The room was still. Peaceful. Free from intruders. I leaned against the desk, letting out a deep sigh. The window was shut. The spider was dead. The world felt right again.
But then my eyes fell back on where the box had been. "There you are!"
Walking over to the bedside table, I found my wand laying there in its stand. The wooden structure still glistened under candlelight, just like when I first oiled it. Picking up the wand, I aimed it at the collection of paper I had used as a baton. Closing my eyes, taking a deep breath, I muttered 'Incendio'.
My wand flared to life with a sharp crackle, a tiny flame danced wildly as I held it at the tip. I watched the flame curl and swirl with a delicate but hypnotic rhythm before letting it head towards the collection of paper. The flame travelled slowly towards the corner of the paper stack.
The edges caught immediately, glowing a deep orange before flaring bright as the fire spread. At first, it was a gentle flame, crawling along the surface, but soon, it grew bolder. It crackled softly as the paper began to blacken, curling inward as though shrinking from the heat.
I stepped forward, watching in silence as the fire took on a life of its own. Flames danced along the edges, gradually communing towards the centre. The colours shifted constantly—vivid orange deepening to crimson, then flaring into a pale, almost ghostly blue at the base. The blackened edges of the paper crumbled into ash, flaking off in delicate spirals, leaving a small trail.
There is an elegance to the destruction. Each page crumpled in slow motion, folding inward and collapsing under its own weight as the fire devoured it. The once paper baton bent and twisted, the ink bubbling into unreadable smears before vanishing entirely. I could hear the faint hiss as the paper surrendered to the flames.
The flame grew higher, inching toward the centre of the stack now, its heat more intense. Sparks flickered upward, tiny embers spiralling into the air like fireflies before disappearing. I stood mesmerised, unable to look away from the remains of the spider burning out of existence. The patterns of light and shadow it created were nothing short of beautiful and fleeting, but they were gone in the blink of an eye.
The scent of burning paper filled the air, earthy and rich, with the faintest hint of an eight-legged creature. The fire had a sound now, a low, constant crackle as it fed on the remaining sheets. It curled tighter, shrivelling into fragile, brittle remains before crumbling into piles of ash.
As the last few pages caught, the flame flared one final time, bright and fierce, before beginning to dwindle. The once-thick stack of paper had been reduced to a glowing pile of embers, its heat still radiating in the air. The last few tongues of flame flickered faintly, growing smaller, their light dimming, until finally, they winked out, leaving only the soft glow of dying heat.
The pile was nothing but ash now, grey and delicate. In reality, I should have gathered up the ash, and should have given the spider a proper send-off. However, I turn into a vile cunt whenever a spider is involved. Raising my wand at the pile of ash, I took a deep breath once more.
"'Evanesco'," I said quietly. The pile of ash shimmered a soft blue colour, as small chunks of it vanished to the place where all our fuck-ups go. "I feel so much better."
Turning to see the time, the clock read 16:36. It had taken me six minutes to get rid of one spider, but I did enjoy the latter half. Now I was at that awkward stage of getting ready. I had planned my day so that I would have fifteen minutes to myself after I exited the shower. It would give me enough time to sit and decompress, while also letting the mirror return to normal. Nine minutes is not enough time to get comfortable, and if I did, it would not be enough to enjoy it.
Going against the strict confines of my schedule, I put on a freshly washed boxer and re-entered the bathroom. The door creaked open, and I stepped into the bathroom. I have to get that fixed soon. It's infuriating to hear that sound when you need to go during the night. The chandelier above swayed ever so slightly, with its graceful, golden arms and dangling crystals, cast a warm, welcoming glow. The crystals clung to it like frozen tears, catching what little light there was, casting fractured shadows on the marble floor.
The vanity is the first thing that catches the eye, standing proudly against the far wall, with a marble top cold and unyielding to the touch. Beneath, the gold filigree twisted and curled, almost like the vines of ivy, intricate and delicate. The mirror above it was enormous—its ornate, golden frame full of swirls and flourishes, looking like something that might have been plundered from the halls of some ancient king.
On either side of the mirror, twin sconces glowed, their soft, warm light a poor mimicry of the sun. They held no candles, only small, delicate shades, giving off a dim warmth, like hearth fires dying after a long night. The golden faucet gleamed below, poised over the marble sink beneath the mirror.
The air was cool, and I could feel the cold seeping through the marble tiles beneath my feet. Dark veins snaked through the white stone like old scars, though arranged in a perfectly crystalline lattice. The faint scent of grapefruit and ginger lingered in the room. The sent of my body wash that Fleur had gifted me on my last birthday. Every inch of the room was pristine, not a speck of dust in sight, as the house-elves always clean the prefect private bathroom after ever use.
