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Chapter Text

Book One

       The stars that encrusted the night sky were eclipsed by the endless torrent of enchanted fireworks that swam through the black ocean. The chill autumn air was warmed by the hearty mirth of laughter and cheers while rims of celebratory cups filled to the brim with firewater clasped together recklessly. For the first time in nearly a decade, the oppressed spirits of the wizarding world of Britain were roused into a fevered splendor by the news that had greeted their ears like bread to a starving stomach. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had finally been defeated, and though it was by the most unlikely of opponents, her name had become branded on the tip of every wizard's tongue.

Unbeknownst to the hundreds of thousands of people that drank to her name and health, that very infant laid alone, crying into the night for people who would never come to her again. Sheltered inside a bundle of blankets and tucked within a woven basket, she had been left on the front steps of the only place that could keep her safe. It was not the inhabitants that would protect her, however, and what awaited her inside of those four walls was not that of a nurturing home, but instead her own personal Azkaban.

The road that loomed ahead of this small child was paved over mountainous terrain. The scar that was etched into the tender skin of her forehead would bring both admiration and admonishment. Heartache and companionship. It would forge her future as well as hang her life in the balance; because that thin line that marred her flesh had become an unbreakable tether, entwining her and the cold-blooded man that had taken the lives of many more than just her parents. And so long as either of them drew breath, the connection was imperishable.

         Everything had happened in such quick succession that your memories of the events were like jumbled static. It all started with a deluge of letters and ended with an 8-foot man gifting your cousin's rear a curly pink tail before whisking you away on a flying motorcycle. Words that you had never heard before - like Hogwarts and muggle - were thrown around like knives by both parties. The influx of seemingly absurd information had turned your head into a dizzying merry-go-round; the strangest by far being that magic existed, and you had been unknowingly using it your entire life.

The divine savior that had come to rescue you from the neglectful captivity of the Dursleys had come in the form of a dark, hairy, (half) giant of a man that wielded a pink umbrella like a deadly weapon. After breaking your shackles and welcoming you to the world that you had been born into and yet denied, you found that world had been awaiting your return with bated breath. The towering angel (who you had learned was named Hagrid) ushered you through the Leaky Cauldron, his hulking frame keeping the tide of patrons that wished to shake your hand and wrap their arms around you from drowning you. Never have you been surrounded by so many smiling faces, let alone anyone that was eager to hug you. Hagrid seemed to have noticed your uncomfortable disposition - or perhaps was simply in a hurry - because he placed a dinner plate-sized hand on your back, guiding you through the inn while waving away the small crowd with the other.

"We're here on official Hogwarts business! Got ter get ter Diagon Alley fer school shoppin'," he announced loudly with great importance deepening his already baritone voice.

You currently found yourself strolling down a cobblestone road, your head on a constant swivel in an attempt to take in every direction and not miss a single sight. You were never left disappointed by the shops that lined the road, each one holding a new strange curiosity; Flourish and Blotts was plastered with book posters that were alive with movement; Madam Malkin's display window was graced by mannequins who dawned shimmering silken cloaks and hats as pointy as spearheads; and a stack of copper cauldrons nearly as tall as yourself sat beside the flaking magenta door of Slug and Jiggers Apothecary. All of these stores were listed on your school supplies, but Hagrid had told you that he wanted to take you somewhere special first

"Stay close now, yeh hear? An' don't lose that paper, cause I won't be able ter remember what supplies yeh'll be needin' this year." Hagrid's words glided through one ear and out the other, entirely missing your distracted mind. Instinctively, you followed the flow of the river of bodies, your darting eyes scanning the interiors of the various shops. It wasn't until you noticed that the river of bodies had turned to a mere trickle that you became aware of the absence of the giant man that had previously filled up the street beside you. Amazement turned to panic and your fingers wrapped tightly around the paper in your hand as your attention was now sieged by the disappearance of the impossible to miss man, and your growing disquiet was only fuelled by your new surroundings.

The once brightly painted shops were now dim and dreary, boasting none of the eye-catching flamboyance that inhabited Diagon Alley. Even the bricks that these businesses were constructed with were stained a dark, lifeless grey. Displayed behind dirt-stained windows were a macabre collection of oddities and artifacts; disembodied hands that were wrapped in flaky shriveled skin piled inside a large glass jar, a lacquered box with golden hinges and keyhole that seemed to quiver faintly, and the skull of an animal that you had never seen before, which appeared to have had its teeth replaced with glimmering gems.

Tearing your eyes from the shops with a different form of apprehension than before, you crept down the now moldering street. The path seemed to only become more abandoned with every road you turned down. Anxiety now nipped at your heels, quickening your pace as you forced your vision straight ahead, muting the disturbing shops from your peripheral vision.

The murmuring of a hushed voice that slipped past the alley you were about to pass rooted your feet to the ground. Anxiety molted into fear as you thought for a moment that one of the voices had spoken your name. A small well of relief sprung inside you at the notion that Hagrid might have been stationed between those narrow brick walls, yet a voice inside your head caused a chill to fill your stomach as it aired its doubts. Bolstering your courage, you pressed your shoulder against the dilapidated brick wall and cautiously peered down the alleyway. Two men stood huddled together a few meters down, both draped in black cloaks, but one stuck out from the other; his slicked, platinum hair and pallid complexion shone like a star in the night sky against his dark attire.

"Lost, are we?" The drawling voice struck you like a bolt of electricity, causing your heart to leap into your throat. Whipping your head around, you were met with a face that nearly mirrored the man's. While he wore the same silvery blond hair, blanched skin, and defined cheekbones, his jawline was nearly invisible. This miniature version of the skulking man met you at eye level - if not half an inch shorter.

"Um, maybe..." you admitted reluctantly, your meek gaze finding more comfort on your feet than the piercing gaze of the boy in front of you.

"You're going to Hogwarts as well, I presume?" His voice was as insipid and colorless as his eyes, and yet it enticed you to finally meet him, your ears perked at the familiar word. "Yes. You're going too??" His bored leer sharpened and his nose scrunched as he clicked his tongue with annoyance. "Of course, I am. What do you take me for? A filthy squib?" Not wanting your ignorance toward this new world to show, you simply shook your head and apologized, wondering all the while what a squib might be.

"The name's Malfoy-" uttering the name caused a simper to curl his lips as they spoke it, "-Malfoy, Draco." He paused, his eyes searching for some sort of recognition, but blinked when it seemed to find none. "And yours?"

You told him your first name, but this information didn't satiate him. He wanted your family name - the one that mattered. Before you could indulge his query, the passing breeze ran its crisp fingers through your (h/c) tresses, and when you reached to straighten them back out, the impish gust snatched the paper from your distracted grasp. The paper danced alongside a handful of fallen leaves and then bid adieu as it fell back to earth and finally rested gracefully in a puddle.

If ever there was a moment to exemplify your luck, that was it.

While your glower exacerbated, Draco's bored mien livened, amusement simmering inside his grey orbs at your almost clownish misfortune.

"I suppose you can accompany me while I do my own shopping. Father is preoccupied, so I was planning on doing it myself anyway," he informed with faux maturity.

In truth, though he would never voice it, he was grateful for the company. Learning from your past mistake, you kept on Draco's heels as he easily navigated the dubious maze, obviously familiar with the surroundings. Just as suddenly as you had delved into Knockturn Alley, you were spat back into Diagon Alley, the cornucopia of wonders welcoming you back.

Draco pulled his own list from his pocket and smoothed a finger over the creases. The first stop was the closest; Ollivander's wand shop. After pointing out the shop and informing you that his father had already procured his wand a few weeks ago, he told you that he would be in Quality Quidditch Supplies across the street. Your mind lingered on why a knobby broomstick was displayed proudly in the display window, what a Quidditch was and why it needed quality supplies as you stepped into Ollivanders.

Unlike its neighbors, the business had a modest interior that matched its exterior. The air was perfumed by particles of dust and aged wood, and a two-headed lamp hung from the ceiling, deepening the shadows that slumbered in the corners. The walls were completely obscured by shelves of small boxes that were piled on top of each other. It could have been easily mistaken for any, albeit cluttered, store you had visited, if not for the mysterious buzz that filled the atmosphere like an intangible fog.

Behind the counter was a wizened man whose pale eyes were matched only by the snowy whisp of hair that still stubbornly clung to his head. Guided by his mute command, a tape measure glided through the air, extending as it flew around your head. "Here for a wand, I assume," he said and turned toward the vast selection behind him. His finger traced the rows, the heavily laced cuff of his sleeve accidentally dusting the boxes in its path. Stopping seemingly at random, he pulled a box from the rest and turned back toward you.

"Let's give this one a try." But when his pale eyes met your own, he suddenly retracted the box from your extending hand with surprising quickness. The emerald eyes that he had failed to recognize now doused a wave of remembrance over his mind, and the expression he now wore reminded you of the patrons inside the Leaky Cauldron.

"It's you. James and Lily's daughter." The edge of his lined mouth quirked upwards in a nostalgic grin. "You have his eyes, but otherwise you're her spitting image." Your cheeks warmed shyly at the compliment, but your heart was appreciative. From the single photo you were ever shown of your parents, your mother owned a face that was equal parts beautiful and kind while your father stood tall and proud with playful eyes.

Ollivander redirected his attention back to his collection, but this time he had to travel into the backroom to find the wand that he had in mind. Reemerging, a box just like all the others was tucked carefully in his arms. With a bemusing gentleness, he pulled out a long strip of dark wood that expanded at one end and narrowed at the other. "Holly base with a core of phoenix feather and dragon heartstring." Your head began to buzz with sudden excitement at the word dragon, but as the man continued, his voice dipped to a soft murmur, and his smile grew colder.

"This is the brother of the wand that did this." Holding the wand delicately between his index, middle finger, and thumb, the rest hovered above them as he leaned across the counter. Gently, he brushed your curtain of (h/c) hair aside with the tip of the wand, revealing the jagged scar that your aunt Verna had nicknamed "that horrible thing." Your heart stumbled in your chest, and Hagrid's booming voice replayed inside your ears; "YOU TOLD HER THEY DIED IN SOME MUGGLE ACCIDENT?!"

Straightening his back, he lowered the wand and held the handle out for you to take. Noticing the trepidation that stiffened your frame, the warmth returned to his tone, "let's see how it fits in your hand." Swallowing down your nerves, you took the wand. You had wondered if you should have held it the way he had, but your fingers found the handle with remarkable ease. The handle molded under your fingers, and the weight agreed with your arm, feeling immediately as though it were an extension of it. The wand acquiesced so naturally to your body that you almost couldn't believe that this was your first time holding it.

Every ounce of anxiety that the wand had possessed mere seconds ago had vanished without a single trace. Your eyes glinted with gaiety and your smile expanded as you gave it a lithe wag.

Having seen everything that the Quidditch store had to offer, Draco had come to retrieve you when the cramped wand shop suddenly became illuminated by a bright light. The white glow that lit the tip of your wand slowly died out now that it was wrapped within Ollivander's fingers instead of your own. Your first lesson as a witch was learned inside of that wand shop; never point your wand at a wizard you don't wish to hex.

While you tried to set aside the embarrassment and let it turn into a distant memory, Draco was still beset by laughter. Even after you left Ollivanders and dipped into Flourish and Blotts, he continued to say through stifled laughter, "did you see the look on his face?!" and "you nearly blew his head off!"

