The Core of ...

Spring took the place of winter. It was still a long way from warm days, but the hot hearts of young people, as we know, do not mind the cold air. Another bunch of students gathered in the schoolyard, ready to go wall to wall, despite the presence of a professor. This time, two undergraduates clashed. One of them still did not want to lower his wand and stood with his arm outstretched in front of him, straining all the muscles of his strong body and glaring at his opponent with a furious look.

"Good afternoon. Excuse me, professor, but I also want to take Mr. Selden's points off. The same amount that you just took off Mr. Darcy." The headmistress, who had been watching the judging for a long time, finally took the floor.

"For what? I'm the injured party here!" The young man's tone expressed utter disregard for anyone's authority.

"For forcing him with your insults!" One girl by all indications from the attacking side shouted. "That's right!"

"I didn't hear that."

"But, professor, that doesn't mean it didn't happen. Miss Greenwood!"

"Miss Greenwood, I trust only my ears, as well as my eyes. So, my ears haven't heard anything, and my eyes see only one wand and one broken nose, and they belong to different people."

"In that case," Miss recommended him, "take a closer look at the eyes above that bloody nose. Do you see any gloating in them?" Someone might have been mistaken that the headmistress sympathised with one of the parties, but not for long. "While in others there is only stupid pride." 'Pride' unleashed an avalanche of snow on its defender, but she didn't care.

"It's all difficult to prove," understanding what she was talking about, the professor insisted.

"Very convenient, isn't it? Well, let's say I'm wrong, and Mr. Selden is indeed an innocent victim. In this case, if he does not learn how to protect himself, or at least find defenders who are willing to take risks for him, then he will remain a whipping boy. What's so good about that? And if I'm not, he will understand that it is possible to provoke others to break the law, and get away with it himself."

"But force is not the way out. Students should learn how to solve problems using words."

"I agree. However, we are not in parliament or in the academy. And as far as I know, the subject of their dispute was far from politics or science."

"Maybe it doesn't matter to you whether they use wands or fists?"

"You're right, it doesn't matter to me."

"But that's not worthy of a wizard!"

"Anything can happen in life. It's better to be prepared."

"But if we act according to your plan, we will get a whole school of broken noses," the head persisted.

"I'd rather have bloody noses than insulted mothers. Besides, noses heal faster than hearts. Listen," the woman's voice became softer, "I'm not saying that this will eliminate the problem. Nevertheless, I hope to reduce the share of conflicts that stem solely from personal gain." And it became firm again when she turned to the student, who was flaring his nostrils with resentment, but without the anger that he had felt at first, "Minus ten points for Mr. Selden."

Yes, the returning birds and the bright sun, promising a speedy rebirth of nature, the arrival of warmth, long evenings and the clear sky full of stars, give courage and audacity to many, inspiring them to achieve.

"Miss Greenwood? Good afternoon." A young man in a student's mantle peered through the half-open doorway of the greenhouse.

"Hello, Tobias. Why didn't you go to the village with everyone?"

"Can I talk to you?" He looked a little abashed, but determined.

"Yes, of course. Come in." The woman was standing at the opposite end of a long wooden table; half-empty flower pots, woven bags of seeds, clay bowls with dry and glass vials with liquid mixtures were placed in front of her, and a barrel filled with earth stood on the floor. Before the guest arrived, she was humming to herself some beautiful sad song - just a melody, for a known reason - and stopped as soon as she heard the creaking of the hinges. Sad songs always came to mind when she was feeling good, but none when she was feeling bad. "What do you want to talk about?"

"About my feelings for you."

"The hour of reckoning..." For a second her gaze froze, focusing on the void in front of her, however, her hands continued to pour the mixtures into the pots at the same pace. "Alright. What kind of feelings do you have for me?"

"I love you," sounded firmly after a short pause. The woman carefully put the measuring scoop aside and rested her palms on the table. She raised her head and, turning her calm face towards the young man, began to study him. He stood straight and, though tense, looked at her with a challenge.

"And what specifically do you love about me?"

"Specifically?" The question caught the guy off guard. "I do not know. It's a feeling! It either is, or it is not."

