36 The tree of knowledge

Oleandra blinked. Sparse flashes of lightning briefly illuminated the total darkness of the countryside, allowing her to slowly progress forwards. The world was eerily silent, save for the sounds of the thunderclaps and the crunch of dirt and gravel under her bare feet. Yet, still she continued onwards. 

There was not a single star in the sky; only a dark red bloody moon hung in the firmament. The sky was empty, save the thunder clouds in the distance. It wouldn't be much longer now.

Oleandra walked and walked. One foot in front of the other. The soles of her feet were all bloodied now, but she couldn't stop now. She couldn't stop, she mustn't stop. Ambition had led her here, and she would not stop for anything in the world now. She had to retrace her steps from back then; she had to know.

A bolt of lightning streaked across the air, its brilliant glare flooding Oleandra's sight with a bright light. And then, all light disappeared from the world once again. When Oleandra closed her eyes, she could still see the light, save for a single, towering silhouette darkening her vision. She was there.

 Dawn was breaking, and Oleandra could finally barely see what she had been seeking. There stood a magnificent tree, taller than any building she had ever seen. And yet, as she drew nearer, it seemed to shrink down, until finally it had reached the size of an ancient Yew tree. On one of its branches swung the corpse of a hanged man.

It began to speak.

I hung on the tree, windblown

Nine days and nine nights

Pierced by my own spear

A pledge, an oath from myself as a seer

On the tree without end that had grown

Its summit out of sight

Rising from roots no man has ever known

I peered down to the earth

I clutched at the runes incorporeal

Symbols I found, powerful staves

Stained by the olden sages

Wrought by the gods primordial

Graven on the stones of the ages

The corpse paused meaningfully. 

Do you know how to carve? Do you know how to read?

Do you know how to tint runes? Do you know how to suffer?

Do you know how to ask? Do you know how to offer? 

Do you know how to sacrifice? Do you know how to slaughter?

Better not to ask than to sacrifice too much

For a gift is always rewarded

And a boon always demands a return

Better not to offer than have to slay too many

The hanging corpse turned its head towards Oleandra, broken neck creaking as it turned. The sun was beginning to peer over the horizon, and the light of day shone upon its face. 

Oleandra locked eyes with the corpse, her face blanching in fright. It was her! She was the corpse hanging from the tree's branch! 

And then she was the one dangling from the rope. Instantly, her hands clutched the noose coiled around her neck; she was suffocating! She desperately tried to get the rope off, but it was a futile attempt. Slowly, her struggles lessened, until finally her arms fell uselessly at her sides. As her vision dimmed, she saw the stars blink out of existence one by one as the night sky receded. She was dead.

"AHHHH!!!" screamed Oleandra, rising from her bed in a start. She pawed at her neck, then sighed in relief. A dream, it had all been a dream. Her pyjamas were damp with sweat, and she had woken the whole dorm. She quickly dashed out of the room and went to wash herself before anyone asked any questions.

Oleandra didn't feel like going back to sleep after her nightmare, so she instead went down to the Slytherin common room to get some homework done to take her mind off her worries.

"Ah, there you are," said Marcus Flint, captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. "Saves me the trouble of having to find a girl to come fetch you."

Indeed, once Oleandra had left the team, only the menfolk remained.

"What is it now?" asked Oleandra wearily. "I've given my position to Draco, remember?"

"Exactly!" grinned Flint toothily. "The new brooms are sure to give us an edge, but in the end, the game revolves around the Seeker. Which is why you need to train him."

It had been a difficult decision for Marcus Flint. On one hand, he didn't want to offend the Malfoys by refusing Draco a spot as Seeker, but on the other, the Malfoys would give every single member of the team a top-of-the-line broom!

In the end, Oleandra had forced his hand by quitting, so he was stuck with Draco. 

Oleandra sighed. At least this would take her mind off that awfully morbid nightmare. She went back to change into some more appropriate clothes for extreme sports, then left for the Quidditch pitch with the other members of the team. Draco talked to her excitedly the entire way, as she stifled her yawns as best as she could. It was really early in the morning, and she had missed a lot of sleep. Also, Draco was boring her with his stories again.

Once they had arrived, she found that the field was already occupied, by the Gryffindor team, no less. She sighed. 

"Here we go again," she told herself.

Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor team, landed his broom in front of them, tripping a bit as he set foot on solid ground.

"Flint!" yelled Wood. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Flint smiled smugly as he said, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

That much was true, since Quidditch is played by two teams facing off against each other. However, Wood would not listen to reason.

"But I booked the field!" said Wood through gritted teeth. "I booked it!"

Flint's levels of smugness were now off the charts, as he showed him a specially signed note from Professor Snape. Wood's brows frowned in incomprehension, as his eyes jumped from left to right, reading the lines one by one.

They already had a Seeker, and she was right there. What was this nonsense about Professor Snape giving special permission to use the field to train the new Seeker?