His scowl was gone, replaced by a chipper grin, and he now walked beside you instead of in front of you. Along with the books that were listed, you also bought a copy of Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed, which Draco mischievously approved of. The next stop was the apothecary. Dried herbs hung suspended from the ceiling, listlessly rocking to the beat of a phantom wind. To your muggle conditioned eyes, they appeared to be bound by some invisible threads. You studied jars full of the strangely shaped dried roots and funguses that lined the shelves with curiosity widening your gaze owlishly, while Draco's own stultified eyes only saw the ingredients that were needed for Potions class.

He wandered ahead to gather both of your supplies while you looked around like a dolt - his words. When he came to retrieve you, he stumbled backward in fright, nearly toppling into a barrel of beetle eyes when he saw what was tucked inside your hands; a pair of glistening spider fangs that were as long as his index finger.

The restraint he demonstrated by not smacking it out of your hands in disgust surprised even himself. He wrapped his hand around the hem of your shirt - unwilling to touch your hands now - and pulled you along, escorting you down the road like a parent would an uncouth, hyperactive child.

The last stop on the list was Madam Malkin's. It was bustling inside, a combination of the customers in search of custom garb and parents and children, so Draco instructed you to wait for him outside. Hugging your pewter cauldron full of school supplies to your chest, your eyes lingered on the wand that sat sandwiched between the set of brass scales and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, slumbering safely inside its box.

"Thank Dumbledore, Merlin, and everyone else!" a voice boomed familiarly. "Hagrid," you greeted, your grin expanding at the sight of the man that encompassed nearly your entire vision. "Yer so small and quiet, I didn't even know I had lost yeh 'til I realized I was havin' a conversation with an owl. Yeh a'right?"

"Yeah, I got lost down this dark alley, but I met a boy who lead me back here. He's going to Hogwarts this year too!" You raised your full cauldron. "We got all of the supplies." A hardy chuckle shook the air around you. "Well then, that'll save on time, won't it! What's 'is name? Where's yer friend now?"

"Draco Malfoy." The plump apples of Hagrid's cheeks that creased his eyes endearingly fell, sagging his beard with it when his smile disappeared. A great hurry seemed to suddenly sweep him up.

"Daylight's a'wastin'. Let's get goin'," he murmured nervously. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he shuffled you down the street, grumbling, "we'll stop at Twilfitt and Tattings fer yer uniform." You tried to glance back over your shoulder, but Hagrid's enormous overcoat devoured your peripheral vision.

"Why? Madam Malkin's is right over there."

"Look, yeh'd be better off learnin' this sooner rather than later. Malfoys ain't good people. Yeh'd do best by stayin' as far from their lot as yeh can manage."

"You've never met him," you protested stubbornly.

"No, but I've met 'is dad more times than I'd like, and it wasn't many. He's a Malfoy, that's all I gotta know." Your lips pressed into a thin line. Sure it was true that Draco was rough around the edges, but he had helped you when you were lost and kept you company afterward.

"Oh!" Hagrid called out and suddenly stopped, unaware of the bodies that accidentally collided against his brick wall of a back. You stopped as well, but before you could arch your neck up to address the man, your gaze fell back down toward the hand he raised, and the thin wire cage that was wrapped inside it.

"Happy birthday, (y/n)." You curled your fingers inside of the hook as he unfurled his own. The only color inside her snow-white plumage was a scattered speckling of black that matched her deep, inky eyes and beak. She was the first real birthday gift you had ever been given, and she was absolutely beautiful.

"Thank you," was all you could say, and Hagrid replied by mushing your hair affectionately. His hand was so large you could have worn it for a hat.

When Draco emerged from the store, he was thoroughly irked to see the empty space that now filled the place you once stood. 'Something shiny must have led that magpie astray...' He scanned the bustling crowd around him but stopped when his eyes landed on the tall, lean frame that appeared at his side.

"I've gotten everything, father," Draco informed him, a proud simper curling his lips. The smile was not reciprocated, however.

"And made a friend...?" His drawling cadence was the deep, refined version of Draco's.

"Yes. She's attending Hogwarts this year as well," he finished the thought in his head, 'a tad dim though. Well, more than a tad.' His father turned his eyes on the crowd around them, murmuring beneath his breath in a voice that only Draco's trained ears could have heard, "keep that girl close, Draco."

(A/N) - While I'm trying to stay as close to cannon and lore as possible, some things will be changed for the sake of creativity or in an effort to make you a unique character; such as gender-swapping the Dursleys and adding dragon heartstrings to the wand. Because dragons are really cool.

Chapter Text

        On the list of fantastical impossibilities that abruptly became possible, running face-first into a brick wall and coming out the other side was by far the most jarring. And yet, there you stood, standing unscathed in front of the giant steam engine with your trunk and owl loyally by your side. Peppered across the platform was a bustling crowd of parents and children. You recognized some faces, having shared that peculiar cobblestone street with them a week prior. Parents leaned over their children, fussing with their clothing or hairs while their children rebuked their affections through rosy cheeks. Your elation flickered slightly, and the sweet scene around you was chased by a bitter aftertaste as it cast a painful spotlight over the empty space around you.

The melancholy that loomed threateningly over your chipper disposition like a morose shadow was dispersed by the trolley that materialized behind you before unceremoniously toppling you over. Like a magic trick, two identical faces peered out from opposite ends of the heavy trunks that ladened the trolley. Freckles as red as their hair speckled their fair complexion, and their movements were perfectly synchronized as they knelt down and extended a helping hand.

"You alright?"

"Shouldn't stand right in front of the platform entrance, kid."

But their helpful hands fell and their matching eyes and mouths created six perfect O's when they caught a glimpse of what was hidden behind your now jostled curtain of fringe. 

"You're-"

"No I'm not!" you blurted out as you quickly gathered your frazzled self up and pried away from their mirrored gawks by disappearing through the throng of knotted bodies. You pressed your fringe flat against your forehead as you boarded the train, and kept it there while your free hand pulled along your trunk. The disjointed chatter of students and their animal companions filled the carriages that you passed.

Your search for an empty compartment was halted when your wrist that trailed behind you became tethered to the hand that grabbed it. The owlish gaze that was shared among the brothers flashed across the forefront of your mind with alarm, but when you twisted your head around, you were relieved to instead see that pale, self-satisfied simper. Arching your head upwards, you spotted the addition of unfamiliar boys that were a good head taller than Draco, standing behind either of his shoulders, accentuating his petite frame. 

"There you are." He looked to the side. "Found a suitable carriage? Good. Crabbe, Goyle, put up our luggage," he lazily instructed as he glided inside. You grabbed Hedwig from atop your trunk and followed, looking warily over your shoulder at the two intimidating boys, who mutely followed his command. You sat beside the window and placed Hedwig - who was taking a nap beneath her wing - down on the floor in front of your feet. Draco took the seat beside you, and Crabbe and Goyle sat across. 

"So," Draco immediately began, "where had you run off to last week?" You could hear more people begin to board, watching their blurred silhouettes through the frosted window as they passed. "I got lost..." you answered, only somewhat registering his retort, "that seems to be a habit of yours." 

"I heard (y/n) Potter's going to be in our year!"

"That Potter?"

"How many other Potters do you know!?"

Your spine straightened up instantly and pressed against the seat. Absentmindedly, your fingers brushed against the base of your fringe, and for a moment, you were grateful that aunt Verna had forced you to grow it out in an effort to "cover up that nasty thing." Draco raised a brow toward your behavior but dismissed it when his focus was instead grabbed by the train as it began to inch forward. The voices faded as bodies shoveled into their compartments, and your own attention was attracted to the moving scenery outside.

A toothy smile found itself back onto your face as you watched the train round the corner of the station and revealed the landscape. Draco observed you skeptically and flickered his scrutinizing gaze to the boring countryside, unsure what exactly had enraptured your attention. 'Why would father care about this strange girl?' He pulled his judgemental leer away from you when he heard the wheels of the lunch trolly. Unbeknownst to Draco, this was the first time you had ever ridden a train, and one of only a handful of times that you had been allowed to leave your home for anything that wasn't school-related.

Your stupor was broken by the finger that indignantly tapped you on the shoulder. Looking back, you let out a loud yelp as a brown frog leaped out of Draco's open hands and landed on your lap. Laughter filled the compartment, causing you to look around at them, blinking in confusion while you kept your hands in the air and far from the amphibian. Wiping a phantom tear, he let out the remaining giggle-addled air in his lungs through a jovial sigh and picked the frog from your lap, holding it out for you to take, its legs dangling.

"I knew you'd have that kind of reaction. You really don't go out much, do you? Here, take it, it's chocolate." You narrowed your eyes in the suspicion that this was likely another cruel joke, but the laughter had died out, and the impishness that sharpened his grin had softened. Taking it, you watched the candy creature sit down peacefully on your open palms and stare back up at you passively. Holding it up, it smelled enough like chocolate, so after a short apology - incurring more laughter from the boys around you - you took a bite. 

Looking back at Draco, your wary expression melted along with the chocolate on your tongue. "It's delicious!" An amused smile remained on his face while the other boys snickered. You turned back to the window and thought of Hagrid's warning.

"Look, you'd be best learnin' this sooner rather than later. Malfoy's ain't good people."

Taking another bite, you decided that he must be wrong. Draco could be a tad mean, but deep down, he wasn't bad. Perhaps this was just how friends acted towards each other. Glancing back to him, you watched him crumple up a card before throwing it under the neighboring seat - all you could make out was the name 'Albus.'

~~

        You had never seen a castle in person before, let alone step foot inside of one, and it seemed that you weren't the only one judging by the exaggerated faces that mirrored your own. Draco held firm onto your hand as you traveled with the flow of first-years through the entrance hall, sure that he would lose you if he let go. Torches clung to the carved stone walls and lit the marble staircase you ascended in a warm, murky glow. It was a wonder that you hadn't tripped on the steps because your eyes were fixed on the paintings that shifted in their frames. When a translucent body flew lithely above your head, you were grateful that your frightened gasp was muffled by the startled shrieks of your peers. 

"Firsties! Firsties! Are you thirsty, firsties?!" Peeves lilting voice called as he swept through the air, tipping the jug of water in his hand and drenching the unlucky handful of students that were beneath him. A shrill scolding from the professor that led your group sent the poltergeist on his way with an echo of cackling laughter left in his wake.

From the entrance hall, you were led to an empty chamber room that buzzed with the noise that leaked through its wooden door. Inside, the professor finally turned to address you. The woman was as tall as she was lean with an arrow straight back. Her stiff disposition was accented by the tightly wound hair that sat in a neat bun behind her head. Austere eyes stared down from behind the mousy glasses that rested on the bridge of her nose. She took the time to explain the various houses, their significance within the school, and the imminent Sorting Ceremony that would prelude it all. After a painfully short pause - which one boy used to straighten a cloak that he didn't seem to realize was backward - you were all led into the Great Hall.

The Great Hall could have swallowed the entrance hall whole and still be left hungry; it was the largest room you had ever seen. Four wooden tables lined by identical black-clad bodies and empty dishes ran down its length. Above them, the lit wicks of the candles that lazed in the air shone like stars, and higher still was a black canvas that hovered below the stone rafters like a thin, opaque fog. You thought the image was simply another painting until you saw the penumbra of clouds shift, unleashing a mirror image of the pristine glow of the moon outside.