By the window, a cream-colored Roman shade hung quietly, filtering the moonlight that poured in from outside. The soft fabric fluttered ever so slightly, touched by the gentlest of breezes. The light that crept through the window was pale and cold. I reached for the cupboard by my left leg, its smooth handle cool to the touch, and swung the little door open with a quiet creak. Inside sat the little bottles in neat rows.
First, the cleanser—Squeakyclean Solution™, the bottle read, and I uncorked the cap, letting the scent sharply rise up. I splashed water onto my face, then I worked the cleanser into my skin in small circles, feeling it bite and sting at first, but then that sharpness softened. Satisfied, I reached for the next vial, a delicate little thing with a dropper—Mermish Dew Drops™. Just a few drops, I reminded myself, as I pressed it into my skin, feeling the instant rush of hydration.
I tilted my face closer to the mirror, frowning as I noticed a small, stubborn spot on my right cheek. It wasn't the first time such a thing had appeared unannounced, but it still felt like a nuisance. The spot was red and full, sitting there as a tiny imperfection on my face. I pressed my fingers to it, gently at first, before giving in to the temptation to squeeze.
I squeezed. The skin gave way with a sickening but satisfying pop as the spot yielded under my touch. It was strangely cathartic, like popping a Bubotuber pod in herbology class, though less likely to make a mess. I wiped it away, the skin now flushed and a bit tender, and rinsed my hands.
I reached for the Pimple Vanishing Patches™, plucking one from its small backing. I carefully pressed it onto my cheek, covering the spot where the blemish had been. It stuck easily, practically vanishing against my skin. It wasn't ideal, but it'll do for tonight.
The DDG Moisturiser™ was next, sitting there in its little obsidian jar. I dipped my fingers in and smoothed it over my skin. DDG, if you're wondering, stands for 'Daughter of the Drowned Gods' Moisturiser. I don't know who came up with the name, but they deserve a pay rise. The name itself makes me willing to spend 17 galleons on this little thing, but the fact its surprisingly effective, makes me forget about the price tag.
Finally, I reached for the Sunny Sorcery Shield™. Dewy and light, and its label promised protection, were more than enough for winter. I squeezed a bit onto my fingertips and spread it evenly over my face. You might be wondering, with all the magic that is on offer, why isn't there a one-cream for-all? There are some available, but they're all total troll crap, according to the girls. They said 'you're better off buying individual products as they're more effective'.
It's exactly the same thing they said when they made me buy separate shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. They said 'How could one product shampoo and condition your hair at the same time? And act as a body wash? It's utter crap. If you buy this shit again, we wouldn't mind going to Azkaban for using Crucio on you?' It does work, but they did almost follow through with their promise. And since that day, I've brought them separately.
Placing everything back where they're supposed to be, I re-entered my bedroom and headed towards the box. Grabbing my wand, I opened the box and levitated the gown on to my bed. Standing at the foot of the bed, I placed my wand down and glanced at the bed.
They weren't lying when they said they asked for best to make this. It looked like it belonged in a glass case in a museum. I lifted the shirt first—soft, white, with lace spilling from the cuffs and collar. I slipped my arms through the sleeves, feeling the cloth against my skin, the lace settling at my wrists, and fastened the buttons up to my throat. It was an odd feeling as the fabric settled on my shoulders with a sort of reassuring weight. I have never worn anything of this standard before. The only thing that comes close was that Hermès suit my grandparents made me wear to that one conference almost five years ago.
I fiddled with the waistcoat before remembering one of the most important items: my wand. This suit had no pockets and nowhere to put my wand. I walked over to my wardrobe to find the wrist wand holder I had brought before the first year. My usual belt and holder would not work as the colours would clash and ruin the whole aesthetic. Strapping the holder on tightly, I made my way back to the foot of the bed.
Tugging the waistcoat over the shirt, I fastened each button, one by one, feeling the garment pull tight across my chest. They were tiny gold buttons with the Ebonwood Sigil engraved on them. Then the trousers. They felt surprisingly comfortable once I got them on, snug, but not too tight. Then the coat itself. I smoothed the fabric down, letting the long coat fall to my knees, its edges embroidered with fine threads that caught the light like scattered coins. I secured the last buttons. Lastly, I pulled on the breeches, snug around my calves and fastening just below my knees.
Standing back up straight, I walked to the opposite side of my room to where the dresser was located. Finding my brown formal shoes with blue laces, I slipped them on before opening the first drawn on my left.