her head and ankles, taking real pleasure in the movement. The man watched her without speaking. It did not make her uncomfortable — there was nothing in his gaze that would have caused it. The other portraits were dozing, as if it were siesta time.
"And what about the book you started?"
"Oh, it's unbearably dull, though the beginning was promising."
"In any book you can find something of interest."
"Why spend time on that when I've already found a book that interests me? Theory. And I can't even get through the contents page of your History. I might have had better luck in class?"
"I very much doubt it," came the knowing reply.
"Do you think so?" The words disappointed her, though not greatly. "Well, I was thinking of attending some classes anyway — different subjects, different years — to get a feel for the teaching, and to know the professors, students…"
"Magic…"
"Perhaps it will help me remember…"
"Or forget entirely…"
The portrait was right on both counts.
"In any case," the woman persisted, "I need to be doing something. Working in some way. Or at least creating the appearance of it."
The mentor chose not to press her further.
"Then you should speak with each professor first — to avoid misunderstandings."
The professors' reactions varied. Some agreed at once, without hesitation or further questions. Others were uneasy and unsure what to say, or which points required discussion. The Headmistress assured them that this was in no way a test of their competence and would not affect their contracts, their syllabuses, or the way they conducted their lessons — whether in her presence or afterwards. In the end, they all agreed.
She entered classrooms with the last of the students and left with the first, so that her presence would not become an event in itself. She took a seat at the back and remained as quiet as a mouse.
Naturally, the students noticed her. Their reactions to the presence of the school's highest authority also differed. Some became conspicuously composed; others, conspicuously relaxed. Compared with their behaviour at break or in their free time, the contrast could be striking. There were also those who remained exactly the same under any circumstances. They were the most interesting to observe.
At first, everyone was tense. But when it became clear that the outside observer did not interfere, did not take sides in disputes, and that her notes led to no consequences for anyone, they relaxed and began to treat her almost like another student. Outside the classroom, however, she made it clear that she was not.
Her notes concerned the students — because she wanted to know them — and the subjects — because she wanted to understand the world they lived in. For that reason, she was often seen in the library. She studied the castle, the school rules, its daily life and internal workings; she acquainted herself with the Houses and the staff. She was prepared to answer any questions from the press or the Board, though she was glad no one seemed eager to ask them.
In the end, only one question remained to which she still had no answer.
***
"Miss Greenwood?"
The griffin statue admitted the deputy at the Headmistress's permission, but the mistress of the office herself paid the visitor no attention. She sat as deep in her chair, as absorbed in her thoughts — there was an object she was turning in her hands.
"Miss…"
"Missis," the Headmistress replied at last, without lifting her eyes from it.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I'm Missis, not Miss."
The old witch raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting an explanation. The woman lifted her hand, showing the back of it. Metal glinted in the candlelight on her ring finger.
"The wrong hand, but it's undoubtedly a wedding band. A fede ring — a vow of fealty. And there's a date engraved inside. But it's incomplete — the hands don't meet. Something should be between them, but it's missing."
The witch lowered her gaze, embarrassed.
"How did I never notice it before?" the Headmistress went on, half to herself. "I must have grown used to wearing it. So it happened long ago… and why the wrong hand… I'm sorry," she added, returning to her visitor, "I interrupted you. What was it you wanted to discuss?"
"Oh! I've quite forgotten," the witch said, flustered.
"Then it's probably not important." The woman's whole manner suggested she would prefer to be alone again, without giving offence.
"Perhaps. I'll come back when I remember. As if the head understands it's old, but the legs don't," the old woman muttered as she left.
The young woman turned thoughtfully towards the wall behind her and from time to time glanced at one of the portraits hanging there.
"Don't look for a ring on me — there isn't one. And what you're thinking is impossible. I died when you were eighteen."
Without looking up at the speaker, whose voice was cold — almost sharp, she turned back with a sigh. She slipped the ring off, examined it again, and closed her fist around it. Eyes shut, she tried to empty her mind of images and thoughts, hoping the right one would come of its own accord.
One did.
She had already heard and read a good deal about magic. Her knowledge was superficial and theoretical, but broad enough in scope. Once, someone had said there was no point in her ever taking a wand in hand. Now she had a theory why.
"Do you know any cliffs?" she asked the same voice. "No — not just any. A specific one. A black, endless wall above a raging sea, overgrown with grass. The sun is blinding there, and the wind knocks you off balance."
"That sounds familiar…" The voice softened slightly. "Yes. I've seen it. You used that image to block access to memories you wanted hidden."
She turned to the portrait, sharply intent.
