Harry Potter and the Surprisingly Competent History of Magic Professor C- Between the Lines #3 – Rowena vs Illiteracy (Read After C

Helena Ravenclaw waited outside her mother's study after knocking. She dared not enter without waiting for permission. A hot tea and biscuits were balanced on a tray in one hand, her other hand smoothing down her sleeve for the third ti. She wanted it to look like she had thought of this on a whim, not that she had stood in the kitchen baking biscuits Rowena might actually eat.

Inside, the scratch of quill on parchnt continued. Helena shifted the tray against her hip, the warmth of the teapot leaking through the cloth. She imagined her mother hunched over so vast folio, lines of runes scrawled in margins, oblivious to the hour or the girl waiting at her door.

At last, a cool voice called from within, "Enter."

Helena eased the door open with her shoulder and stepped inside. The study slled of ink and old vellum, candlelight pooling in corners. Rowena did not look up. She was bent over a spread of scrolls, her hand moving quickly, annotating.

"I thought you might want tea," Helena said softly, setting the tray down on the nearest clear space she could find, which was to say, a corner already half-buried in books. "And sothing to eat. You've been in here since morning."

Rowena murmured sothing that might have been thanks. She did not look away from the scroll.

Helena pulled out a chair, not quite sitting, not quite standing. "I tried the kitchen's new recipe. Honey-butter biscuits. They turned out well."

Rowena reached absently for the cup Helena had poured, took a sip without tasting, and set it down again.

Helena's lips pressed tight. She had hoped, foolishly, that tonight might be different. That her mother might glance up, see her, not just a shadow with a tray. But Rowena's mind was elsewhere, locked in glyphs and theory, too vast a tide for Helena to step against.

So she sat anyway, and broke a biscuit in half, and let the silence stretch.

"I missed you at supper," she said. "Father tried to tell one of his stories." She smiled faintly. "It would have been nicer if you were there."

Rowena made another note on the side of the paper.

Helena leaned back, the smile fading. "Do you even know what day it is?"

The diadem on her head glinted faintly in the candlelight as Rowena spoke without looking up, "It is the last day of the quarter, and I need to finish these reports before the Council ets."

Helena sighed, leaning her chin on her hand. "No one can read your reports but anyway. You think you need to be quicker to write them all, then they bring them to to rewrite so others can understand. You try to be faster, and they end up even more illegible. If you'd just taken breaks or written slower, it would have saved everyone more ti."

Rowena's quill froze mid-stroke. She lifted her head fully now, her eyes sharp. "What did you just say?"

Helena's heart thumped, but she let out a small, nervous laugh. "It's the truth, Mother. They don't dare tell you, but it's what happens. They give them to to translate. Half the Council thinks your letters are riddles."

The quill slipped from Rowena's fingers and rolled across the scroll, leaving a blot of ink like a wound. She stared at her daughter as though seeing her for the first ti in weeks.

"You... correct my reports?"

Helena swallowed. "I make them clearer."

Rowena's gaze sharpened, blue cold as ice. "Those imbeciles. Cannot even read, and so they make excuses. Next you will tell you are paraphrasing for them to understand."

Helena looked away, her throat tight.

Rowena's jaw clenched, teeth flashing white. "Do you?"

Helena managed a brittle smile. "Mother... your vocabulary is too technical. Most others can't even understand half the things you say."

Rowena straightened. "So you dilute them. You reduce my precision to spoon-feed the Council." Updates are released by novel{f}ire

Helena lowered her gaze, not daring to look up. Rowena began to pace around the table. "And we put them into a council of this castle? The so-called leaders of our future? Frauds. Dullards. Quill-scratchers who mistake ink for wisdom, who choke on a clause because it lacks rhy. And these are the shepherds of the magical world we envision?" Her words spat sparks, her hands flexing at her sides.

Helena winced, fingers tightening in her lap. Rowena crossed the room, ca to a shelf where trinkets and experints cluttered in disarray. She seized one, an odd quill bound with bronze wire, and studied it.

At last she huffed sharply. "Whatever. I was working on a self-writing quill to draft multiple reports at once. That will suffice. If they cannot follow , then let them drown in clarity multiplied."

Helena blinked, then let slip a smile. "That is brilliant, Mother."

Rowena flicked her hand in dismissal, eyes narrowing again. "Yes, yes. What else do they whisper? What else are they too afraid to report to ?"

Helena hesitated, then shook her head. "Nothing cos to mind. Only this. But Mother... won't a self-writing quill cause problems in identification? Quills carry your magical imprint into the paper. And... your handwriting is undeniable."

Rowena paused, clenching the bronze-bound quill in her hand. A flicker of irritation flared in her eyes. "True. Then I will bind my magic into them. Let them carry my signature wherever they are put to use."

Helena swallowed her next thought. She wanted to say What if soone else took the quill? What if it were lost, or stolen? But she knew the look in her mother's eyes, the cold fire that did not welco doubt.

So she stood. "I'll take my leave, Mother."

Rowena had already turned back to her scrolls, already reaching for another sheet. She did not answer. The scratch of quill soon reclaid the silence.

Helena lingered at the threshold. "Good night, Mother," she whispered.

She did not wait for a response. Not that any was coming.

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