The woman bit her lower lip thoughtfully. "You know, I might be wrong, but I don't think so. In my opinion, the feeling you're describing... forgive me, it's a desire. It's not bad, within reasonable limits, but love is a more conscious feeling. And in order to continue our conversation, it is important to determine which one of these two feelings will be discussed." There was no trace of the challenge on the student's face. He hadn't expected the conversation to take place at all. He was sure that he would just be thrown out the door, and this would be visible evidence that he had done what he claimed to do. Now, he wanted to leave the place himself. "I'm not rushing you." There was nowhere to turn. The young man sat down on a chair by the exit and pondered. The headmistress quietly continued her work.

"About both of them," finally came a voice from the undergrowth by the door.

"It's brave."

"Do you like it?" The guy stood up and put his fists against the boards of the table.

"Bravery is a good quality, if it is not the only one."

"Well. I'll try. You're smart."

"Aren't there any smart girls you know? I know for sure that there're."

"They're no match for you."

"I have my doubts about this, however... I'm just older. Much older. In the long run, age can be a negative factor."

"Everything happens in life."

"Who's arguing..."

"Besides, and this is the most amazing thing, not only do you not look that much older, you don't act like that either."

"Well, it's just not from a big mind."

"No, on the contrary! And that's great! When someone doesn't look down upon you, doesn't consider you stupid or inexperienced. When someone explains and shows, and not forbids and punishes."

"That's why I have the heads - they do the dirty work for me."

"You are cheerful, lively!" The guy relaxed and even got into a rage.

"Only thanks to all of you."

"You won't be confused by anything - you won't flinch under any circumstances, as if you were carved out of stone."

"Oh, believe me, this is just a defensive reaction."

"You are not afraid of anything." His admiring gaze was drawn to her face.

"No. I'm faking it." Her eyes returned to the table.

The pots on it were finished, so the woman went to a shelf behind her and began to read the labels on the drawers, which it was densely filled with. The right one was found on one of the upper shelves. Standing almost on the tips of her big toes, she stretched out along the shelf and had already hooked her fingers on the box when other hands easily picked it up and put it in hers.

"You're beautiful." She was looking at the box. "I like the way you move," he didn't let go of it, "the way you smell..." he closed his eyes and slowly inhaled. Without looking up at him, she persistently pulled the box in her direction; he opened his fingers. Slowly, she turned around and put it on the table, looked at the object lying in it, then at the large pots on the floor, estimated them, and went over to them. The one chosen was not the largest, but it was quite weighty. "I like your voice, your lips, your eyes..." She tilted the pot slightly, setting it on its edge, and rolled it. However, it soon broke free from her hands and rolled to the table by itself. She watched it go with a displeased look. "I like your look, any kind, gentle and harsh..." She took a pair of garden scissors and began to rip open the thick fabric of a bag with gravel. The fabric store with a crack. The woman inhaled unevenly and exhaled sharply.

"Stop it, please."

"Stop what? Telling the truth? You did want it."

"No, not this, everything else."

"But I'm just helping you," the guy said when he finally figured out what she was talking about.

"No, you're not helping, you're patronising. Because I didn't ask for help. Because at least this I can handle on my own."

"You mean without magic?"

"What?" It was only now that she realised how imprudently she had behaved in front of the student, and did not have time to get a hold of herself to control the face.

"Oh, forgive me..." the young man was also worried, "no one is going to challenge your right to hold office. Everyone knows that you are a witch, one of us, but something happened and you lost the ability to cast magic." The headmistress' eyes continued to widen. "The girls think that you were cursed, and that..." the guy swallowed and looked down "the only thing that can disenchant you is a kiss..."

"Of true love, huh?" The voiced stupidity brought the woman out of her state of panic, and her voice sounded cynical.

"Are you still doubting my feelings?!"

"Absolutely not. Only the medicine." She spoke calmly again, sat down on a bench and leaned on the table. "You're a grown boy, graduating this year, aren't you? And not stupid. But you do believe in fairy tales." The boy stood with his eyes downcast and was silent. "You earn points not only in sports, it means you work hard. Tell me, how many curses do you know that would be removed by a kiss?" There was no response. "None? That's what I thought. I hope that's not why he came here. Now in order. Sit down. Who told you that I can't do magic?"

