Late afternoon, a few hours after Mother Cannot Guide You


Sulwen sat at the edge of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, having come there early to save seats for Feliks and Nicola. When Wesley strolled in, she barely glanced up. He was always early for food and late for classes. That was the Wesley way.

He sat at the edge of the Hufflepuff table, back to back with her, a few feet of distance between them, letting his bag fall with a thud as he sighed and kicked his feet out, his sneakers squeaking on the floor. Sulwen sighed a small sigh back at him in greeting.

She waited for him to speak, and when he didn't, she glanced at his table. No other Hufflepuffs yet.

"I won't tell you what the assignment is since you left early," Sulwen teased. "You'll have to ask Feliks to tell you, and he can never remember the page numbers."

Silence. Sulwen blinked, leaning back. Was he napping at the table, his head rested on his arms?

"Wesley."

He should wake up and make silly jokes.

At the continued silence, Sulwen frowned. She hooked one leg over the bench seat, and then the other, sitting with her back to the empty Slytherin table. She leaned forward, letting her black hair fall to one side, inspecting what little of his face she could see buried in his arms.

He opened his eyes, looking at her, and started to sit up. She was about to smile, about to tease him about those woeful eyes he liked to give everyone, because they didn't work on her, ha, but then she really looked at those silly, dopey eyes, and they were actually woeful. He had a crusty in the corner of one eye. An eyelash hanging on his cheek. He glanced away, his mouth smiling very slightly like always, but the rest of his face looking sad.

"What's wrong?" Sulwen asked quietly.

"My mum is dead," he mumbled.

Sulwen paused. She must have misheard.

"What?"

"My mum is dead," he said more clearly. She sat very still.

He hooked one leg over the bench, and then the other, turning to face her, his back against the empty Hufflepuff table.

She looked startled, glancing around. This wasn't funny, Wesley.

"What do you mean? What happened? Your aunt?"

"No," he winced. "You know. My mum who's missing. I found out she's dead."

Sulwen stared at him.

"An Auror told me a few hours ago."

As Sulwen looked at his face, noticing how shallowly he breathed, a horrible, answering tightness started in her chest. Oh no! Wait, nothing made sense.

"They told you here?" She said, confused. "Why aren't you home?"

He looked at her, his eyebrows raising slightly. "I dunno."

He fiddled with the silverware on the table. "I'm supposed to go home this weekend."

Sulwen nodded. She didn't know what to do, what to ask. Her next question also felt inane.

"Was someone with you? A professor?"

"Yeah," Wes just kept answering, though his face had closed off a bit. "Professor Greyfriar."

Sulwen nodded again. That made sense. What should she ask? This was awful for him. He was sitting there, looking ok, not crying, but that eyelash hung off his cheek like a casualty, and he couldn't meet her eyes.

"Who was the Auror?"

He paused, glancing up. "Uh, Gwenna's dad."

"Oh," Sulwen's face soured, and she glanced away to hide it. He couldn't control which Auror told him that his mother... had died.

Sulwen hadn't dreamed of Wesley's mother back in November.[1] She'd only dreamed of his old farmhouse, neglected and abandoned save for the crows in the fields and the house elf in the doorway. How could this happen? Wesley had wanted to find his mum. He hadn't admitted it, but implied it - thank you Abby for the word - he'd implied it when he'd talked about how he was going to try seeking spells this summer, even though it wasn't allowed, and whenever he glanced up hopefully at the flock of owls in the Great Hall, and that time he'd taken lots of notes in class about a wizard who had once swallowed a forgetfulness potion and forgotten his children.

"Wesley," she said tentatively, about to ask the question. An important one.

"Sulwen. I need to ask you something."

Sulwen nodded, waiting, relieved.

He started rambling about the train station from December, when she'd helped him with his luggage and Noah Pratt was being obnoxious and Aunt Aileen stared daggers at the Pratt father and then there was a dementor, a dementor rushing at Wesley, and then a pentral, a pentral had saved him, he said the word, making her flinch.

"She saved me," he repeated.

Sulwen sat very still and quiet, barely breathing. How did he know? She'd told him a patronus had saved him, again and again. She glanced down. She'd half-lied.

"Did you see where it came from or where it went? Sulwen?"

He leaned in, hands on his knees like she had all the answers to the test.

"Where it came from or where it went?" She repeated dully.

"Yeah," Wes nodded, looking into her eyes. "'Cause that was my mum. She was the pentral."

Sulwen could only stare, her face paling, heart beating faster.

"I know. It's bad. But maybe you saw something? She saved me, along with the patronus."

Sulwen leaned away stiffly. "Your mother was the pentral?"

Wesley told her yes.

"She was the one who saved you."

"Yeah, Sulwen," he sighed, frustration flickering over his face. "Did you see?"

Sulwen glanced down the Great Hall to the staff table, her eyes wide. No, no, no, this wasn't fair. She hadn't known. She didn't know what to say if he didn't know.

Her eyes darted back to Wesley, who looked at her, confused.

"I don't like talking about pentrals," she said quickly. Feliks, at least, might understand this, but Wesley always forgot about her aunt Abby, barely aware of the world beyond Hogwarts, the world beyond his dreams.

"But I'm just asking if you saw-"

"I don't know," Sulwen shook her head. "I thought it was a patronus."

A lie, she was sorry. Really.

She explained, in short and quick sentences, that her aunt had casted a patronus, an ibis, and she didn't know where the other wispy thing had come from, but no, Wesley, she didn't think it had come from Auror Pratt, and no, Wesley, it absolutely had not come from Noah Pratt.

He looked at her. There was a thought forming behind his eyes that she felt sure she wouldn't like.

"Did you see where the pentral went?"

Sulwen considered. She really did, this time. She looked up and tried to remember. A flash of white, wings spread in front of Wesley, so cliche, but that had been the patronus, a few seconds after the ghostly figure.

"The dementor opened its mouth, but then," she paused. "The patronus got in front of the pentral, and the pentral slipped away. I think."

Sulwen nodded.

"My mum escaped?"

"I think so," Sulwen said softly, looking at his face. He was glancing down, his face raw and hopeful. He rubbed his eyes and looked at her.

"I'm not very hungry," he stood.

"You're not?" Sulwen started. "But-"

He glanced at her, waiting for her to say something. She half-stood, at a loss for words. Poor Wesley. His poor mother. She'd asked all the wrong questions. She stood fully, in time to see him turn and walk away. His loping pace. She could easily reach him.

Tell him the truth.

Sulwen watched him go, her hands clenching at her sides. She should have hugged him. She should have said sorry about his mother. If not the truth, she should have said the nice things that people would say.

He was out the door and she was still standing at the table. His mother! Dead. A pentral.

Her Aunt Aileen's pentral had been his mother.

She sat at the table, covering her face with her hands.

1.

The Dream