"Why would I do that?" The portrait remained pointedly silent. "You've already said A — you might as well say B."
The irritation in her voice was unmistakable, but it achieved nothing. Her brows drew together in thought.
"Does that mean I'm now blocking access to the memories about this man" — she indicated the ring — "to myself? Do I really know how to do that?"
"Probably not anymore. That wouldn't be surprising. At the same time, it is surprising that you've never shown any magical ability at all. It may be the mind's own defence — against shock, against strain. Don't look at me like that — I'm not lying when I say I don't know."
"And I used to be able to…" she said quietly, almost under her breath.
***
A large crowd of first- and second-year students had gathered in one of the castle's wide passages. They circled two boys with wands raised at each other and, with shouts and clapping, mostly encouraged the duel rather than stopping it. The boys were neither powerful nor experienced yet, so their clumsily cast spells rarely hit the target and instead threatened everyone else like stray shots. As usual, however, that did not persuade anyone to move to a safer distance.
"Ouch! Stop it! Stop! I didn't do it!" one of them cried, scrambling up from the floor and rubbing his shoulder — he had dodged the spell but failed to keep his footing and hit the stone flags. The curse splashed against the wall, leaving a green smear. The dripping slime was at once hidden by two converging waves of black cloaks as the spectators closed in again.
"You did! And not only that! Pete told me every… thing!" This time the attacker was quicker, and the sticky liquid clung to his opponent's back.
"Pete? If you believe everything Pete says, you're as dumb as a… mule!"
Another burst of energy twisted past the insulter, ricocheted off the walls several times, and shot into the neighbouring corridor. A moment after the flash and noise died away, a scream sounded from there. Everyone froze and turned towards the passage. A woman — younger than any professor, older than any student — stepped out with a brisk, steady stride.
Laughter broke out at once — then someone gasped, "It's the Headmistress!" — and the laughter collapsed into ringing silence.
"Stand still," the Headmistress ordered clearly and loudly to those already edging away. The first shock passed and someone sniggered again. "What's so funny, exactly?" She looked from face to face — waiting for an answer, and at the same time taking stock of who was present. At last her gaze caught the window, and she saw her reflection: grey, fluffy donkey ears rising on either side of her head.
"Damn… I said stand still. Who cast the spell?" Half the crowd pointed at one boy, half at the other. She addressed only the duelists. "Who cast it?" Her tone was firm, but neither shrill nor threatening.
"I did," one admitted, lowering his head.
"Then you're the one who will fix it."
"What?" His head jerked up in surprise — and fear.
"If you do something, you must be ready to put it right. Go on." She reinforced the instruction with a small gesture of her hand.
"But I don't know how."
"Use your brain."
"I know! May I?" A girl had her hand raised as if in class.
"I'm delighted by the enthusiasm — but wait a moment." The Headmistress turned to the second duellist. "Do you know how to remove them?"
He shook his head shyly.
"Oh! I've got an idea!" the first one brightened.
"Go on, then." The Headmistress braced herself.
The wand spun through the air, the incantation followed, and a bucket of water drenched the woman. Silence fell again, and the boy's eyes went wide with fear.
"Silly you," came a voice from the crowd. "That spell washes things away — it doesn't cancel them. It works literally."
The woman looked down at herself and gave the unfortunate wizard a reproachful but kindly look. It encouraged him.
"I know how to fix it!" he declared — and before anyone could blink, another spell shot forward. Almost no one.
"Wait!" the same girl squealed. Realising at once that the boy couldn't stop it, she used her wand. A gale-force gust burst from it and blew out the small flame flying toward the Headmistress.
"Very good," said the woman, straightening her skirt and smoothing her hair — and the fur on her ears — "but now imagine what might have happened if the flame had been stronger. There are a lot of people around."
The girl flushed, frightened.
"I'm sorry…" The boy's hair was standing on end; he looked close to tears, all confidence gone.
"Alright. One last attempt. Pull yourself together."
The boy steadied himself and tried to remove the ears at least by adding a negative prefix to the spell. Unfortunately, no such spell existed.
"Didn't I change anything?"
"I don't want to upset you," said someone standing nearest the Headmistress, "but you did."
A tail appeared behind the woman and promptly struck its owner on the hip. A pained groan escaped the duellist. At that moment one of the professors pushed through the crowd from behind.
What's going on here?" she demanded, making her way to the centre — and then noticing the Headmistress. "What happened?" she repeated, now addressing her.
"Nothing serious," the donkey-eared woman replied.
"This is dreadful! I can…"
"No."