"We have eyes. And in all that time, they have never seen you commit this act. Even at feasts, anyone does it, but not you. It's odd, don't you think?" The woman stared into the young man's face. "Actually, the girls were just joking. It never occurred to anyone that this could be true."

"Except for you? And why are you so sure that I could do this before?"

"You went to this school," the guy spread his hands, "belong to our house. There are witnesses: ghosts, portraits. They remember you. They told me what you were like." The woman could barely resist asking what she was like. "Strong. And not only in terms of magic. And even though that's more than enough, there's something else. I have noticed that in some situations, for example, when you are startled by a sudden noise made by the poltergeist, you make specific gestures. Every time you make a vow to yourself that you won't fall for his tricks anymore, and still... But that's not what I'm talking about, I know some of them - it's a non-verbal magic. You still have reflexes."

"I didn't notice that."

"You see! I know you. I have the right to say that I love you."

"Yes... unfortunately, yes."

"Unfortunately? But why?!"

"You're a good man, Tobias. Brave, smart, attentive... handsome. If you remember everything you said to me here today and think about it carefully, you'll notice that those two feelings are strongly connected. The first can exist without the second. But there is no second without the first. I'm sorry. I don't love you. This does not mean that you are bad at something, that you are not worthy. As you correctly pointed out at the very beginning, both are feelings. They either are, or they are not. They can be conscious, but they cannot be generated by the mind. The second without the first can give rise to another type of relationship. So when you fall in love with someone else, and if you're still interested in my company at that time, we can become friends. But not earlier."

"Why?"

"Because then you won't be able to fall in love with someone else."

"What if there's no one else? What if you're the only one?"

"No," she smiled at him softly, "the only one doesn't exist until you decide to make her one. Don't waste your time, look for her. And when you do, and you both make a decision, that's when the others will have to cease to exist." The young man listened with pain in his heart to the advice of his beloved, whom he had to stop loving.

"Have you already made your decision?"

The woman felt the ring on her hand and, unnoticed by the guy, twirled it on her finger. "I believe so."

"What were you doing there for so long? I'm frozen here to death."

"You won't believe it, I hardly believe it myself, but... I was talking about my feelings."

"That long? So what?"

"What do you think?"

"Shown the door?"

"Of course."

"One never knows. It's been so long."

"Say it again."

"Sorry... Feel for you."

***

The deputy often visited the headmistress, both on school issues and to find out once again how things were going with her memories. And if the first one made the headmistress more and more enthusiastic every time, the second one was more and more annoying. This time, the old witch found the woman already in a bad mood. She was angry and confused, she felt cheated; and the witch could easily read it on the face turned towards her as soon as she crossed the doorstep of the office. In the portrait behind it, the man stood with his head down sadly - he had already paid the price. The strict old deputy didn't even blink.

"Has something happened?"

"Yes. I've finally reached the end of this book." The headmistress lifted the edge of the huge volume lying on the table in front of her with difficulty and let it go, so that it fell back with a thud and released a cloud of dust from its pages. "Could you at least hint that I should have started from there?"

"I didn't think it would take you so long."

"I wasn't in a hurry. Besides, history is not my strong suit." The old witch and the portrait exchanged glances. He spread his hands, demonstrating that his knowledge of this in any case should not have affected the process, and hiding his preference that this moment should not come at all. "What's all this about?"

"What specifically?"

"What specifically?! My father is the main villain of the century; my name is on the list of those who died during the battle between him and the school; I'm quite alive, here, and don't remember a damn thing about it. This specifically."

"Why have you decided that it's you who are on the list, and not some namesake?"

