Grace Mary Potts


My life is comprised of inconsistencies, daydreaming, procrastination techniques and occasionally, writing.

Message to Readers

This is something I wrote for my school's Writers Camp. It's based in a world where Australia has their own version of Hogwarts - a school named Mugworts that was founded by Hermione Granger (This was the camp's theme). It's a bit ridiculous (if you know the story behind it) and perhaps a bit dark, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated.

Never Speak a Word

May 30, 2015



She woke to shadows. Flickering shapes of light and dark smeared smudges on the back of pale hands and stretched like fingers reaching across the polished surface of a hard-wood floor. There was a fire crackling in the hearth and the light of glowing embers drew golden fringes on the edges of the rope tied around her wrists and the wooden frame of the chair to which she was bound. Dread weighed in her stomach as though she had consumed a large stone and she swallowed to wet the mouth that was suddenly as dry as sandpaper.

“Well,” an amused voice whispered into the quiet of the room, “I was wondering when you’d be waking up.”

She heard clothes rustling and then the steady sound of footsteps met her ears. A hand stretched out from the shadows and a wand was being pointed at the fire. Flames rose and flared and began to burn more fiercely than before.

Ramona stared at the woman who now stood in front of the fireplace, heart thudding painfully in her chest. She felt the ropes tighten around her wrists as her body inched to rise out of the chair and confront the woman. She tugged and wriggled, trying desperately to shimmy her way out of the bindings, but they only got tighter.

Feeling her hands beginning to tingle and the flesh on her wrists sting, she stopped. She slumped forward with a sigh, anger and fear and betrayal churned in her stomach and exhausted tears gathering in her eyes.

“Why?” she asked; whispered. “Why are you doing this?”

 Silence greeted her.

“Well?” she asked, lifting her head to meet the older woman’s gaze. “Is that it? You have nothing to say?”

Another beat of silence.

“I know what you’re planning Professor!”

A dark chuckle interrupted her and the words died in her throat.

“Oh Ramona, you always were just a little bit too… curious, weren’t you.”

Ramona breathed in shakily and a tear rolled down her cheek. Part of her had been hoping she was wrong, but looking at the expression of cold detachment marring the features of her favourite Professor’s face, she felt that hope shatter.

“How could you?” she breathed. “Headmistress. How?”

Bentwood sighed and looked away for a moment before coming forward to crouch in front of her. Ramona’s eyes narrowed.

“I know this is hard to understand – “

She snorted derisively, “Understatement of the century.”

Bentwood sighed and, lips pursed, continued. “I know it’s hard for you to understand, but it’s for the greater good.”

Ramona shook her head, “They’re just kids – students! They trust you and you’re letting this happen!”

Bentwood nodded solemnly, “I know, I know. It’s hard to understand and that’s why I’m sorry but I can’t have you telling anyone about any of this.”

The student tensed, the pulse of her blood thrumming in her ears.

“Wh-what?” she stammered.

“Now Ramona, I assure you, I do not wish to hurt you. But I can’t have you telling people of this. I really just can’t.”

And with sad eyes, the Headmistress raised her wand.


The Mugworts Great Hall was abuzz with chatter. The sound of children laughing and the happiness that always came with the opening feast, filled the air.

Then, abruptly, it was broken as heavy oaken doors swung open and everyone turned to see the school’s deputy head running through the hall. They watched as the Headmistress frowned and rose to meet the panicked professor, concern etched in her features. A few hushed and hurried words were exchanged and the Headmistress seemed to deflate.

She turned to the students.

“It seems, children, that there has been an incident.”

Her voice carried through the near-silent hall. Every student tensed and they all waited with bated breath.

“I am very sorry to inform you that it appears one of our students, Ramona Skye, has gone missing. She was not seen on the train this morning and it appears she did not make it to Roma Street Station. It is suspected that…”

And all the while Professor Bentwood spoke, amidst all the students; under a cloaking spell and invisible to all those around her, Ramona’s mouth had fallen open in a silent scream.

Bentwood had gotten what she wanted. She wouldn’t be telling everyone.



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  • May 30, 2015 - 8:43pm (Now Viewing)

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