"But, Miss Greenwood, let me…"
"I won't. They can handle it themselves."
"I won't cast anything else! Please!" the boy pleaded.
"Of course you won't, William. Don't worry — I'm not angry with you." She stepped closer and brushed the tears from his eyes with the tip of her tail. "You did well. You tried without fear." The boy gave a shaky, nervous smile. "Is there anyone here from your House who can undo everything you've done?"
"Well…" He searched the faces around him hopefully, then dropped his gaze with a sigh. "Unless Amelia…?"
"Why should I help you?" Amelia said coolly.
"I can do it!"
"I remember, Sabrina. Not this time, I'm afraid." The woman turned to the other girl. "Amelia — will you help your House?"
"Oh. Of course." The same voice now sounded embarrassed. The girl drew her wand and, one by one, methodically removed the curses from the Headmistress.
"Thank you, Amelia. You see, professor? Right. William — minus twenty-five points: five for each curse and the unauthorised duel. Plus twenty to Amelia — five for each correction. And you get five points back, Will, for your effort. Donald — minus five for duelling and another five for not even trying. Sabrina — plus ten for saving my dress, and for the strength of your spell." With a satisfied breath, the woman looked around once more. "You're all free to go."
***
The days went by. They folded into weeks, then into months. Snow covered the fallen leaves; autumn gave way to winter. Everything that was new became routine; everything that had never before existed in her life became part of it.
The Headmistress loved wandering through the castle — climbing the towers or descending into the dungeons. Sometimes she allowed herself a look into the kitchens. She did it during lessons or during breaks. Not so much to keep order as because of a certain strong inner pull. In time she understood that these walks gave her a sense of life.
She felt calm in her office, even when speaking with the portrait, and she valued that calm greatly. It was necessary to her — but not sufficient. In the school corridors she absorbed the opposite energy.
During one such walk she came upon a pair whose conversation had clearly reached a dead end. It was a professor and a senior student, and both looked distressed.
"Miss Greenwood!" the professor called, brightening at once. "I'm glad you're here. I've been meaning to discuss this with you for quite some time. You see, this young man has been skipping my classes for several months. And yet they're part of his compulsory programme — the one he himself"— the witch glanced at the student, seeking confirmation — "chose for his future. I know him to be responsible. He attends his other classes regularly and was genuinely interested in my subject under the previous professors. He always received top marks in exams. I don't understand what's happening and… I'm beginning to think it may be my fault. That I'm a bad teacher…"
"Oh no, professor — truly, it's not about you at all!" From the look and tone with which the boy spoke, it was clear she had become an unintended casualty of some private plan he had not fully thought through and now sincerely regretted.
"Then what is it about?" He closed himself off again. The witch continued, now with more evident displeasure. "Other professors have caught him and deducted points. The Head of House assigned detentions. He served them — nothing changed. What is the matter, Tobias?"
"Or who," the Headmistress thought. "Where was he caught? On the way to one of the towers?"
"That's right!" The professor looked surprised at her accuracy. "To yours."
"To mine?" The woman lifted her brows and kept her eyes on the professor's face — she was not ready just then to meet the student's gaze, though she noticed from the corner of her eye that he was watching her.
"Exactly. Under the circumstances, I think you ought to speak with the boy."
The Headmistress fell silent for a moment. Her face remained composed, though unrest and alarm stirred within. She did not yet know whether she understood correctly — and if she did, what the right response should be. How to avoid hurting, angering, disappointing — and still help. At last she turned to the student.
There was fear in his eyes as well. She realised then that he was not ready.
"In that case," she said quietly, "I believe the boy should speak to me — when he's ready. I'm here to listen, if he has anything to say."
"No." The answer came too quickly and too sharply — fear tipping into panic.
"That's a pity."
There was no sense of relief. She knew this solved nothing — only bought time, time both of them needed. And yet she might lose him because of it.
"That's a pity," the Headmistress repeated. "But I'll wait. Tobias?" He lifted his eyes from the floor. "I'm here to listen, and I will be waiting. In any case, the truancy must stop."
As Headmistress, she had to deal not only with her own affairs of the heart but with the students' as well, since such matters often affected their studies. She was young enough that they felt the subject was still real to her, and so they were more willing to speak with her about it than with the other professors.
"Mary, what's happened?" the Headmistress asked gently. "Every professor, without exception, is unhappy with your academic performance. But you've always done well."
Opposite her sat a girl with light copper hair in small soft curls and milk-pale skin.
"I'm sorry, Miss Greenwood, but I… I just can't concentrate."
"Are your thoughts taken up with something else?" The girl's cheeks flushed. "Someone?"