"Because I can listen and count. I studied here. It was obvious from the very beginning, and yet, the portraits and the ghosts remember me. They just like you prefer not to talk to me. The professor was my head. The fact that I studied with him also became crystal clear at a certain point. You blabbed yourself. He died when I was eighteen; according to the same list, this misfortune happened to him on that very day. My current age is quite suitable to conclude that at that time I was about eighteen. And in another Book, I didn't find any other students with the same first and last name." The man in the frame recalled how five minutes ago she stormed back into the office, panting and glaring at him with a sharp, glittering gaze ('You knew. You must have known. Even if you died earlier. Who am I? A ghost that can't leave? But this is flesh! What's going on?!' - 'I... All I knew was that you were dead. I didn't know you were alive until...' The woman turned away with a sigh and sank into an armchair. 'I do not know what is happening to you.') "But most importantly, your young friend on my first day here said that the scar on his forehead was left by my father."

"And you still can't recollect anything?"

"Not a single memory, nothing even sounds familiar."

"What can make you remember?..."

"Maybe that's not the goal?" the portrait tried to intercede for her, "Maybe something happened there, and this is the last refuge?"

"Then we should know about that," the witch did not give up.

"Then you know my opinion," the man said dryly.

"And you know mine. No, I can't let this family get involved. Only as a last resort and when I'm completely sure that... that it's safe. It's not good for them either."

The woman looked at them with disdain. She didn't even try to ask questions; she knew she wouldn't get any answers. In the end, she couldn't stand it anymore, got up silently and went into the bedroom. What if the teacher was right, she thought, staring at the ceiling above her bed, what if she had no one and nothing left there. Who was she there? She was entrusted with the school here! They knew that she had absolutely no experience in this, and trusted her. She listened to advice from professors, the requests of the board members, delved into, monitored the moods of employees and students, tried to take everything into account when making decisions. Many of the students liked her, even though she didn't go along with them, and she thought she was doing the right thing...

"Oh, Mary, again? I was sure that Dorian was long gone."

"It's not Dorian."

"What's the problem now?"

"The guy is in love with you."

"Tobias?" purely feminine instincts forced the headmistress to take a break to overcome them, "Well, I think it's a good choice."

"And I would like to be like you!"

"Then it's not as hopeless as last time. But you don't have much time left."

She had students here. So different in character and so identical in essence. Just like the professors. With their help, she could see that life really exists. Through them, she learned about life, as through books, she learned about the world, as she liked - indirectly, bearing responsibility, and nonetheless, for the most part, remaining an observer. She had a teacher here, at any given time - a soulmate, - with whom she was interested, who cared about her, who for some reason loved her, whom she sought not to disappoint, whom she also loved...

"Come on, wake up, this is ridiculous, you don't have a chance! She loves the portrait! She's crazy! He was her teacher twenty years ago, so she's also a pervert. And you're the same."

"So all is not lost yet," the voice said stubbornly after a short lull.

"Are you insane? You know, go to hell!" A young lady jumped out of the archway and almost knocked down a woman who a minute ago was walking along the corridor at a brisk pace, but was stopped by the tirade against an unknown, still hidden by the stone wall. "Oh! Headmistress! Good evening."

"Good evening, Miss Pierce."

There was a pause, during which the woman's initially embarrassed gaze slowly but steadily changed to a firm and impassive one, as the girl's initially perplexed gaze quickly turned into a defiant mockery. However, the impudence could not withstand such a frightening emptiness for long, and the cheeks of the failed blackmailer burned with shame.

"Sorry... I mean, excuse me, can I go? I have to hurry."

"Of course you can - I'm not holding you. On the contrary, you wanted to tell me something. And you said it a long time ago." The girl's eyes filled with fear, and muttering 'Thank you... Good evening...', she walked away without looking back. The woman took a deep breath and continued on her way, when suddenly an uncertain voice sounded behind her.

"Miss Greenwood?"

"Yes?"

"Is it true?"

"Yes."

"But why? It's pointless... there's no future for such a relationship..."

"Just like for our one. So why?" After a while the woman softened her face and took a few steps towards the young man. "Listen to me. I don't expect more from this relationship than it can give me. I don't need more. Your situation is different."

One soulmate in the whole school. But it was enough for her. And as long as she didn't remember, they would be together. She touched the ring on her finger. She loved him too, it couldn't be otherwise. Why was she blocking these memories? If there was something going on in that world, then the old witch was right - she needed to know it. But then she would have to go back.