“Jemina, darling, do you have to stand next to me, dear? I don’t want your half-blooded filth to wreck my robes.”

I rolled my eyes before turning to face the she-witch of the fifth year students: Kitty Reeves. I have had to endure her falsely chipper voice and demeaning attitude since I was eleven. It had become a lot harder to put up with as the years got on. Her family had stuck to the old ways, meaning they only bred with other pure bloods, and Kitty behaved like she was better than the rest of us. I was amazed that I had managed to live in the same room as the girl for five whole years without strangling her. Admittedly I broke her jaw once, but in my defence I had been provoked.


With a disgusted look on her face, she made a shooing motion with her hand, as though I was a fly pestering her. I almost slapped her, but the door to the dungeon opened before I could do anything rash. Professor Raleigh stepped out into the dark lighting of the hallway, and proceeded to let us into the even darker dungeon that was the current Potions classroom. When we were seated, she called role, and began to write on the large chalkboard behind her.


“Now class, today we will be revising for your O.W.Ls.” A collective groan resonated throughout the class, “However, two of you will be leaving to discuss your career options with your respective Head of House. Let’s see, Jennifer Leung of Hufflepuff, and Jemina Doyle of Ravenclaw, you need to report to the appropriate professors immediately,” she finished. Jennifer and I gathered our belongings, and walked out of the classroom.


“Are you nervous?” Leung asked as we entered the hallway. I shrugged my shoulders in reply. I was too engrossed in thought to give her a proper answer. I had looked at all the career fields available, and I still had not decided on one yet. It was difficult; my grandmother had been part of the International Magical Office of Law, and after seeing what the work did to her, I did not want to follow that particular path. I did not know what my mother did for a living. To be truthful I didn’t really care. We had not spoken for several years. Even though I lived with her over the summers, she mainly ignored my presence. That just left my father. My dad. I did not know what he did when he was alive; However, I knew that I wanted to be exactly like him.


I never had a chance to find out who exactly my father was. When I was three, my father had woken me up approximately an hour or so before he had to leave for work. He took me into the kitchen of our two-bedroom flat, and prepared chocolate chip pancakes with chocolate syrup topped with whipped cream. I remember he looked hot and bothered, as though he knew something I did not, and did not want me to know. I vaguely remember asking him what was wrong in the soft voice that I so often spoke with when in his presence. He gave me a big, false, cheerful smile, and handed me a glass of chocolate milk.


“Nothing’s wrong, love, I just figure it’s nice to do these things for your daughter once in a while,” he explained. “Speaking of nice things to do for your daughter,” he said as he pulled out a blanket with slight flourish. It was not very thick, like most baby blankets, yet it was extremely warm at the same time. The cotton was bright red. It was so bright that I figured a colour stay spell had been employed on it at least once. I notice that my name was stitched in gold on the bottom right hand corner.


“Now, this blanket is very special to me,” he grabbed the top, left hand corner and showed me his name, Charles, in the same gold lettering. “It was my security blanket when I was your age. Don’t lose it, so you can give it to your kid, when he’s as big as you are now.” Then he left, and I never saw him again. Ministry officials came by the house that evening, but I was sent to my room before I could eavesdrop. She got rid of a lot of his stuff after that. Occasionally, I would see her smelling his cologne, and holding it to her heart when she thought I was asleep.


As Leung and I separated down different corridors, I realised she had not tried very hard to force a conversation. She did not even bother saying good-bye. I do not think I would have said bye back, but it would have been nice for her to acknowledge me. She turned and continued walking toward Professor Emetic’s classroom. I shrugged and walked on to Professor Lenity’s office.


When I reached his office, I hesitantly raised a hand to knock on the Ravenclaw Head of House’s door. I knew that once I opened that door, there was no turning back. There would be no way to hide that I had no idea what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. My hand hovered over the door. Could I ask to reschedule? Probably not.