Your eyes scanned the intimidating room nervously, trying to ignore the curious simpers of the older students. Hagrid, who stuck out like a sore thumb even in this large hall, was waving his hand at you jovially. You reciprocated with a brief, tentative wave. Once the mass of bodies formed a line, Draco turned his head and whispered to you, "my father already told me about this. See that hat?" He pointed toward the teacher's table, where a moldering, patched-up hat sat limply on a stool, "it's going to tell you what house you belong in. I, of course, will be joining Slytherin, and so will you if you're from the right family."

His words sunk your heart like an anchor. "-from the right family." You hadn't been raised by a wizarding family, you were raised by muggles. Would the hat announce to you and everyone inside the enormous space that you did not belong?? Were you going to be shipped back to Privet Drive, where you would be greeted by sneering laughter and mockery? The memory of Aunt Verna's purple face hollowing about how you would never set foot into this school leaden the pit of your stomach. Would her threat stand?

"Slytherin!"

"Hufflepuff!

"Ravenclaw!" 

"Gryffindor!"

The names that Professor McGonagall called and the following bellowing that came from one of the deep folds in the Sorting Hat were all peripheral to your muddled mind. The idea of imminent rejection from the only world that you felt you had belonged in - that felt like you were welcome in - caused you to barely hear your name being called, becoming taken aback when you realized that Draco had disappeared from in front of you. 

"Potter!" Your entire body jerked, and the familiar buzz of murmuring began to fill the entirety of the Great Hall.

"That's her!"

"Move over, I can't see!"

"She's smaller than I imagined."

You became conscious of your legs as you followed the path that the other children had taken, taking painstaking precautions not to trip on your own feet as you stepped up. 

Sitting down onto the stool that the hat once lounged on, your eyes were rooted to your feet, blind to the bodies that hovered over their chairs in an effort to get a better peek at you, and unaware of the flabbergasted daze that befell Draco as he finally realized who the girl he had been dragging alongside him was. To your relief, the restless murmurs of the crowd were muffled and your vision was blocked out as the rim of the hat sunk down to the bridge of your nose. You knotted your hands tightly on your lap, your shoulders rigid as your fingers wrung together, anticipating the rejection that was sure to soon hit your ears. All the while, the Sorting Hat was taking a painfully long time mulling over its decision. 'Hmmm, possesses the brave heart that Gryffindor are gifted, and the inquisitive nature that Ravenclaw are blessed with, and oh my, such ambition and so much talent as well, Slytherin would serve her well... hmmm but this heart... true and kind... and just, yes, yes. Yes, no other house will do...' As the Sorting Hat opened the deep crease that it spoke with to announce the house, a strange part of it was compelled, almost commanded, to speak Slytherin instead of the house that was truly on the tip of its magical tongue. But it held true to its decision. 

"Hufflepuff!" The cold sweat that had painted your insides like a dense condensation vanished. Your eyes fluttered open, and when the hat was lifted from your head, it revealed the fervor of the students before you - of your fellow schoolmates. The heat of the thunderous applause that hit your ears had dwarfed the ones prior, filling the entirety of the exuberant hall. It hadn't just been you who was holding their breath as the hat took its time mulling over your future. Cheers rang out from almost every table; Gryffindors and Ravenclaws alike, who had been on the edge of their seats, were clapping despite their great disappointment. The loudest ones by far, however, was the table that was flanked by both houses; bodies that lined the table were standing, slamming their hands together and hollering their joy that they would be sharing their humble house with The Girl Who Lived. The girl that had ended the terrifying reign of You-Know-Who. 

Only a sole table begrudgingly held their applause. 

Your legs jellied from the solace and your cheeks were sore from the huge smile that was carved into them, but once your eyes found Draco's, it was ripped from your face. Within the sea of lively smiling faces, Draco's was sculpted by pure and utter contempt. The disgust that molded his sneer was as though you had suddenly lost your skin. 

Hands slapped your back and arms flung around your shoulder, pushing and pulling your body as you sat down. "Potter! In my house! I can't wait to write my mum!" A hand was thrust in front of your face from a boy that was leaning across the table. "My name's Ernie Macmillan. A pleasure to meet you." You tentatively took his hand and he gave it a firm shake. 

"Alright, alright, let her breath. She's just a first year." Looking up, you watched as a tall boy with a head of wavey brown hair brimming his black pointed hat pried the arms from your shoulder. "You just want her for yourself, Cedric," a simpering voice called, causing a burst of laughter to break around the table. He smirked back at them and then looked at you, "I apologize for them, we're usually a lovely bunch."

~~

        Despite the dense thicket of first-year Hufflepuff's that you followed, you couldn't shake the forlorn that had attached itself to you like a second shadow. What should have been the happiest day of your life was instead dyed melancholic by the picture of Draco's repulsion. You had been embraced by Hogwarts, but rejected by the first friend you had ever made. You were so lost in your own sadness that when the Fat Frier floated by and patted your head, you barely recognized the cold shiver that shook your spine. 

Your listless gaze turned downwards to observe the prefect tap on the specific barrels with a specific rhythm. "The trick is to tap with the syllables of Helga Hufflepuff's name," Cedric informed the group as the barrels suddenly shifted, allowing your entrance. Your mind was momentarily taken off of your despondency as you crouched down and entered through the hole that the inconspicuous barrels had guarded. 

Straightening your back, your eyes widened as they took in your house's common room. The first thing that you registered was the friendly embrace of the warmth that cuddled your frame. The circular windows that sat against the ground outside were black, but the room was sufficiently lit by the bubbly fire that lived behind the round, pale brick lip of the hearth. The rich greenery that trailed off the windowsills, hung in terracotta bowls from the ceiling, and lounged on the ground contrasted the wood panels and blanched stones that created the round room. The redolent aroma and reposeful crackling of firewood that cooked inside the hearth suffused the spacious area, which was inhabited by armchairs with pale wooden frames and alluringly fat, plush copper seats. Bodies quickly leaped into these seats, bouncing a few times as they landed before sinking into them. Looking around, you managed to snag one of the quickly dwindling seats and sank nearly an inch into it. 

"I could sleep here," a voice mumbled contently. You peered over your shoulder to see a girl with golden pigtails and eyes that were already closed, looking as though she had actually dozed off. "I know the idea is tempting," said Cedric, who had also overheard, "but I recommend sleeping in the dorm rooms," he gestured toward the two wooden doors that sat against the wall, "at least for tonight."

The common room became more and more vacant as one by one the bodies decided to heed Cedric's advice, and you followed suit as well after an hour had passed. You found your luggage already sitting in front of your bed, but you decided that you were too tired to unpack. Glancing to the side, the girl that laid sprawled out on the bed beside your own was the one who commented about snoozing in the chair, now deep asleep. Laying down onto the bed, you wondered if the sheets were also enchanted as they cajoled your body in their soothing embrace, allowing the lingering, intrusive thoughts to melt from your mind as you quickly drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

        The black cloak that hung from his narrow shoulders lacked the flourishes of the Hogwarts uniform and wafted off of his frame like a dense fog, saturating your surroundings with its inky influence. Draco's glower was boiling dangerously, heating his once grey eyes into a blaze of scarlet that shined almost beautifully, like brilliant rubies displayed inside his skull. 

"Disgrace!" he spat with disgust, although his voice wasn't his own. It was dry and deep, like a rough, painful exhale. The pure opaque tar that dripped from his cloak pooled around your bare feet. His fingers were not his own; the hand that anchored you in place was white as ivory and equally as hard and cold. Along with refusing any retreat, the grasping hand parasitically sapped the very warmth from your skin. The strength which held you in place was beyond that of the thin boy. 

"PATHETIC!" His voice constricted into a hiss that assaulted your ears like the piercing whistle of a kettle. His dark scowling face morphed sinisterly as his lips curled upward in a sadistic leer as the hungering darkness began to climb up your legs, working up your body as it consume you both. 

        A gasp parted your lips as your torso shot up, flinging the covers from your body. Strands of (h/c) tresses stuck to your sweat-sheened face, every nerve that incorporated your body was frayed and atingle. Your hands knotted around the copper striped duvet that piled in your lap, and your lungs sucked in air in an effort to satiate your trembly heart. The glinting malignance that lived inside of those red eyes had often plagued your dreams, but this was the first time that the ambiguous shadow possessed a body, or even spoke. 

A noisy yawn drifted through the dorm as another torso lifted from the bed, much more peacefully than your own, a hand rubbing sleep from her eyes. You recognized her from the night before, but her fair locks were free of their twin confines and splayed all around her. She slid from her bed and picked the wand off her bedside table, whipping it at her head as she sleepily murmured a spell beneath her breath. The snags and stray hairs that reached toward the ceiling straightened flat before parting directly down her hairline and gathering into two neat pigtails that laid against her shoulders. 

She caught your amazed gaze from the side of her eye. "Want me to do your hair?" A meek smile formed on your face as you nodded, your own sleep-stained tresses bobbing in agreement as well. Her feet dragged across the hardwood floor as she dozily strode to your bed and repeated the same swing of the wrist above your hair just as she had her own. Invisible fingers swept the hair from your face and effortlessly unfurled the snags that riddled it before gathering the (h/c) locks and neatly wrapping them up. Curiously, when you touched the back of your head your fingers found two pigtails, just like hers. "Ah, er, sorry, I only know the spell for that style."

You ran your fingers through your hair, unraveling the tails, your fingers gliding through it seamlessly. "My hair's usually a struggle in the morning, thanks." She mirrored your smile, happy to be of help.

        The dream proved to be inauspiciously prophetic. You wished that you had Hannah - you had learned her name over breakfast - as company during your trek to class, but she had wisely left the table before the bell, while you were too awestruck by the assortment in front of you. The school itself proved to be more of a cruel labyrinth than a true castle, and before you even reached your first class, your knees had been beaten black and blue by the trick steps on the stairs. Even when you traveled down the safe flat ground of the halls, you were subjugated to the curious stares and whispers that were conjured by your mere presence. Simply navigating the maze of stairwells and hallways was made difficult when you couldn't even concentrate. You wished that one of the older students that would stop to gawk at you might at least recognize your fumbling demeanor and offer some guidance. It was only after you took the initiative and asked an older girl who was wearing the same yellow and black tie that you were able to find the Potions room - which wasn't even the floor that you were on. 

"Take a turn that way and head left through the first hall you see. Then go down the staircase - but be careful of the twenty-fifth step if you value your front teeth."

It would prove quite fitting that this class took place in the dungeons. Despite the braziers that rested in the corners of the room, the chill that laden the atmosphere was sharp enough to cut through the black cloak that sheltered your frame. As you stepped inside, your eyes immediately met with Draco, who already had his narrowed gaze rooted onto you. Your reciprocal glower cleared once it met with the friendly face of Hannah, who was waving you over to her. Nearly tripping over yourself, you quickly jogged over. The class was split down the center; yellow-lined hoods dotted the back, and green the front. 

Draco quipped to his friends in a purposefully boisterous voice, "here I was hoping she had gotten lost and fallen into the lake." Half of the room - the green half- erupted with laughter. Pulling out your seat, you retorted, "funny, I was just thinking I'd rather drown than to be stuck in a room with you for an hour," causing a similar wave of humor to ripple through the yellow side, which was immediately extinguished by the low voice that spoke with a seasoning of disdain. "Is this what I should be expecting of you all year, Potter?" Your head snapped back to see the tall figure that loomed in the doorway. The professor was draped in black, from the coal hair that dangled around his jaw to his flint eyes, and stood nearly camouflaged in the deep tenebrous that called this class home. 

