She Who Could Not Be Zapped, Judy Colella [novel24 TXT] 📗

The all-powerful, evil wizard who was so horrid that we had been afraid to even say his name, was standing there, arms crossed, his erstwhile noseless features now sporting a huge, spongy red nose, his lipless mouth smeared with bright red lipstick or face paint of some kind, dark pink spots covering his cheeks. The wild orange frizzed-out curly hair had completed its growth cycle and now covered his entire head.

Ridiculosa.

Dumbledore drew a small mirror from his robe and held it up. This time, Voldemort’s scream was accompanied by his clawed hands tearing at the new hair, and he disappeared in a flash of lightning.

That evening, Dumbledore spoke with all the faculty and students right before dinner, and strongly advised all of us to make an active effort to forget what had occurred. But before that, upon Voldemort’s exit and after dispersing the crowd, he followed Miss Dylan, returning an hour or so later, which I know because he called me to his office again.

Miss Dylan had the goblin in a box that looked more like a small house – I could see it through one of the windows as it sat cross-legged on a miniature pillow, chewing on something and grinning. Weird. Dumbledore waved to the seat next to Miss Dylan.

“Hello, professor! Look what Hagrid gave me!”

The smile I gave her was, I confess, weak. I had been rendered exhausted by the goings-on that day, and didn’t know why I’d been summoned. Was Dumbledore going to punish me for not keeping a firmer hand on Miss Dylan’s activities? I cleared my throat and told her it was a lovely gift.

“The reason you’re here, Severus,” Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers, “is to help me determine the cause and source of this young woman’s powers.”

“I don’t have powers.”

“But you do, Miss Dylan – no one has ever stood up to the death curse and been completely unaffected by it. Yet not only did you appear immune, you were able to cast a spell, which you made up on the spur of the moment, using the wizard’s own wand against him! And that, my dear, is unheard of!”

She shrugged. “I don’t know – seems to me that all this stuff you do is based on believing that normal activities can be turned into abnormal circumstances.”

I’m not stupid, but I could make no sense of her words and asked her to explain.

“Let’s see. That first class where you use ingredients to make spells is exactly what we so-called muggles do to make food. It’s what muggle scientists do to formulate various chemicals used for making fuel, synthetics, all that. And what Hagrid does is, in my neck of the woods, zoology. We study animals, too, in order to understand them and all that. Then there’s that delightful woman who teaches the students about plants. In the muggle world, we call that botany. Your defense against the dark…arts, is it? Well, that would kind of be like a mystical version of martial arts, or, in a more mundane setting, military boot camp.

“The only difference is that while we use natural things like spices, herbs, flour, eggs, milk, things like that, you use either the items natural to your world, or concepts. And while your plant-life is apparently capable of sentience, our plants have the ability to move in the direction of water and sunlight. So you see, the difference lies in your beliefs. I believe this is a lot of silliness, that flourishing a stick and shouting nonsense is childish make-believe. You don’t. You believe that stuff, so it affects you. That’s why when even made-up words are used, you get results.”

Dumbledore pursed his lips, nodding. “I see. Allow me to try something.”

“Sure.”

He stood, leaned forward, and uttered what I recognized at once as a spell of forgetting, then sat once more. “What were we discussing?”

Miss Dylan bit her lower lip. “Oh, dear. Have you been tested for Alzheimer’s?”

“For what?”

“Never mind. We were discussing how my world parallels yours, but because of what you believe, the results are different.”

Dumbledore’s shoulders drooped. “You truly are immune. I am at a loss.”

That was when I got an idea that I should have kept to myself. “You know, we could use this ability as a kind of defense. I mean, she could be our secret weapon against Vold…er, He Who…whatever.”

“It’s hardly a secret, dear Severus – he’s met her and seen what she can do.”

“Yes, I know, but what I meant – ”

“No.”

Dumbledore and I stared at Miss Dylan, who had gotten up and was shaking her head at us.

“I will not get involved in all this. The only reason I came here today was to check on my nephew – he can be such a boil – but now that I have, there’s no reason for me to become embroiled in your odd lifestyles.” She took a quick, deep breath, and wandered over to the phoenix. “Hello, there,” she murmured, putting out a finger.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Dumbledore warned.