The girl gave a small cry, sprang to her feet, and made to run, but the Headmistress stopped her.
"There's nothing wrong with that. Let's go upstairs. It's quiet there — we can talk properly."
She understood the girl's discomfort in front of the portraits; she herself disliked conversations under their gaze. They went up to the second level and shut themselves into the private part of the tower.
"Who is it?"
"Dorian," the girl said, once she felt her secret was safe.
"Dorian?" The Headmistress sighed. "Then we do have a problem."
"Do you think I'm unworthy of him?" The student's expression was that of someone bracing for the worst words of her life.
"Mary, you're worthy of anyone. If it were only a matter of worth… more often it's the other way round." How could she know that? "Tell me — what sort of girls does he prefer? He's had quite a few already. You must have noticed his tastes."
"Well… the bright ones — lots of make-up, big groups, lively and bold — not clingy, just not inclined to resist for long. The sort who change boyfriends like shoes. You know?"
"I know. Do you like that type? Would you want to be like them?"
"No," the girl answered at once. "No — not at all."
"Then perhaps he isn't for you either."
"Why not?" She protested. "He just hasn't worked out yet who he needs — he hasn't found the one he'll want to stay with."
"Perhaps. But is he even looking for her?"
"I don't understand. What do you mean?"
"I think he hasn't reached the stage of looking for 'the one' yet. He's still at the stage of entertainment." The Headmistress paused. "You're in the same House and the same year. It's unlikely he doesn't know you exist, is it? And you're not looking for entertainment, are you?" Another pause. "What do you like about Dorian?"
"Oh — where to begin? He's handsome, clever, so confident… funny — the things he invents to attract another girl…" She hesitated. "Passionate… I've seen him…" This time more than her cheeks coloured.
"And arrogant, hot-tempered, fickle…"
"He'll change," the girl said firmly.
"Someday, perhaps," the woman replied calmly. "It's not certain you'll like the new version."
"I will. I'll change him myself."
"Wait." The woman shook her head. "You already like him. Why change someone you like? And what exactly do you want to change?"
"What you just listed."
That seemed obvious to the girl. It did not to the woman.
"But it's all one whole — an intricately woven knot. Pull out those threads and the pattern collapses. Passion goes with temper, confidence with arrogance. If he no longer needs to conquer new fortresses — even straw ones — there is no need for ingenuity."
"He'll use all that to keep…"
"To keep whom? You?" She softened her tone at once. "Forgive me, Mary, but you don't need to be kept — you're not going anywhere. That's considered a virtue. Perhaps, with time, his energy will turn to something more constructive. Perhaps not. What you call faults may soften — or vanish — or remain all that's left. If there are traits you cannot accept and intend to remove, you should think carefully about the truth of your feelings. It may be that you simply haven't found your person yet. Somewhere there is someone without those faults — and with the virtues you value."
***
"May I come in?"
"Open!" The woman turned back to the portrait. "You simply never tried to make them fond of you — and to set the tone. It works at any age... so endearing and funny. While one half competes with each other, the other half competes with you. Meanwhile, all their energy goes into studying." She shifted expressions, posture, gesture — she felt confident and at ease.
"Well, compared with you, I never stood much of a chance."
"Oh, come now — you never tried. Though, of course, it is playing with fire…"
She recalled the case of one of the senior students. He never came to speak with her. Still, the truancy stopped. He quickly caught up with the course, and she let herself believe that the earlier conversation had been enough. She often saw him in the corridors or the library, with friends or alone; she greeted him and smiled as she did at everyone — neither avoiding him nor trying to start a conversation. He behaved naturally in return. If his gaze lingered on her longer than etiquette allowed, he made sure she did not notice. Perhaps she was mistaken? Better so — she chose to believe.
"I like your approach as well. But frankly, here I have little chance."
They both laughed warmly. The dry, elderly witch watched this seemingly ordinary scene with considerable wonderment.
"How are your surveys progressing, Miss Greenwood?" she asked, briskly interrupting the moment.
"On what subject exactly? How to make children study and elves work? How to encourage curiosity about science but dampen it about life — and, conversely, remind staff why they are exhausted every day?" The Headmistress was in good spirits — ironic, not accusatory. "They're underway. For instance — what do you think about clean-up days?" She walked round the desk and leaned against it from the other side. "Let me explain. I've been thinking about the house-elves' work. It remains unseen. And when work is invisible to those it serves, it cannot be properly valued. That isn't fair, is it? Obviously, you can't clean dormitories when they're full of students, or cook while everyone is waiting for the meal — and I'm not proposing to shift their duties onto the students. But if once a year each student spent a couple of hours in a small group, led by a house-elf, doing something useful for the castle, it would harm no one. At the same time, the elves would know their work is recognised.
