Hermione, Ron, and Neville sidled up behind Oleandra, not even pretending to be discreet as they peered over her shoulder. The moment Oleandra took the tome from Harry, its final page turned of its own accord, flipping neatly to the verso side.
"Would you mind?" Oleandra said irritably, glancing over her shoulder.
"If Dumbledore had wanted us to know what he'd written," Hermione chided, pretending she hadn't just tried to sneak a look at the message, "he wouldn't have written 'for Oleandra's eyes only!'"
Having said her piece, Hermione cleared her throat and peeked out of the corner of her eye at the final page of The Complete Guide to the Trees of Britain, Ireland, and Northern Europe. The book had clearly recognised Oleandra's touch after Harry's, yet for some reason, the page stayed blank.
"The Map called you Mme Bright-Eyes…" Harry said slowly, frowning. "Your eyes… have they always been that colour?"
Whenever Oleandra opened her Mystic Eyes, her irises would turn gold. She'd first noticed this issue in the summer before her sixth year at Hogwarts, while checking the mirror for traces of magical acne on her otherwise perfect skin. After all, at the time, the Ministry had gone all in on promoting her as the heroine who had repelled You‑Know‑Who, and it simply wouldn't have done for her to look unbecoming in front of the cameras.
At any rate, after catching a glimpse of the Love Chamber in the Department of Mysteries, Oleandra's pupils had briefly taken on a heart‑shaped form, and tiny golden specks had begun to shimmer in her eyes. The unusual pupil shapes had gone away on their own as the love‑magic faded, but the specks had multiplied ever since, until her irises shone like solid gold.
According to Mai, golden irises was perfectly normal amongst Fairies; it simply meant that Oleandra's magic was maturing, that she was coming into her own as a Great Fairy. Of all her features, her eyes were most attuned to her true nature; after all, the eyes are windows to the soul… As an adult, her Mystic Eyes no longer needed concealing from humans— or rather, the magic within her eyeballs had grown so strong that their true power could no longer be disguised.
Curiosity gnawed at Hermione as she watched Oleandra's golden eyes flick swiftly from left to right. She was sorely tempted to cast a Revealing Charm and uncover the message Dumbledore had hidden for Oleandra in invisible ink, but even she wasn't quite shameless enough to do that. Besides, it probably wouldn't even work.
…
For Miss Oleandra Greengrass's eyes only, though I hope this message never reaches you.
If my hunch proves correct— as my hunches so often do— then only you shall be able to read this message. Though I suppose it remains possible that these words will lie unread for ever, should this tome not pass through the right hands in this rather convoluted order first.
I must admit that even I am uncertain as to why I am writing this message, even as I dip my quill into this inkpot, ornately carved from a Graphorn's horn— a birthday gift from a dear friend with whom I once exchanged letters— while pondering what to write next, knowing these words may never be read.
Ah, but I digress! You must be waiting impatiently for the rambling to cease and for me to reach the point. You'll forgive an old man's wandering mind, even beyond the grave, for you remind me so much of myself as a young man that I scarcely know where to begin.
Oleandra raised an eyebrow at this.
I must admit I paid you little heed at first, overshadowed as all first‑years were in the year Harry entered Hogwarts. But a young Witch such as you could never stay unnoticed for long. As the years passed, I began to watch you closely, and I even went as far as to ask Professor Snape to keep an eye on you. I justified such close attention by likening you to a young Voldemort, yet the truth was that you reminded me too keenly of myself.
So, perhaps I shall begin where my own story truly starts: when I graduated from Hogwarts. It is no exaggeration to say that I was the most brilliant student the school had ever seen— and I knew it all too well. I was peerless, much as you are with runic magic, Oleandra… selfish, ambitious, but most damning of all, peerless.
Like you, I was never alone— surrounded by friends, family, admirers— yet always alone. At the risk of sounding like I'm praising myself, to me, peerlessness meant a life of loneliness. Being a lesser man, I never let any of my so‑called friends glimpse the depths of my heart… until I had met the wrong person.
Perhaps I am only projecting, but I believe I saw that same hopeless loneliness in your eyes as a child. Our reasons for feeling alone may have differed, but I saw it in your laughter and your smiles, a loneliness that never quite left your eyes…
Oleandra's hands trembled. She knew loneliness all too well— first as a Squib, rejected by magical society, yet too odd to fit in with the Muggles; and later, when she discovered her true nature, she learned of the desperate loneliness of knowing that she was the last of her kind.
"Tracey…" Oleandra whispered hoarsely.
Was that fleeting, illusory thing they had shared truly love? Could a Great Fairy even fall in love with a mere human? Had Oleandra ever loved Tracey as an equal, or merely kept her as an exotic pet to fend off loneliness? She had convinced herself it was for Tracey's own good that she severed their bonds— yet had she ever asked her opinion when she had done so? Considered her feelings? No! Actions speak louder than words; she had simply used her for companionship and cast her aside.
And yet… why did Oleandra's heart ache so fiercely?
Was love truly something that could be put into words, or proved or denied through actions?
Oleandra snapped the book shut.
"Are you done reading…?" Hermione asked tentatively. "Was there a clue… or…?"
"I'll finish later," Oleandra replied dully. She stood up abruptly. "There's something I have to do."
Oleandra was ashamed that this hadn't been her first thought. She had killed Voldemort, which meant all bets were off. The Death Eaters would stop at nothing to strike where they believed it would hurt her most. Tracey's half-blood status would do nothing to protect her from their vengeance, and she had no idea they would be coming for her.