"Ten points from Hufflepuff," he murmured, enticing muttered groans as his inky cloak swept across the room. "My my, losing that many points not even a minute into your first class. This must be some kind of record, Potter, and for that, you have my congratulations." You sank beneath his leaden glower and dipped even deeper in your chair at the irked glances of your fellow Hufflepuff, all while Draco had to cover his mouth to stifle the laughter that was bubbling ticklishly inside his stomach. 

Once the bell freed you from the dungeon and its cruel master, you and Hannah ventured back up the castle to your next class; Charms. The difference in the classes was striking, even down to the contrast in the teachers; where Hagrid was a mountain of a man, Flitwick was an anthill, with a jovial, albeit pitched, voice. The only lighting in the dungeons was clusters of candles sat on desks, torches hung by sconces against the walls, and brazier in the corners, while the upstairs classes were effortlessly illuminated by the flood of natural light that swam in through the large windows. This class was shared with Gryffindor, and unlike the previous one, the two houses mingled together. You were more than happy to finally be using your wand. So excited, in fact, that you caused the feather you were meant to be levitating to shoot across the classroom. The blunder, however, was nothing compared to the nervous boy that sat beside you, who managed to make his own explode, raining feather fragments down onto the students and causing a storm of fervorous sneezing.

Each class you poked your head in after Potions was absent of that pale sneering mug, allowing you to breath easy. 

Transfiguration was the toughest class, which was aptly taught by Professor McGonagall, who was almost as inflexible as Professor Snape, though not nearly as ruthless in her chastisement. Although you were relieved to see that you weren't the only one who had trouble transfiguring your match, you had a momentary scare when you realized that the match - which now sauntered like an inchworm - had nearly escaped off the desk.

You cracked open Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them for Defense Against the Dark Arts - which was taught by a very mild, but very jittery man. 

But out of all the classes you partook in, you found a special infatuation for Herbology. The sounds and warmth of the outdoor classroom, the languid sunlight that dripped serenely through the panes of the greenhouse, and the smell of the earthy, freshly tilled soil that hung heavy in the humid air were the perfect medley. The professor was a plump woman whose patched, pointed hat always tilted to the one side, and seemed to have a spot of soil perpetually staining some area of skin. She spoke in a clear voice, and watched through clear eyes, always offering help where it was needed, even without anyone having to ask. It was here that you were able to redeem yourself and win back half the points that were stricken previously. 

The long day was nearing at an end when you were marched back out of the castle for the class that was arguably the most exciting and nerve-wracking; Flying Lessons. Stepping onto the open field, you finally realized what that peculiar store in Diagon Alley was for. And just as the two of you had found each other in that alley, this was the class that reunited you with your growingly least favorite person.

Thankfully, his japes were corked, for the time being at least, as everyone lined up beside their broom. The handle flung naturally into your hand, and when you mounted and kicked off the ground as instructed, you were one of the few students that hadn't fallen back to earth. The sensation of floating was intoxicating, luring you to turn your vision toward the cottony clouds above.

The professor had gotten distracted by the clumsy boy from Charms - who you learned as Neville from the exasperated sighs and shrieks of the professors - who had managed to harm himself only an inch off the ground. It wasn't until you heard your own name being screamed in horror, which was oddly distant now, that you noticed you were now eye level with one of the towers that branched out of the castle like a stone finger. The last class ended in half a heart attack and an adrenaline-fueled exhilaration that made you pine for the next lesson. 

         The smells that brewed inside of the Great Hall welcomed back you after the engrossing day. You sat down beside a girl you had come to learn as Susan, who greeted you warmly. Hannah joined quickly afterward, and together you all chatted about how you endured and thrived and loathed each class; your impressions varying vastly. The lively chatter was cut brief, however, when a body leaned across the table. It was the prefect boy, and the lopsided smirk that pulled at the corner of his lips conjured a lapse of introvertive to capture you. 

"How was your first day?" You timidly gave him an ambiguous, "it went well." His smirk grew, exposing a pearly smile. "I heard you've turned into a lightning rod for Snape's endearment." An echo of the fluttering that restlessly beat the inside of your cavernous stomach reappeared like a looming shadow as you recalled the points you had lost your house on the first day. "A record," Professor Snape had called it, but Cedric continued kindly, "don't let him be too hard on you. He hates everyone that has a lick of talent and isn't in his house." Your blanched complexion blazed the instant that his kind words touched you. With a nodding farewell to you and your friends, he rejoined the entourage that always trailed around him. 

When you finally pried your eyes off of his back, you were greeted by the silent awe of your friends. "W-what!?" you said before preemptively turning your vision to your plate. The smirks that were embedded on their cheeks only fuelled your irk as you tried to ignore their giggles and whispered singing of you and Cedric sharing a tree.

Despite how it began, the day ended wonderfully.

Chapter Text

        One season bled into the next during your time inside of Hogwarts castle; the crisp autumn breeze now turned to steam against your breath, the trees that lined the forbidden forest loomed bare and jagged, and the sooty clouds exchanged their dreary raindrops for snowflakes. As the months compiled, so had your knowledge of the wizarding world. Jarring oddities like the ghosts that sailed above your head, the paintings that would try and converse with you, and the suits of armor that occasionally rattle a sneeze were all beginning to settle into a new normal. 

That particular morning, however, you were faced with yet another new peculiarity. The day started how it always had, with the owls flying through the open windows and streaked across the washed-out sky that was cast onto the ceiling of the Great Hall, half-hazardly dropping letters and packages onto the dining table below.

You had just brought your morning tea to your lips when a thunderous bellowing ripped through the Great Hall, shaking the stubborn dust that clung even through magic cleanings from the rafters. Disregarding the tea that now stained your robe, your hands pressed tightly against your ears. The thunderous voice vanished as suddenly as it had arrived, and when you pried your eyes back open, you were met with Susan's amused gaze as she lowered her own hands. 

"Howler," was all she informed you before waving her wand and vanishing any trace of the now cold tea stains from your clothing. Hannah joined soon after, unaware of the voice that had just cut through the Hall.

"Did you finish Potions homework?" Hannah warily asked your small group.

"Yeah," Susan told her airly, while you griped "barely," as you scooped up a new goblet of fresh tea and a bowl of porridge. This clearly wasn't the answer she was hoping for judging by her melancholic mien. 

"Speaking of Potions," a vaguely familiar voice spoke from behind one of your shoulders. Before you could look, the same voice spoke from behind your other shoulder.

"We owe you some thanks." You turned around to see the two twins that you had fled from the station, both of their identical faces beaming down at you. 

"Gryffindor's always been the center of Snape's unjust tyranny, but thanks to you, he barely notices us now," one said.

"Yeah, now it's the Hufflepuff he bullies," said the other. 

"You're... welcome...?" you said, unsure exactly how to respond to that information, and two hands raised in unison. "We never got a proper introduction, being as you ran terrified from us on the platform."

"Understandable, really. The name's Weasley. George," said George.

"And Fred," said Fred.

You reached out, taking their hands, which they shook vigorously, causing your arms to wiggle. "As a token of our gratitude, have these." And with his words, you suddenly felt something fill your palms. Without another word, they slid their hands away and politely tipped a pair of invisible hats before walking back to their own table. You closed your hand as they released it and waited until they had melded back into the other Gryffindors to cautiously unfurl your fingers. Hannah and Susan, who looked equally puzzled, leaned in to see. In both of your hands were a single quill with fiery orange plume, which had a ponderous resemblance to the blazes that sat atop their own heads. "Do you guys know what this is?" you asked, receiving shakes of their heads, and when you offered to give the fiery quills to either of them, they again shook their heads. 

~~

        Snow began to fall the night before the weekend, and by morning a thick crust of ivory had claimed the land. While the frigid wonderland had caused most students to cling to their hearths, you were enticed instead to the broom shed. Trudging through the cumbersome snow was proving tedious, kindling your desire to retrieve a broom and kick-off, but an obstacle appeared in your path. Draco stood outside of the castle doors, notably absent of his two trailing trolls. He eyed the quidditch boots and gloves you had borrowed and raised an indignant brow. "Hm, I was on my way to the library, but watching you fall from the sky and land on your butt would be more interesting than studying."

In tandem with the shifting seasons, your feelings toward Draco had also turned icy. Once jovial and beaming toward a prospective friend had dimmed substantially, growing more disdainful with every interaction since the sorting ceremony had hammered an incurable wedge between you. Every cruel jape, every time your chair had "somehow" slipped out from under you, every time the bristles of his broom would "accidentally" scrape against you. You tried to give as good as you got, but it was only ever in reaction. Otherwise, you preferred to pretend that he didn't exist. So why was it that he could never do you the same courtesy? Why were you the focus of his incessant pestering?

The dry laugh that passed your lips was visually accented by the misty orb it formed in front of your face. "Maybe if you studied more often you'd be able to brew a draught that didn't make the whole dungeon reek like dirty feet," you chided back. The embarrassing recollection caused his face to redden with chagrin, but his eyes grew darker as his lips peeled back into a toothy sneer. 

"I heard you aren't going home for Christmas, Potter. I suppose I wouldn't either if I had no real home to go to." His venom-laced words missed their intended mark, and instead rippled a pleasant remembrance over your mind. When Professor Sprout had told you that your petition to stay over winter had been accepted, you had a pronounced skip in your step for the rest of the day.  

Regardless, you squatted down, scooping up a fistful of snow, and lugged it at him. The snowball splattered across his face, dipping down the green and silver striped scarf that was hung loosely around his neck, scattering flakes down the stiff collar of his shirt. With no lackies to act as sword and shield, he turned tail and ran back inside, only fighting back with a slew of insults that only tickled you further. 

Perhaps it was because of the cathartic pelting you gave Draco, but your broom sliced through the winter atmosphere just as deftly as it had the crisp autumn air. You were able to stay atop your broom even in the arctic winds that cut your cheeks like phantom blades and bit deep at your fingers, numbing the flesh and sinking into bone. You felt as nimble as the snowflakes that accompanied you when you soared through the air, the only sensation that mattered to you being the blithe weightlessness that your broom gifted. Even during moments when you dared to roll alongside the whipping wind and the snow that blanketed the earth and shrouded the sky appeared identical, you never felt a single pang of panic. A simple glance to the side showed you which way the snowflakes fell. 

After the light had dimmed enough to give you real pause toward your surroundings, you returned the broom and shuffled back inside. It wasn't until you caught a glimpse of Mrs. Norris that you notice the muddy boot prints you left in your wake, and you hadn't realized how stiff your muscles had gotten from the cold until you put them to work fleeing from the furious pursuit of Filch that soon followed. You were breathing louder than a bellow by the time you crawled through the entrance of the common room with your boots held between your fingers.

You and your soggy boots were thawing by the hearth with a book on the various species of dragons tucked within your grasp when Cedric sat down beside you.

"I saw you out there. You were great. How long have you been flying?" When you told him, he blinked at you in disbelief until he remembered your muggle upbringing. "That's amazing! I'm captain of our Quidditch team. Are you thinking of trying out next year?"

"I... I might." You realized that you didn't know lick all about Quidditch, but an interest to learn suddenly sparked inside you.

"If not I'll drag you onto the field myself." You were thawing faster than before now that you were under the radiant warmth of his charming smile and compliments.

