I woke up early yesterday to get myself ready for my meeting with the headmistress. I washed everything--twice--and polished my wand and my shoes. I got out my new hat. While I waited in the common room, I read two chapters of Hogwarts: A History in case she decided to quiz me on any of the other heads of school.
When I arrived at the gargoyles outside her office, she was waiting for me. "This way, please, Mr. Cauldwell," she said, and swept off down the corridor. I followed her, having to move very quickly in order to keep up. She stopped when we got to a corridor with no doors along it. "Stay here," she commanded imperiously, and began to pace. After a few minutes, a door appeared in the wall, and the Headmistress grasped its handle, and pushed it open. She gestured for me to follow her.
My heart was hammering beneath my ribs. Was this some kind of mediaeval torture chamber from the days of corporal punishment? Had Filch, the old blighter, finally won the day with his arguments about thumbscrews? Surely in invisible rooms hidden in castle walls, no one would hear me scream. I entered the room...
...and found wall upon wall of yarn, all colours of the rainbow, all slotted into cubbyholes; shelves full of books with titles like Knitting Without Tears and Stitchionary; baskets full of knitting needles in all shapes and sizes; and in the centre of the room there were two massive armchairs, separated by a small table with a steaming teapot and two teacups.
"Sit," commanded the Headmistress. As I did so, she poured us each a cup of tea from the pot. "Now, Mr. Cauldwell, I have given a great deal of thought to your misdeeds. As I understand that your intentions were not to cause harm to anyone, so must you understand that your intentions count for very little here, and you have harmed poor Miss Abbott." I stammered something in reply, setting down the teacup that my shaking hands were rattling in its saucer. "Naturally, you will be writing her a letter of apology, and if she should find herself in need of assistance in any of her school subjects during the next term, I fully expect you to put your talents into tutoring her. Do I make myself clear?" I nodded--scarcely daring to imagine that this might be the full extent of my punishment.
"Well then, Mr. Cauldwell, tell me this: Do you knit?"
Even now, several hours later, it does seem quite real. The Headmistress is enrolling me in a Magical Fibres class, where I will learn to knit (KNIT?!?) , and craft a whole kit for another student here to make socks. She feels that learning to knit will provide me with positive experiences outside of my realm of experience, and that it will keep me sufficiently busy to prevent me from causing any more mischief. Too bad I can't seem to keep a knit stitch straight for longer than thirty seconds.
What have I gotten myself into?
1 comment:
I can see that reading your blog is going to be a lot of fun!
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