//------------------------------// // Grasping for a Happy Memory // Story: In Slytherin Colors // by EmberQuill //------------------------------// Ember Quill’s eyes began to dart from side to side as she followed the thing that vaguely resembled a path in the Everforbidden Forest. This was not her brightest shining moment, that was for sure. She should have paid the highway robbers at Slug & Jiggers Apothecary for their vastly overpriced Moonflower pods she needed for her project. Should have grinned and bore it. Then she wouldn't be jumping at shadows and scorching random portions of the forest thinking they were coming at her. Why hadn't she been smart and sensible and done just that? Even as she berated herself, the mental image of her pitiful bitpurse greeted her mind’s eye. Despite her negative thoughts, she continued trudging onward. She’d been through the forest not too long ago, during the day. Everything had been fine, and despite her cautious, quiet pace, she was nearly back to the spot where she had found the closed flowers buds on that excursion into the forest. If only the flowers had been in bloom… But it was more potent if they were harvested on the night of a full moon, and potency was important. She had grand plans for this batch of brew. And you couldn't charge top bits with substandard ingredients. Finally, through the tree she saw a semi-open field, clusters of glowing white blooms pointed skyward. A grin sprang to her lips and she picked up her pace. The petals were milky white with mottled grey rings on them, miniature versions of moon with the exception of a small grey marble sized seed pods in the center of each bloom. With visible relief she gathered them by hoof and dropped them gently into a packet that she tucked inside her uniform sweater. Any direct contact with magic before brewing would have rendered them useless, not terribly hard to make sure didn’t happen. But by gathering the pods manually took time, and the moon crawled across the sky as she worked. The temperature gradually began to drop, till Ember was shivering in earnest. She turned back to the path and began to trot quickly back the way she had come. Still the air grew colder, Ember’s teeth chattered as she kept up the quicker pace, despite that it was nosier than her initial approach to slipping through the forest. Why was she even doing this anyways. Something was bound to go wrong with the brewing process. Who would even pay top bit for something made by a student— one who’s focus wasn't even potions? It was ridiculous to think otherwise. Memories of words from some of her old classmates rang in her ears. Reminding her of all the failures she had dealt with to get to this point of proficiency where she’d even imagine selling the product at the end. Her hooves slowed with each new unpleasant set of words to flow through her mind. Really— what was the point of it all. She’d fail and then— seeing the breath in front of her muzzle made her blink sluggishly. What was wrong.. these things had stopped making her so weepy— or so she had thought initially.. But there were tears growing in the corners of her eyes… These things now made her more angry than sad…? Didn't they? She realized then that she had stopped moving entirely, swaying slightly she raised her head to look around, dizzy and confused. The tears were still building strength in the corners of her eyes. "You’re going to end up alone. Just a crazy catpony." Her ears flicked back flat on her head as half-forgotten voice of some colt from her childhood sounded in her ears. "You don’t belong here Halfblood." That was the venomous one of her housemates, the first time she realized how the dynamics of Slytherin House worked. "They only made her Prefect because she’s such a brown-muzzle." The hiss of one of her year mates, talking late at night, in that behind your back in front of your face way that only a Slytherin could truly master. "Miss Tibbles has passed away Ember." She was only eight years old again, as the Veterinarian told her briskly that her kitten died after being run over by a cart… "You’re never going to amount to anything." "Everyone will forget about you the moment you’re dead." "It’s over, stop pinning like a lovesick filly." "Stop taking up her time, she’s got more important things to do than to speak to you!" ”She’s a freak of nature!” "I can’t believe you did that to me!" “I hate you!” "Just leave me alone, you were never worth the effort Ember." Ember’s eyes overflowed, no longer able to withhold the tears. Dry heaves built up in her chest, eyes darting around into the all encompassing gloom. What was going on? Why was this happening? Was this a panic attack? It was hard to think, her mind felt dizzy and disjointed as tears dripped down to make small dark circles in the dirt and the air trembled in her lungs. In the distance a floating figure began to emerge from the fog. Ember’s blue eyes locked with the glowing red embers in the sockets where eyes might have once rested. The moment that happened, the waves of bad memories transformed into a torrential flood. Trembling, Ember fought the terror-paralysis that had seized her mind. The charm came to her mind quickly and easily enough— but the other part— the other part— how, how was she supposed to focus on a single happy memory? Her ears were drowning in the sounds of every insult, every bad memory she thought she had half-forgotten already. The dementor continued it’s progress toward her, as though it could sense that she was unable to collect herself to protect against it, and it relished the added fear. When— when had she smiled— when had she laughed. A time, during the last summer holiday break sprang to the forefront of her thoughts. On the train platform, it was the first time her younger sister had accompanied her father to pick her up from school— Fauna had been wide eyed and so excitable— so unlike her usually— and since it wasn't technically home— she’d levitated her sister onto her back to give her a ride back to the train that would take them home. It had been the first time her little sister had been impressed, awestruck even, it had been such a relief then— to know her sister still felt like she was someone to look up to, not that she was unnatural, not that she was some alien. Fauna had begged Ember to crash in a pillow and blanket fortress in the living room, like they had years before— and trying to focus on this memory, Ember carefully spoke the incantation. It felt as though all the images of that evening spun together into a single rope sized thread, spouting from her horn and bursting into existence above her head. The phoenix launched itself at the dementor, glowing brightly.