~~

        The halls of Hogwarts were decorated for winter with everlasting icicles hung above doorways and below window sills, twinkling lights that appeared to sprout from the stone walls, and branching cords of glimmering tinsel that laced every corridor. Towering Christmas trees filled the Great Hall and entrance hall, brushing against stone rafters and clad in an innumerable amount of shining ornaments. The festivities even wandered into the common rooms, where Professor Sprout had hung tiny colorful bobbles from the many plants, and the new addition of a conifer graced the perfume of charred firewood with its own fresh piney notes. 

But holiday break began with a pang as you were forced to share tight hugs and reluctant goodbyes with your friends. You had been looking forward to the vacation when your petition was accepted, but now that you were left alone inside of the giant castle the creeping loneliness sunk deeper than the winter chill.

Your uniform was swapped for more formal attire; a thick knitted sweater three sizes too big pooled around your hips and threatened to swallow your hands, and a pair of black joggers that were rolled around the ankles to keep them from tripping you. All that covered your feet were a pair of worn socks that would have exposed your big toe if it had fit properly. You filled the quiet days by exploring the now abandoned castle halls, where you even trailed after Mrs. Norris, desperate to make a new friend, but your affections were rebuffed at every turn. It wasn't until you caught sight of Filch that you finally retreated. 

Slipping into the library, you decided that some studying would be beneficial in passing the time and bolstering yourself for the coming semester. A copy of Quidditch Through the Ages had also found itself among the small pile in your arms. Your attempts at making light conversation with the librarian were rebuked rougher than the cat. Books were preferable companions, it seemed. 

On your way to leave, you noticed a small black blot on the edge of your peripheral vision. The black leather-bound journal that laid abandoned on the ground appeared as lonesome as you felt. Kneeling down, you picked it up, turning it over with one hand. No name was written on the outside of the binding, and it looked as though no one had even touched it in decades. You almost felt a twinge of sympathy for it. Looking to the textbooks that filled your arm, you decided that you had more of a need for it than its neglectful owner.

Back in the snug warmth that was incubated inside the common room, you flipped opened the potions textbook - deciding it was wisest to start here - and your new notebook. Your eyes scanned the recipes that were inscribed and then flickered back to the notebook, copying down the ingredients and their accompanying instructions. When you went to record another recipe, you took a long pause as you took in the blank parchment that met your gaze. 

Looking at your quill, you realized that it had the same fiery plumage as the one that the twins had given you. "A trick quill, very nice," you muttered with a pointed eye roll. But when you grabbed a new quill and put it to the paper, the words had again vanished when you looked back to them. You blinked, again looking to the quill in your hands. It was the same dusty white as the rest of your set, with small ink stains on the feather showing that it was already well used. When you dipped it into the well to be sure it had enough ink and looked back to the page, the parchment was no longer blank.

"Hello?"

Your lashes fluttered with surprise, and again when you witnessed the ink retreat back into the parchment. Clearly, this must have been some joke, a prank that someone must be laughing about in their home, their quill in hand waiting to make fun of the idiot who opened their little trick. But another part of you, perhaps derived from either curiosity or the lingering loneliness, urged you to respond. 

"I wasn't aware that journals could write." 

You waited, watching as the page seemed to drink the ink before spitting back new words.

"Your quite right with that assumption, I assure you. I am not a journal."

The penmanship was an immaculate signature of curves and flourishes. If someone had indeed bewitched this notebook, they had done a splendid job.

"What are you then?" 

"Clearly a wizard who is in a higher grade of Potions than you. The real question is who."

You waited for more to be written, but when the lapse continued, it became obvious that the notebook was baiting you to reply. You indulged it.

"And what would the answer be?" 

A few seconds passed, and just as you dipped your quill into the ink well to add to the reply, two words appeared.

"Tom Riddle."

Chapter Text

        Instead of roaming the empty corridors and trying to befriend the animals that stalked them, you now spent your time huddled inside the warm comfort of the Hufflepuff common room. Sometimes you sat at a table or within the plush embrace of an armchair, but always with a quill in one hand and the journal in front of you. This Tom Riddle had proven to be an excellent conversationalist and, after offering to assist you in your studies, a generous tutor. Along with teaching you an abundance of handy new spells and the motions of the wand that went along with them, he also assisted you in Potions, giving you novel advice on alternative steps and ingredients.

When the shift from Potions to Magical History had occurred, it was deceivingly organic, though when he delivered his own question to you, an ounce of disquiet stained your comfortable disposition. Your lashes fluttered with unease as your eyes lingered on the name Lord Voldemort, but you naively reminded yourself that you hadn't even known of Voldemort or the atrocities that begot his rein until only a few months ago. Assuming he must have had a muggle upbringing like your own, you reciprocated the wisdom he had generously gifted you by recounting the scarce details that you knew of the First Wizarding War, and the fall of the Dark Lord that ended it. When you finished, the ink that bled into the page lacked the flourishes that usually incorporated his penmanship, as though the hand that was wrapped around his quill had suddenly stiffened.

"How did such a powerful wizard become defeated?"

You absentmindedly fidgeted with the quill in your own hands, brushing against the soft plumage with your finger while you debated whether or not to mention your mysterious involvement. Deciding that you had already given him your name and the likelihood that he would find out eventually, you put the vague events to paper.

The page remained blank for a painful period, and each elongated second that passed exasperated your wish to erase the words that had soaked into the parchment, but then the panacea of ink poured back out of the paper. The same curvacious embellishment had returned to the words, and you could almost see the wide smile on his mysterious face as you read his message, though your mental image was much more benign than reality.

"How lucky am I that the girl who defeated Lord Voldemort is the one to pick up my diary."

~~

        The topics that you floated molted from lessons to inquiries about each other. You were both half-bloods and orphaned as infants. A kindredship was formed when you learned that he was indeed raised by muggles, and slowly but surely, you began to share the annexed contents of your heart with him. It only felt natural, like becoming reacquainted with an old friend. He reciprocated these confessions, and with each released secret, another bond was woven. 

A new perturbation had arisen, however, one that was strong enough to pierce even the thick plate armor of your current contentment; you had never seen any other student in the corridors or during meals. It had always been just you and the handful of teachers that inhabited the castle. "It's a huge place and I'm sure I haven't even explored a quarter of it, so it isn't so odd," you reasoned to yourself, yet even your own placation felt fraudulent. It would be Tom, however, that would be the one to inquire about your whereabouts.

"Are you inside the common room?"

"I am."

"Do you see the serpent above hearth mantel?"

Your brow pursed curiously, and you looked up. There was no serpent above the mantle, only Helga Hufflepuff's smiling portrait. You told him such. There was a long pause, the longest that had ever existed.

"I assumed you were in Slytherin. We had so much else in common, I suppose I didn't even think twice."

~~

        The mounting snow that blanketed the ground had piled against the round windows, so you left for the library to get some sunlight. The light filtered through the dense cloak of white that shrouded the sky poured into the window, washing over your frame as you leaned over the open journal. Your legs swung absentmindedly while your free hand cupped the side of your jaw, propping up your dozy, smiling head. When your stomach informed you it was lunchtime, you finally peeled yourself away from your companion and dipped into the Great Hall. A yawn encompassed your lips, and you had begun to become acutely aware of the sleep that had laden your eyes recently. There had been times when you were so engrossed in that journal that you had forgotten to eat, so perhaps you had also become unaware of the hours that passed during your nighttime conversations.

Dumbledore was absent from the high table, swapping the regal headmaster seat at the center for the bench of his old House table. When he caught sight of you, he waved you over like an old friend. The sight of the headmaster beckoning you to him gave you pause, but you padded across the Great Hall obediently and tentatively sat down. From what you had read about Dumbledore in A History of Hogwarts, you had expected a more solemn wizard, but the headmaster smiled and quipped until you finally shedded your shy shroud. 

"I hope your looking forward to the Christmas feast tomarrow. My expectations are always sky high and yet each year I'm left impressed." You blinked at him, replying, "tomarrow's Christmas?'"

He simply chuckled. "I see you've been studying a bit too hard."

Fatigue hung heavy on your eyelids by the time you shared your goodnights and finally closed the journal. You had done nothing but sit around and write, so while it's no surprise that your wrist was a tad stiff, you couldn't figure out why you were so tired. By the time your head hit the pillow, you were washed away by the deluge of sleep. 

In the span of a blink, your eyes reopened, but you were no longer laying down, and your dorm room had become replaced by a hallway that was saturated by shadows that dyed the roughly carved stone in a dreary shade. The jarring change of surroundings lagged your brain, so it took a moment for the familiarity to sink in. It wasn't until the damp chill that always occupied this area invaded your flesh that the recollection struck you. You were standing inside one of the dungeon corridors below the school.

"Pureblood."

The voice pulled you from your bewildered stupor and enticed you to turn around just in time to see the figure of a boy slip through the wall. A bemusing curiosity eclipsed all caution, pulling you toward where the boy had disappeared, where you were met with a door-shaped gap in the stone wall. Dipping your gaze into the room, your lips parted slightly in wonderment when the soft, watery green glow washed over your complexion and drenched your vision. Brilliant jade light fixtures hung from the low ceiling and candles slumbered beside half-finished games of Wizard's Chess, while large windows that were decorated by ornate black paning stretched down the wall like yawning mouths, exposing the murky green waters of the Black Lake and exhaling the natural light of the crystalline moon, casting a shimmering sheen over the room. The stone walls that encompassed the expansive room were painted a deep shade of iron and the upholstery of the arm chairs and wrap-around sofas was a fine black leather that was accented by silver rivets. Yet the most eye-catching feature of this exquisite room was the large, hand-carved plague that housed a snake in its center. The emerald eye that was embedded in its head mirrored your own.

Standing directly below the grand serpent was the boy you had followed. Only his back greeted you, but his long, slender legs bolstered his height generously, while broad shoulders filled out the rest of his frame. The back of his head was incorporated by refined, jet-black swirls, and just as you pondered what the other side might look like, you were once again startled by the deep voice that suddenly pierced the silence. 

"Aperta Occultatum"

It was only when he lowered his arm that you even notice he was holding a wand. As if to verbally acknowledge the request, the low rumble of shifting bricks shook the air as the mouth of the hearth began to stretch upward. A doorway much akin to the entrance of the Slytherin common room was exposed as the soot-stained bricks that covered the back of the hearth fell away, creating an impossible pathway. With a stride that came easily to his long legs, he stepped over the firewood and walked up the flight of stairs that was revealed, disappearing into the tenebrous inside.

In another blink of your eyes, you were once again staring at the horizontal perspective of your dorm room. Sitting up, you ran your fingers through your tresses, revisiting the events of the... the dream? The word felt wrong, but it had to be a dream, when you had closed your eyes you were in your bed, and when you reopened them you were still here. And yet, it felt so real, so tangible. Goosebumps cascaded up your arms, conjured by the phantom touch of the dungeon's unique chill. You could still hear the boy's voice ringing inside your ears. This wasn't the wispy remnants of a vivid dream. It was like retracing the imprinted footprints of a dust-covered memory.

'But I don't even know where the Slytherin common room is let alone looked inside of it.' You've passed through the hallway many times on the way to Potions, but that patch of wall was always as flat and solid as the rest of its length. 