She withdrew her finger. “What kind of bird is this?”

“A phoenix.”

She nodded. “Of course it is…how often does it burst into flames?”

“Ah, so you know what a phoenix is,” I said, impressed.

“Everyone knows – it’s a mythical bird we learn about in our schools.”

Now this was fascinating – so muggle children studied magical creatures, too, did they? I wondered why, but didn’t ask aloud.

“What’s his name?”

Dumbledore gave his bird a smile. “Fawkes.”

“Fawkes?”

“Fawkes.”

“As in ‘Guy’?”

“Guy who?”

“Guy Fawkes.”

“No.”

By the end of this strange discussion between Dumbledore and Miss Dylan, I found myself feeling dizzy. Sitting straighter, I attempted to bring the discussion either to a close, or at least get it back on track. “So what about Miss Dylan’s abilities?”

“I don’t have any.”

I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, she was running a finger down the front of Fawkes’ chest, smoothing his bright orange and red feathers. Fine, I thought. If the bird bites her, maybe she’ll learn something. But learn what? That phoenixes bite? This was proving too much; I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair and raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore.

He cleared his throat. “Er, Miss Dylan, might we get back to the issue at hand?”

“What issue? Oh, you mean about these powers you seem to think I have? All right. It’s like this – I don’t have magical powers. I have human ones. That said, I’ve enjoyed myself a great deal today and even have a souvenir of my adventures.” She raised the house-cage, then lowered it. “My nephew appears to be doing well enough for the time being, so I’m going to go back home now. If Bel needs me for anything else, please be sure to let me know. Oh, and for the love of Mike, use the regular post – not some whacking great owl. Their toilet habits are disgusting, and they invariably leave a mess. Bleh.” She shuddered.

“But really, madam!” This was Dumbledore, not me. I was too busy holding in an inexplicable desire to laugh.

“Really what? Professor Dumbledore, you must excuse me now. I have many things to do, and while today was a day off for me, tomorrow is not. I’ll be going now. Love that train, by the way.”

That jolted me as I was reminded of a question that had been nagging at me since her nephew had asked it all those long, long, long, hours ago. “Miss Dylan, before you leave, please explain how you managed to get on the Hogwarts Express in the first place? The platform is not a normal one, and only members of the magic community know how to access it.”

She looked surprised. “Is that so? Huh. No one told me that. All I had was Bel’s scribbled note with ‘King’s Cross – Platform 9 ¾ ’ on it. So I went to the train station, and when I got to Platform 9, I started looking around. I was so busy trying to find a sign for the right platform, I walked right into a brick wall, but to my surprise, I was suddenly on the other side of it, and there was this glorious, old-fashioned train sitting there, steaming and gleaming in the early light coming in from overhead.” She smiled at me.

“I – I see.” And with that, I realized there was nothing more to be said.

Dumbledore must have recognized this as well, because he stopped trying to engage her in further discussion, and stood, putting out a hand. “Meeting you has been most…enlightening, Miss Dylan. And please rest assured, your nephew is in good hands here. I promise to inform you of any problems that might arise before the end of term, and hope you will be free to return and help out.”

She shook his hand, then turned to me. “Thank you so much for allowing me to audit your class, professor. I’m thrilled about the goblin, who tells me he wants to be called Nib – it’s short for Nibbles, I think.” She grinned and put out a hand. “You’re quite a heartbreaker, sir, and I wish our worlds weren’t so foreign to each other.”

I shook her hand, astonished yet again. A heartbreaker? Me? Surely she was only being polite. Nonetheless, I felt my neck and face grow warm. I honestly don’t think I have ever blushed so much in a single day as I did on that one.

She let herself out, and a few minutes after her footsteps had faded away, I got up, thanked Dumbledore for allowing me to participate, ignored what was without any doubt a sly smile, and went back to my classroom to tidy up for the next day.

That was the last time I ever saw Dianna Dylan, but I shall never forget her. She was the most extraordinary young woman I’ve ever met, even more wonderful in her own way than Lily Potter. Had Miss Dylan not been a muggle, well, who knows?

As I entered my room, I found myself unable to hold in a snort of laughter – Snake-a-mort? Oh, my god…

Publication Date: 05-24-2016

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