Of course, I mean magical tasks, not physical labour. I'm quite sure many students from non-wizarding families would be interested in learning household charms. And to spare anyone's dignity entirely, lavatory cleaning can be excluded. We could add something appealing as well — access, for example, to the prefects' bathroom — if not to bathe, at least to see it. The kitchen cellars. Cooking can be quite engaging. Secret passages must need cobwebs cleared now and then, and the portraits on the third-floor corridor dusted. Not everything hidden in the castle is dangerous. The headmaster's office…" She smiled lightly. "No penalties for refusing — but we could award points for participation. What do you think?"
"I'll think about your suggestion," the witch replied slowly. "It doesn't sound quite as wild as some of your earlier ones."
The Headmistress smiled. She remained standing opposite the deputy, though she very much hoped the conversation was over. It was not.
"And what about the surveys on your personal subject?"
"Personal?"
"Yes. Finding a way to wake up," the witch clarified.
"To wake up? … I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean."
"You no longer think that everything happening is a dream? A figment of your imagination? You don't want to go home?"
"Home? But… I am home… am I not?" The confusion was genuine.
"Stop doing that already!" the deputy burst out suddenly.
"Doing what?"
"Forgetting! Burning your bridges. How can you not understand — a person cannot live without a past. Without a past, there is no future."
The words stirred something in the woman's memory. The sensation made her uneasy; her mind began to resist the returning fragments.
"But I don't need a future. I need the present. This one. In this school. Perhaps not as Headmistress — but here, in the middle of all this craziness... with these books, with my teacher."
"With your teacher," the witch repeated sternly. "If he matters to you that much, then do it at least for his sake." Bewilderment returned to the Headmistress's face. "Do you truly not understand what is happening? In all the years I've known this man — and believe me, it has been many — I have never seen him smile, let alone laugh."
"I don't see anything wrong with being happy," the Headmistress answered, uncertainly. Even so, a quiet, pleasant stir was already forming in her chest.
"You are no longer a little girl. You are an adult, beautiful — at times even quite intelligent — woman. He is only a portrait. A reflection."
The image shifted about within the frame, as though trying, now and then, to slip away — yet more afraid of not knowing his former student's reaction than of discovering it. The old woman continued.
"I'm astonished this was even possible. But think about where it leads."
"But I feel the same," came almost in a whisper.
The figure in the frame stilled; now only the quickened breath distinguished it from an ordinary painting.
"That is madness!"
"People say it often is… and in any case, nothing can be undone here," the Headmistress's voice gradually strengthened. "It's too late. You're right — feelings are not born in the dead. They are part of the reflection."
The witch stared at her in perplexity; the image seemed completely stunned.
"Oh!" For a moment she could not speak. "Is that true?" she finally asked the portrait, her thoughts racing. "Oh — I hope you didn't… you never…" She could not finish, staying within the bounds of propriety.
"I beg your pardon?" The portrait came out of its stupor.
"I'm sorry. Live to my age and… well… you understand. You've probably seen worse." She tried again. "So — you didn't…?"
"No." The single word struck like a crack of thunder at his former colleague. "I never tou—" He stopped himself, then exhaled sharply. "Never."
"And she?"
"What?!" The woman held her breath. "Unthinkable — no." She exhaled in relief. "People have quite forgotten the meaning of that word." She smiled, satisfied — at the word itself.
"That is a comfort," the witch said, steadying herself. "Though there is nothing comfortable in it. With your permission, I'll leave. I am too old for this sort of… madness.."
They were left alone — if such a word could be used for a room empty of living people yet filled with fragments of many minds. Turning to him was the right thing to do. It was also difficult. At last she gathered her resolve.
"How did you understand? Did you remember something from before?" He still could not quite meet her eyes.
"Only from the recent past. I remembered your reaction when I first appeared here before the school year began. And all this time — unlike the others — you were never absent, never asleep. You were always there. Ready to listen, to offer an opinion, if I asked, to teach… to share silence. Was it like that before."
"Perhaps. The circumstances were different." At last he managed to look at her — because he wanted her to know. "I never thought of you in that way… nor you of me. Even now — until you spoke — I hadn't realised that what we had was…"
"Not what she thought it was." The subject should have been closed. It had been too early then; now it was too late. To preserve what could still be preserved, the conversation had to end. "What you said — that is what it was. And that is what it will remain."