You were still wrapped in a daze when you walked upstairs, but upon looking beneath the tree that sat against the round wall of the cornerless room, the curious dream was quickly and gratefully set aside. A small pile of presents sat beneath needle-laced branches, more than you had ever received or even dared to hoped to receive.

You made quick work of the ribbons and colorful paper. The animated snowflakes that decorated the wrapping paper still danced merrily despite being rendered to shreds while you looked through the assortment of sweets that was addressed oddly formally; From the Bones. Your hand next found an envelope that felt peculiarly full. When you peeled it open and glimpsed inside, you were taken aback to see a beautiful dragon scale. The scale was a deep burgundy that appeared black without the light reflecting on it. Upon closer inspection, the back was adorned by a hairpin.

The accompanying letter told you of the origin of the gift; Hannah's family had gone to Bulgaria for winter break. Your thumb smoothed over the sleek scale while you read about her adventures in the country. When you finished the letter, you were about to put the pin in your hair, when you stopped yourself, deciding you should run a comb through it first. Ernie MacMillan had sent you a similar arrangement of candy, with so many Chocolate Frogs that you had suddenly amassed a mini collection of Famous Witches and Wizards Cards. 

Your hands found the last present, but there was a brief lapse in your present-opening fervor and your complexion suffused a soft shade of carmine when you glimpsed the name that was written on the tag. From Cedric. Your fingers worked carefully in unwrapping the present, the last scraps of paper falling away to reveal a book. Merpeople: A Comprehensive Guide to Their Language and Customs.

Thumbing through the pages, you absentmindedly chewed on some of the sweets. Despite dining on candy for the majority of the early morning hours, you decided that you had room for breakfast as well. Stuffing your pockets with a few fistfuls of sweets, your attention was jarringly ensnared by a loud crash and the momentarily quivering of the ground beneath your feet that followed.

When the barrels shifted and you crawled out to investigate, you were greeted by Hagrid's boots and the sharp smell of vinegar. A drenched and smelly Hagrid was quickly scooping himself off the ground while you slipped back inside and came back with a handkerchief to wipe the vinegar off.

"Hope I didn't wake yeh, did I?" He wiped off the minimal amount of face that wasn't covered by hair before dabbing at his beard. "I was gonna surprise yeh, but I got the bleedin' knocks wrong. When I was a student all I had ter do was 'member a password, and worst that'd happen is I'd be locked out fer a time." He set aside the handkerchief as he spoke and reached into his moleskin coat, pulling out a poorly wrapped package. "Hope it didn't get nothin' on it." 

"You didn't have to," you immediately began, but he laughed it off. "Couldn't not have." Your complexion began to heat as you realized abashedly that you hadn't gotten him anything, but relief came when you remembered the candy in your pockets. You emptied them into an oven mitt-sized hand, and now it was his turn to become bashful. "Aw, thanks. I haven't had Bertie Botts in ages," he said with wistful nostalgia. 

Hagrid's gift was curiously lumpy and bound in multiple layers of paper, but when the last bits of paper fell to the floor with the others, your eyes expanded owlishly, glinting with amazement. You held the sweater up by the shoulders, taking a moment to drink in the garment. The yarn that crafted the sweater was a deep cobalt blue that was reminiscent of the night sky, and held a softness that seemed to melt against your fingers.

"Knitted it meself," he boasted proudly. You quickly wriggled into it, and as soon as you popped your head out, you could tell that you were swimming inside of it. Your fingers were well inside the sleeve, and the sweeping hem hovered mere inches from your knees. 

"Yeh'll grow into it."

~~

        You spent most of the day reading the book that Cedric had gifted you, and when dinner time came along, you hopped upstairs and joined Hagrid, McGonagall, and Dumbledore at the Gryffindor table. You found that Dumbledore's earlier praise was not just for conversation; the usually savory assortment was bustling with new, more grandiose dishes. You still wore the sweater (with the rolled-up sleeves looking like thick cuffs) with the hairpin adorning your now tidied hair. Hagrid complimented it, mentioning that it was from a Hungarian Horntail.

"What I wouldn't do ter own a dragon," he sighed wistfully.

"You can own dragons? Like pets??" you inquired.

"Not legally," McGonagall informed you, though her eyes were plastered to Hagrid, and Dumbledore chuckled. "It looks like you've got a future partner in crime, Rubeus."

After the meal, Dumbledore dawned his wand and with a few lithe wags, Christmas crackers were dropped into your laps. While he persuaded McGonagall to help him pop his own, Hagrid nearly plucked you out of your seat as you both tugged, but thankfully the string broke before you were pulled across the table. Hagrid was in his goblet of firewater by the time you returned to your dorm. 

It wasn't until you saw the journal laying on the table that you had realized you hadn't spoken to Tom yet that day. Sitting down at the table, you cracked open the journal, but before you could even ink your quill, the words appeared on the page.

"Have any dreams?"

You quirked a brow. No merry Christmas, no how was your day, not even a simple greeting. But the vague question had succeeded in stirring up the recollection of the peculiar dream, so as always you indulged his query, adding how bemusingly real it felt. 

"The castle's empty. Perhaps you should see for yourself whether it was real or not."

You hovered the quill above the page while the gears in your head turned. It was true, this was the only time you could freely explore that area. Even if you failed in conjuring the door, you had yet to direct your ventures down into the dungeons. Packing up the journal, quill, and ink, in your haste you nearly slipped out the door without your wand. 

The thick sweater kept you warm even in the perpetually bitter atmosphere as you padded quietly down the narrow staircase. After traveling down the maze of expansive hallways, you found one that looked familiar. Trepidation sunk in as you remembered what had always deterred you from exploring the dingy bowels of the castle; this was Snape's domain. And tonight, you were boldly treading after hours.

But the same bewitching curiosity had entangled your mind, and before you could consider retreating, you already stood between the empty space between the blazing torches where the doorway once stood. The breath you sucked into your lungs in an effort to clear your mind and bolster your courage became caught in your throat when a ghost swam through the wall.

The Bloody Baron looked down at you and narrowed his deeply lined eyes. You froze beneath his pensive gaze, sure that you had been caught red-handed trying to sneak into another House's dormitory, but a strange solace came when he said, "ah, I thought you were another child for a moment. At first glance, you remind me of him. Memories are a type of ghost as well, I suppose."

'I'm not in uniform. He doesn't know I'm not in Slytherin.'

In response to your nervous silence, he continued, "he was a strange child, very quiet in his first year, but maybe you'll blossom like he did and become Head Girl, aye?" As the ghost floated past you, he murmured to himself, "I can't seem to recall his name. Wonder whatever came of that child?"

With newfound confidence, you recited the words in as soft of tone as you could muster, "pureblood," but cringed when the reverberation of the shifting stones sounded through the corridor.

It surprised you how little you were surprised when you stepped into the room. You almost expected to see the back of that boy again, and you weren't sure whether you were relieved or disappointed to find yourself alone inside of the room. The possessions on the tables were different as well, but everything else was the exact mirror of your dream. Your vision was drawn to the large serpent plaque, and a deep crease formed between your furrowed brow. When you first glimpsed into this room, you were swept away by the palatial details, never bothering to realize that the only thing that resided behind the hearth were the murky waters of the Black Lake. 

'It's impossible. There can't be a room behind the hearth, it's all water.' Your feet paused at the spot where his had once rested. Raising your wand, you mimicked his posture, straightening your spine and squaring your shoulders. 'The password was a fluke, surely. I must have seen the room inside one of the history books and forgotten. There's no way this can work. It's impossible.' But you part your lips regardless, speaking the same words that he had.

"Aperta Occultatum"

Your heart jumped and your wand dipped when a familiar groan came from the hearth as it acquiesced to your command, bricks falling away and stretching. You were standing inside your dream, except your perspective was now that of the boys. Was he up there as well? The darkness that drenched the top of the stairwell and dripped down its steps was less than inviting, but you forced your rooted feet over the firewood - in a much clumsier fashion than he had - and began to ascend the rough, stone-carved steps that lead seemingly into the abyss. The staircase was deceivingly short, and once your foot landed on the final step, a soft white light replaced the penumbra that filled the room, causing your heart to leap into your throat in a failed escape attempt.

'Is he here??'

You carefully peered into the room but found it as empty as the common room below. An emerald fire danced merrily inside the hearth, but the light that radiated off it shared the same clear, gentle glow of the morning sun. It was a small room, housing only a handsome armchair that appeared to have been well-loved at one point judging by the thin cracks that ran through the center of the aged leather seat like spiderwebs, and a small, sleek side table that shared the same carved mahogany base and kept it company. Venturing inside, you noticed the mantle of dust that covered every surface like a grey, transparent moss. While the crackling hearth worked to heat the room, you fixed your gaze on the bookcase that consumed the wall beside the chair. Each shelf was stuffed to the brim with a curious assortment of books; some had spines engraved in symbols, some languages you couldn't understand, and others were completely blank. 

Sitting down, you placed your bag on your lap and dug your hand inside. Furling your legs together, you placed the journal on your lap before gliding your hand across the page.

"It's real! I'm inside. It's small and full of books and dust."

The page remained blank, however, and remained so the rest of that night. You decided that he must have fallen asleep and followed suit.

(A/N)- I mean, we don't know that there isn't some secret room inside the Slytherin common room ( ´ヮ `)ゞ...

Chapter Text

        The deluge of tranquil sunlight that poured through the library windows and the cajoling warmth that was effortlessly incubated in the common room had become swiftly usurped by the dim, dust ladened air of the secret room. The second term peered just above the horizon, so you stole into the Slytherin common room as often as you could while you still could, delving nose-first into the mysterious books that had been patiently slumbering on their shelves.

Judging by the fat coat of dust that covered the rows like fuzzy pavement, they had been asleep for a very long time. You plucked books at random, never becoming bored by their peculiar contents. It was like having the restricted section of Hogwarts library at your very fingertips. Even the bookcase itself was enigmatic; with every book you pulled from the shelf, another behind it would fall into its place, creating a possibly ever-lasting collection. Out of curiosity, you had spent an entire morning pulling books from a shelf, and never caught a single glimpse of the back. 

The collection was composed entirely of various spellbooks, but the information inside most of them was lost on you. Some were comprised of strange shapes that you assumed were some kind of rune, others housed deceivingly blank pages, and one spoke the words directly into your ear in a haunting whisper. The few that you could understand drowned your brain in incantations that you couldn't begin to imagine how to pronounce.

The diminishing time that you had to explore the contents of the never-ending library eclipsed your days, so the journal laid loyally on your bedside table, patiently awaiting your return. But soon other books were placed on top of it, accidentally hiding it from your view and attention. Alongside the absence of Tom Riddle's company, your body slowly became relieved of the fatigue that once addled it.

Pulling your legs to your chest, you cracked open a particularly hefty book. The pages were sallow, and so brittle that a piece broke off in your fingers. A remorseful frown pressed your lips thin, and you hoped you didn't accidentally scar some ancient relic or ruin someone's family heirloom. You were about to push it back into the bookcase when the book that had taken its place caught your eye. 

"Magick Moste Evile," you read aloud. The spine was embroidered in goldwork flourishes, and the cover was adorned in kind. The title imbued an ominous foreboding that should have bore caution, but instead only succeeded in stirring your curiosity. Sitting up, you let your legs dangle off of the worn chair and opened it on your lap. For once, the information was legible and, most importantly, comprehensible; each spell included proper pronunciation as well as simplistic diagrams of the specific motions of the wand. Below each incantation was a brief description of the destructive or cruel properties of the spells befitting the title of the book that they were bound inside.