Before I could bring myself to knock, Professor Lenity’s door opened, and the man almost walked into my raised hand. There you are Miss Doyle, I was about to go looking for you,” he huffed with a slight temper. “Well, you’re ten minutes late already, in you go.” I shuffled past him like a beaten puppy and took the seat in front of his desk.


The large but weathered man sat at his seat behind the desk, and pulled out a massive stack of papers. “I know what you’re thinking,” he chuckled softly, “you’re thinking: what’re those papers for?”

Occasionally, people would mistake him for my grandfather, because we are quite alike. We share the same speech mannerisms, and have similar aloof personality traits. We were both quiet, and subdued, with our noses normally buried in books.

“I’ll have you know,” he continued, “that several hundred of these papers are written by you.” I tried to look shocked, but I had already read the name written in the top right hand corner of the papers, and the big fat O’s scribbled in red pen on the left-hand side of the topmost parchments.


“During your five years at this school, you have not turned in anything less than outstanding work. You haven’t had a single detention, other than the time you slugged Kitty Reeves, and broke her jaw.” I smiled slightly, remembering the only time I had truly lost my temper with Kitty. She had said something regarding my “broken home” being part of my “problem,” and I lost control. It was the only time someone stood up for me as well. An anonymous female student informed Professor Lenity that I had been provoked; I got off with a detention as a warning. I noticed a slightly satisfied smile curled on his lips as well; Kitty had never been one of his favourites.

“Now, you could have any job you choose to pursue if you decide to keep this up! Think of the possibilities,” he exclaimed. He was very excited for me, I could tell by the look on his face. That made it all the more difficult to tell the poor man about my dilemma.


“That’s the problem, sir,” I interrupted, “I don’t know what I want to be.” His shoulders visibly slumped a bit. If there is anything worse than not knowing what you want to be when you “grow up,” it is the look of disappointment you receive when you tell someone who looks at you, and sees an infinite number of possibilities.


“Well, is there any particular reason why?” he asked politely, all the vigour gone from his voice. I debated telling him. He was very active in my life, more so than my mother ever had been. She had not appeared to care since the night grandma died. When people assumed I was Professor Lenity’s grandchild, it was not very far from the truth. He treated me like his own grandchild, and I saw him as a father figure because I never had a chance to know my own. I wanted to tell him, but I feared he would have a very nothing-to-it attitude when it was extremely important to me.


Mother had never told me anything about my father, Charles, and I felt like I was missing an entire half of myself. My mother had never given me anything to feel particularly proud of. Therefore, my father was my last hope. But what if he wasn’t the man I believed he was? What if he was someone I didn’t want to be?


“Could this situation possibly be due to your, and I quote, ‘broken home,’” he asked in that grandfatherly way. As usual he hit it right on the nail. I chose to stare determinedly at my toes pondering my reply. He must have taken my silence as an affirmation because he walked determinedly to his large filing cabinet, and pulled out another file.


“Charles Doyle is deceased. Therefore, I believe he’d have wanted you to have this. We will reschedule this appointment until tomorrow. Here’s a pass to get you back to your class, and don’t read that until you get out of here,” he handed me both the file, and the note before dismissing me from his office.


“Thanks, Professor,” I said softly as I left the room. He smiled and set about grading papers from his third-year class.


As I expected, the Professor’s note did not contain a pass back to class, but a bit of advice:


You might want to look up Charles Doyle in the library as well. He wrote several books, and I believe his autobiography is among the stacks. Only you might want to check C.C. Doyle rather than Charles Doyle.


Lenity and I knew each other far too well.


With a renewed purpose, I headed to the library.