Reaching for your wand, the edge of your lips quirked mischievously. Your eyes were a mirror of the voracious emerald fire that lit the room as they skimmed one of the spells. Flicking to the mantel of the hearth, you pictured Malfoy's pale sneer visage over the empty space. Absentmindedly, your lips articulated the incantation soundlessly, and your wrist gave a lackluster flick, tracing the motions that were inscribed. 

The blinding light that engulfed the room was the first thing your jarred brain registered, and the second was the deafening ringing that pierced your ears. Your wand recoiled in your hand from the force of the spell, but that was peripheral to the assault of your senses that ripped through the once still atmosphere. Your arms instinctively wrapped around your head, but once the pounding of your jostled heart could finally be heard over the ringing in your ears, you tentatively pried open one eye.

Half of the mantel was mangled, the solid stone that once resided there now scattered in a pile on the ground. The enchanted fire still danced vigorously inside of the scarred hearth, but the deep gash that now adorned it lustily drank in the shadows that the soft light cast. Your heart quaked nearly as loud as the cracking blast, and your complexion drained. The knot in your throat refused to be swallowed away as your eyes stared unblinkingly at the rumble on the ground, seeing only the remains of the imaginary opponent. 

Leaving the Slytherin common room that night was the last you looked into it. 

~~

       Your face was half-buried in the gold and black scarf as you sat on the stone steps outside of the entrance hall, absentmindedly smoothing your finger over the sleek texture of the dragon scale hairpin. The sound of distant chatter ensnared your attention and your torso shot up when you saw the first group of returning students. Your eyes searched for your two fair-haired companions, but your ardor was doused when you spotted Malfoy instead. He was trailing behind Neville, whose cheeks were ablaze with embarrassment, his head hung low and his shoulders rounded as he curled into them almost like a turtle.

"-head as empty as your train compartment, Lonely Longbottom." Malfoy's simper stretched when the boys that flanked around him cackled at the cruel jape. You shoved your hand into your pocket and aimed it over Neville's sulking shoulder. The self-satisfied mien fell along with the rest of Malfoy's body when his foot suddenly caught against an invisible rock, and a face full of snow and brown grass greeted him on the ground. 

"At least he knows how to walk," you quipped, holstering your wand back in your pocket. Chagrin now pinched his pale features as he shoved away the helpful hands of his entourage and picked himself up. He redirected his now heated glower to you, and for a moment you were grateful that looks couldn't kill. Your wand was centimeters from your fingertips, while his own was packed away, so he simply stomped past you and through the threshold, all the while never breaking his lethal glare. Neville followed shortly after, lifting his head only high enough to give you a smile in form of a silent thanks.

A silent promise seemed to bubble inside of Malfoy's leer like a poison, but the warning was forgotten the second Hannah had entered your vision, and she was engulfed inside your waiting arms instantly. Both of you assaulted Susan together with similar affection. The bite of the winter winds was a tangential nip as you listened to their holiday stories, and a content smile made itself home on your face as you found yourself grateful to simply hear their voices again.

Your focus was pried off of your friends by the hand that landed affectionately on your head, and when you looked up at the source, you found Cedric standing beside you, still dawning his muggle clothing. The casual attire matched the blithe nature of his smirking face. "Get much studying done?"

"Thank you for the book," you started, but before he could reply, another voice broke in

"She never thanked us for our cheat quills."

"And those were homemade, much more love put into something made by hand and magic than any book."

Two hands found your head the same as Cedric's had, but these freckle-speckled mitts lacked his gentle touch as they vigorously mushed your locks. 

"Who would have thought Potter had such a fickle heart," George teased with faux despondence. You watched the twins saunter into the castle as you brought your hands up to fix your jostled hair, but your fingers curled with surprise when they touched Cedric's. He smoothed your hair out while you stood as rigid as a statue, ignoring the poorly stifled titters of your friends. "I'm sorry to see you've become acquainted with those two," he said in a jesting tone of sympathy.

"So am I," you replied with a playful smile carved into your sanguine cheeks. 

~~

        The semester resumed as it had begun; racing along the towering staircases as they swung through the air, swaying without a second thought toward your wants or needs; the rubbernecking stares of those who wished to grab a clandestine glimpse at what was hidden beneath your fringe; scuffing knees against trick steps that gave away beneath your feet, and the perpetual scowl that always greeted you within the Potions dungeon. 

The holiday had not helped to sweeten Snape's bitter disposition. His solemn frame sapped the minimal warmth that resided within the classroom as he glided inside, the hem of his sweeping black cloak dusting the ground in his wake.

Snape proclaimed that the first lesson back would start where the last let off; by completing the potion that they had been preparing for. You were partnered with Justin Finch-Fledger, who seemed nice enough, though perhaps a bit too talkative. You were measuring out the Flobberworm mucus while he regaled you about the fairly mundane events of his holiday. 

"You should have seen my nan's face when the picture of Merlin on the Chocolate Frog card sneezed!"

"Potter," Snape's voice effortlessly cut through the bustling atmosphere despite being hardly more than a hushed hiss. His inky eyes never failed to somehow darken further when they met with your emerald orbs. It seemed as though he saw nothing else when they connected. "Since you clearly find this class so contemptuous that you feel the need to talk instead of work, let's all see how your potions coming along... I'm sure you spent your time during the winter break doing some sorely needed studying, after all. Surely it'll serve as the perfect example."

Your mouth instinctively opened to protest the fact that you hadn't even said a word, but the way his lip subtly curled expectingly made you close it again. He leaned his tall, dark frame over your desk, peering into the mixture inside your copper cauldron; a dull granite color met him in place of the glinting silver that should have. 

"Yes, just as I had expected. Look here class, and see the perfect example of what you don't want to find in your cauldron." He then picked it up by the ringlets and had all the students gather around for a better look. 

The sting of humiliation still lingered through Magical History. You couldn't figure out why you were such a potent magnet for Snape's antagonism, and trying to figure it out was making the already excruciating lesson even more difficult to concentrate on. The Werewolf Code of Conduct might have been an interesting subject, but Professor Binns possessed a monotonous drone of a voice that managed to dull any topic into something as mundane as roll call. At least his body was transparent, so you could write your notes in time with his own on the board. Final exams were looming around the corner, and you hadn't taken in a word of what he said, so looking back over your notes was the best that you could hope to get from the class.

One hand wrapped around the brass telescope while the other covered the drowsy yawn that tumbled from your lips as you sauntered alongside your class through the hall. Astrology was a fun subject at the start of the year, but now you wished that you could study the stars from the ceiling of your dorm room. Cedric was already doing his prefect rounds when the lesson was dismissed for the night, so he volunteered to escort your class back to the dormitory.

As you passed one of the expansive windows that penetrated the stone walls, a peculiarity stuck out from the corner of your eye. You stopped and stared out at Hagrid's hut, which was nearly indistinguishable in the blanket of the night from the forbidden forest that resided beside it. Your head tilted curiously, and just when you had decided that your drowsy eyes must have been playing tricks with your head, it happened again; the small hut glowed with a sudden burst of orange light that spilled out of the windows and illuminated it against the black backdrop. Just as suddenly as the light had appeared, it was gone, and the home once again disappeared into the night.

Amazement quickly turned to worry when you thought of Hagrid. What was that? Was Hagrid alright? You looked back to see that your class had abandoned your stagnant frame, and assumed they were most likely heading toward the stairwell into the basement now. You glanced out the window again and swallowed your hesitation.

Hagrid might be in trouble, but you still feared Filch's irate wrath nonetheless, so you slipped off your shoes before bolting through the hallway, your fervorous steps now as silent as a mouse. Your flying feet only paused briefly to slip your shoes back on when it was time to traverse the grounds. The brisk night air bit at your exposed flesh, but you only felt the drumming of your heart against your ribs when you saw the hut illuminate again, this time sure that you could see the surge of flames that filled the window.

Your fist hammered against the door, enticing a boom of thunderous barking and a few muttered swears. After a few seconds of muffled sounds, the door finally swung open. Fang bounded out first, threatening to topple you over with his affection. Hagrid pried the boarhound off of you, his beard smokey and singed, and he let out a sigh of relief. 

"It's jus' yeh," he breathed, before bolstering himself back up, retaking his position as the gamekeeper. "What're yeh doin' 'ere? It's near past midnight, yeh should be in bed." 

"I saw fire, Hagrid, are you-" Your mouth froze mid-sentence when the pitched cry cut through your speech and pierced the night before another spit of flames shot through the air behind him. Hagrid pinched his giant temple between two equally large fingers, and you knew without having to see past his encompassing frame what he had sheltered in his home. Hagrid folded helplessly when you pushed past him, and there on top of his kitchen table was the tiny body of a baby dragon. 

"Look, I couldn't jus' turn him away. The man that had his egg wasn't gonna take proper care o' him, there was nothin' I could do-"

"He's gorgeous," was all you said, your eyes shimmering like polished gems against the open fire inside his stove. His worried face warmed into a jovial grin as he joined you by the table. "Ain't he jus'? An' smart as a whip to boot!" Hagrid grabbed a fistful of chopped chunks of pale meat in one hand and stuffed two fingers of the other into his mouth, letting out a loud whistle. Instantly, the dragon whipped its lanky neck toward him expectingly. He threw the chunks into the air, and the dragon responded by letting out a jet of fire, charring the meat before catching it in its snapping jaws. 

Your mesmerized stupor was interrupted by the sharp knocks that once again rattled against his door, and this time you jumped along with Hagrid. It was Cedric and Hannah that now stood in the doorway, and when they caught sight of the dragon, their concerned dispositions only exasperated. 

"Hagrid, that's-" Cedric began, but Hagrid interrupted, falling back into a repeat of his previous fumbling explanation. 

"What are you two doing here?" you asked, and it was Hannah who spoke this time, her hands landing dictatorially on her hips. 

"We should be the ones asking you that."

"You disappeared. When you still hadn't shown up when we reached the dorm, we decided to look for you," Cedric finished for her. He then returned his attention back to Hagrid, his raised posture and the subtle scolding that hardened his voice befitted his prefect status. "You know that dragons are illegal." Hagrid's muddled face showed all too well how much he knew. "I know I know - yeh want some tea? I jus' baked some rock cakes earlier today."

Cedric's answer was clear on his face, but when he shifted his gaze back to you, the authoritative fire in his chest was doused by the wonderment that molded your expression. Despite Hannah's worried protests, you held your fingertips out toward the baby dragon in hopes of it letting you stroke its sleek scales. When the dragon didn't protest, you met its hide and gingerly glided your fingertips down the smooth, balmy scales. "Amazing." A heavy sigh escaped Cedric's lips, and when he reopened his eyes, he looked back to Hagrid.

"You can not keep this thing, Hagrid, but I think I know someone who can take the dragon and properly care for him." The word 'take' graded against Harigd's ears like sandpaper but when he opened his mouth in rebuttal, Cedric continued, "legally."

You pulled your fingers away just in time to narrowly dodge its sharp, nippy mouth, but your attention shifted with the dragons as it craned its neck to the side and peered curiously over your shoulder. You followed suit and your heart sunk as you caught a glimpse of the pale shadow that slipped out from the window. You dashed across the small hut and pressed your face against the glass of the window, watching the back of Malfoy's fleeing figure run back to the castle. Hannah was the first to notice your dismay. "What happened?" You whipped around to face Cedric, who was taken aback by your sudden blanched complexion.