Upon arriving, I asked the librarian, Miss Wander, to refer me to the appropriate section. We had been on good terms since I had taken to hiding from Kitty in the library during my first year. Hogwarts had a very complete collection of chocolate frogs, and she dug up an old chocolate frog card on my father:


C.C. DOYLE
Born: August 23, 2023
Deceased: March 31, 2054

Also known as Charles Cannon Doyle

One of the most successful Unspeakables of the age,
Charles Doyle, is particularly famous for his cure of Lycanthropy
in 2046. He is also known for his discoveries on the development and
harnessing of time, and his theories on love and its magical properties


I checked out his autobiography and every book in the library written by him. This included five tomes on the subject of Lycanthropy, and six on the time discoveries, several of which I had read before. I had not noticed we shared the same last name at the time, nor realized that C.C. Doyle stood for Charles Canon Doyle. I placed several of the volumes in my bag with reverence, treating them as though they were sacred texts, and carried the other seven texts in my arms. I raced to the Ravenclaw common room deciding to skip dinner in favour of the books I now desperately wanted to read.


An hour or so later, I was so busy reading that I did not realise Kitty was next to me until the book in my hands had been taken from my grasp. “The Life and Times of C.C. Doyle,” she drawled casting it aside.

Picking up the top book from the file, she continued, “Time and its Properties by C.C. Doyle, Lycanthropy: Cure for the Curse by C.C. Doyle. Does this mean you’ve finally figured out who your dear old daddy is at last?” she mocked. “It’s about bloody time,” she spat and threw the book in her hands at me. She laughed viciously before turning in for the night. I decided, against my better judgement, to not let her get a rise out of me tonight. I did not want to ruin tonight with a detention because of her.


A first year found me the next morning, and gently woke me up. I had fallen asleep in the common room while reading Charles’ autobiography. It had been a considerably comfortable pillow. I stacked the books I had finished reading, which was most of the tomes, into a neat pile and brought them with me to the great hall. I had every intention of returning them when I was done with breakfast. After I had some toast and pumpkin juice, I picked up the precarious stack, and headed for the library.


“Excuse me, would you like some help with those?” asked a polite male voice as I stumbled up the marble staircase. I nodded ascent, and he took six of the eleven books I was holding. He had gorgeous raven black hair that did not sit flat on his head, but looked remarkably well placed on his wiry frame. I vaguely recognized him as the fifth year Gryffindor seeker, first in line for the captainship next term: James Potter.

“Thanks. I don’t know if I would’ve made it to the library without some help,” I told him honestly. “Maybe I checked out one too many books,” I smiled shyly. The boy smiled back with an appreciative manner, as if I had just told a stupid, but funny joke.

“Maybe just one,” he replied, “C.C. Doyle, eh? Good taste.”

I nodded slightly. I felt my heart beat faster, and did not know why. “He’s quite a good writer,” I said through the lump that had risen in my throat. “Which ones have you read?” I asked.

“His books on Lycanthropy. Mainly Lycanthropy: Cure for the Curse though. His cure saved my life when I was six. I was bit by one of the few werewolves who didn’t want to be cured. I still got the scar,” he exclaimed.
We reached the library doors within a matter of minutes. He shifted his load of books onto one arm, and held the door open for me in a gentlemanly manner. We set the books down at the return counter, and he led me to stacks that contained books on similar subjects.

My watch beeped. I looked at the time, and realised it was time for my appointment with Professor Lenity. “I don’t mean to be rude, or anything,” I said hurriedly, looking at my watch. “I’ve got to go. I’m so sorry. I have my career advice appointment with Professor Lenity. I’m already late, or I would stay,” I explained apologetically backing out of the stacks while heading towards the entrance. Once I was outside, I broke into a fast jog down the hall.

As I ran down corridor, I heard him call out: “At least tell me your name.”

I was far down the hall but called out: “Jemina. Jemina Doyle.” Then I made a sharp turn at a corner and he was out of sight. I was not sure if he heard me but it was far too late to turn back and check.

Five minutes later, I arrived in front of Professor Lenity’s classroom. I was extremely out of breath. Though not nearly as out of breath as I had felt with James. I knocked on the door and let myself in.

“Running a little late again, are we Jemina?” my Head of House said disapprovingly, without glancing up from the papers he was grading. I blushed slightly with embarrassment and looked at my toes.

“Anyways what have you decided?” he prompted.

“I want to be an Unspeakable,” I answered with a cheeky grin.

He looked up at me and smiled.

“I’d hoped you’d say that.”