"How quick can your friend take the dragon?" you asked nearly breathlessly. He shifted on his feet slightly beneath your fervent gaze, and averting his gaze, he rubbed the back of his head.

"To be specific, he's not a friend, but a brother of two friends."

Chapter Text

"Well, well, well. Looks like Potters got a problem."

"A big problem. One that breaths fire."

Fred and George sat side by side at the end of the Gryffindor table. Fred's arms were folded lackadaisically while George leaned forward with his elbows propped onto the table. They both shared the same lopsided grins as they stared up at you, each with a brow raised expectantly.  

The events of the night prior turned sleep into a cumbersome venture. The afterimage of Malfoy fleeing to the castle was seared into your eyelids, and your frazzled brain betrayed you by continuing the scene through a series of scenarios that always ended with Snape trudging down the dormitory stairs to yank you from your bed and toss you back into the cupboard beneath the stairs. 

But your eyes flickered open like any other morning - not awaken by the scolding of an angry professor, but by Hannah's dozy grumbling as she reluctantly peeled herself from her covers. 

It seemed by the copious yawns that stretched her jaw that she had gotten as restful a sleep as you had. You lamented that your friend had gotten dragged into the situation, but you were grateful that she clearly showed no signs of purging her stress through tattling on Hagrid. 

You found Cedric waiting by the entrance of the Great Hall, his arms folded pensively across his chest. Cedric's usual warm disposition was chilled by a solemn overcast, and a similar wave of penitence filled your chest. He was a prefect, it was his duty to report broken rules to the professors, but he held his tongue and helped you solve it quietly. He took your arm the moment he caught sight of you, and after a brief but polite "I'll return her after a moment," to Susan and Hannah, he lead you to where Fred and George were already waiting. 

And now you sat at the Gryffindor table, staring at Cedric with a demurred expression that mutely said; these were the friends you trusted for such an important problem? His own hazel eyes replied with a silent yet unwavering assurance that receded the choppy wave of apprehension that these two mischievous boys stirred up. "I might..." you replied tentatively, expanding the twin's smiles. "Well, you're in luck. Ceddy here was right to come to us. It's true we've got a brother who deals with dragons for a living, and one letter from his beloved little brothers will take care of your issue in a snap."

"But, of course, this begs the question; what do we get in exchange for helping the great (y/n) Potter?" Cedric was about to protest on your behalf, but you butted in first. "Anything."

"Done!" they chimed in unison before Cedric could get a word in. Fred's hand reached across the table and met your own, binding the deal with a firm shake. Cedric gave you a wary look as you traveled back to the Hufflepuff table, but all you could do was shrug it away. It wasn't just you who bore the weight of Malfoy's precarious silence. Hannah and Cedric had become wrapped up in Hagrid's secret because of you, so it was up to you to solve it. Yet that notion bore the fact that Malfoy hadn't said anything yet, which came as a great surprise, though that wasn't to say he wouldn't. Still, a small bud of optimistic gratitude blossomed inside of you, bearing the memory of the trick he had played on you inside of the train with the Chocolate Frog, and how the jape turned into a sweet gift. Perhaps beyond the desolate sneers and harsh tongue, Draco contained a small oasis of kindness inside of him...

...and then you stepped into the Potions dungeon. 

As always, you sat among the row of yellow, but when Hannah went to take the seat beside you, Malfoy cut her off, grabbing the chair before she could. A single glare from his grey eyes corked her protests and zipped her lips shut. You watched him closely as he plopped down into the chair, your eyes narrowing with suspicion. His disposition was the opposite; effusing a breezy air as he leaned back, languidly swinging an arm around the back of the chair. You stood up, ready to follow Hannah, but Malfoy's voice anchored you in place.

"Let's be partners, Potter. I know you could use the help," he offered haughtily, and his blithe grin effortlessly wilting your burgeoning goodwill toward him. His pallid eyes glinted with the knowledge of his leverage above you, so you begrudgingly sat back down and swallowed the brewing anger that barbed your tongue in a menagerie of salty words, but stubbornly remained silent. Malfoy, however, wanted more than your passive acceptance.

"Isn't that right? You need my help?" he nettled, stoking the heat that licked the inside of your chest and suffused through your complexion.

"Yes."

"Where are your manners, Potter? What do you say when someone offers you help?" You took a deep breath to try and cleanse the vexation from your body, replying through the exhale, "yes, please." The word barely made it through your gritted teeth, but Malfoy seemed pleased enough.

Malfoy asked in a honeyed tone if you would retrieve the ingredients that were listed on the board, and when you sat back down with an arm full of variously shaped vials, he instructed, "you can start by cutting roots." What surprised the class more than his barking commands was the fact that you begrudgingly complied. "Careful! Don't just drop the porcupine quills in or you'll splash it!"

"Would you like to do it?" you finally snapped back, but the coy simper simply returned to his face as he rested his chin on the palm of his hand. "You've got a temper like a dragon, you know that?" Narrowing your eyes with disdain, you bit your tongue and refocused back on the cauldron, your own bubbling anger reflecting its boiling surface. 

You hoped that when Potions ended it would also end your enslavement, but before you could escape Malfoy handed you his bag and instructed you to accompany him to his next class. His nose seemed to hover higher in the air than usual with you trailing beside him, his arms swinging jauntily by his sides. You, on the other hand, withered beneath the bemused stares of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws that were plastered to your frames in the hallway, unsure what they were seeing. 

"Since when were Malfoy and Potter friends?" you heard Dean Thomas whisper poorly to Lavender Brown. 

Your lungs and legs burned by the time you reached Transfiguration, though thankfully your tardiness only earned you a warning. Exams were speedily approaching, but instead of studying, you spent the week jotting down two sets of notes for every class. When Double Potions hit, the class dragged on twice as long as it had prior to Malfoy's blackmailing. 

Your reprieve didn't come until the Weasleys passed you in the hallway. "Your problem has flown away." You spun on your heel, calling after them, "so what do you want?" They paused, exchanging identical looks rife with mischief before looking back to you.

"Having (y/n) Potter in our debt is payment enough," George told you.

"We'll come to collect in time though, don't you worry," Fred added with a sly wink.

Your steps were much lighter now that you didn't have to worry about Norbert being found, but you were still going to miss him. He had gotten bigger in the short span of weeks that had passed since he hatched, but according to Hagrid, he still had much more growing to do. You were wondering just how big he was going to get when Malfoy stepped in front of you, blocking your path. Your eyes flicked warily to the wand in his hand, and then to the bodies that formed around you. It began as an encirclement of green, but soon other students joined the knot out of curiosity.

 "I learned a new curse and I wanted to show my friends," he informed you, his eyes shimmered with the same malignant fervor as they had at the start of the year. 

"Surely you wouldn't mind helping me?" His knowing smile would have made your blood boil, but now the impish grin of the Weasley twins had contagiously spread to your own face. You composed your expression into a sullen mask of resignment while your hand clandestinely slithered into your robe pocket. Malfoy's arrogance blinded him to your wandering hand, focusing instead on his stance. Shifting his footing, he arched his arm upward dramatically, poising his wand above his head. He took a moment to soak in all of the eyes that were attached to your frames, but when his mouth opened you whipped your own arm out. The tip of your wand illuminated a sickly green as you yelled, "Slugulus Eructo!"

Malfoy doubled over in tune with the flash of light that met his abdomen, dropping his wand as his hands wrapped around his stomach. His torso heaved sickeningly, and to everyone's collective horror, a slug emerged from his gagging mouth and fell with a disgusting slap onto the marble floor. This hadn't been one of the curses you had learned from one of the malignant books inside that secret room, but instead from Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed, which Malfoy himself had encouraged you to buy inside Flourish and Blotts. 

~~

        "I told you you had nothing to worry about," Susan told Hannah. The looping gripes regarding her exam scores had finally ceased once she had gotten her grades, and she was able to unleash the pent-up breath it seemed that she had been holding for weeks. You had a similar melancholy regarding your own grades and were just as surprised to see that you had faired even better than you had hoped. Despite having dragons dancing around your brain like a dizzying merry-go-round, repetitiously jotting down notes seemed to have proven advantageous.

Your jaw rested on your palm, and a small smile lifted your features while you watched Cedric from the corner of your eye. You were happy to see him back in good spirits, with a score that had the other Hufflepuffs raving that the Sorting Hat had mixed up his Houses. A wistful sigh ghosted past your lips, though, knowing that he couldn't help you with the problem that was far more onerous than Hagrid's new pet.

4 Privet drive was awaiting you only a few days from now, and so too were the scornful faces of the Durselys. Still, just as that cupboard awaited you, so too would Hogwarts in a few months.

And you held onto that thought as you boarded the train, or you weren't sure you could bring yourself to get off of it.

Just a few months. Only a few months.

Chapter Text

Book Two

        Beneath the stairs, the tip of your wand glowed softly, illuminating your minimal living space as you skimmed the pages of the spellbook. Flipping the page, your interest piqued when your eyes fell on a specific spell, and the gears in your head began to twirl with mischief.

The choking miasma of oppression that was incubated inside of the four walls of 4 Privet Drive had dissipated slightly since arriving back from Hogwarts, both because your wardens had become somewhat frightened of you - though their disdain sharpened in tune - and because of the security that the thin piece of wood within your fingers gifted. Like a sword to a knight, it was an extension of your arm, and so long as it was within your grasp, you felt like you weren't merely an unsightly speck of dust that stubbornly refused to be scrubbed away.

When you weren't trudging away at your insurmountable list of chores, you spent your time with your nose in your textbooks. Most of the summer had been spent digging into the pages of your herbology textbook, drinking in the information on the extraordinary flora that you unknowingly lived beside. Tonight, however, you finally broke open a particular spellbook. It was a second-hand book you had borrowed from Cedric before the end of the school year so you could sneak a peek into the kinds of spells you would be learning this year.

As instructed, you pictured the object of your desire in your mind's eye before whispering the incantation beneath your breath and flicking your wrist as stated. A small smirk pulled at your lips as you sat up, mindful of your head against the slope in the ceiling, and opened the small door. Peering out, you saw all the Dursleys sat together in the living room, their eyes glued to the television screen while aunt Verna mumbled vague complaints toward the content of the show. 'Perfect,' you thought. Emerging quietly, you slinked silently upstairs, mindful of the creaks in the wood that you had memorized over the years. 

Peering into your cousin's room, you pointed the wand at her bedside table before murmuring the spell again, this time adding after it, "Accio candy." Obediently, the drawer was opened by the force of the pieces that had become attracted to you like a magnet, but just as your eyes began to glow with amazement, they fell to the floor halfway, scattering loud enough to cause your heart to freeze. You didn't dare move a muscle, your arm stuck in the air, hovering awkwardly through her doorway until you were sure that your blunder was overshadowed by the boisterous television. You took a tentative step inside, the old socks that clad your feet helping mute your careful steps, and gathered the pieces of candy into your pockets as quickly as you could. The trek back downstairs was painfully slow, but once you slipped back into your cupboard, your face lit up as you took in the splendor of your plunder.

"Brilliant." It was only a few pieces, nothing Dusley would even notice from her massive hoard, yet it was still more sweets than you had ever possessed inside this house. Just as you untwirled one colorful wrapper, a familiar shrill bellowing filled the house. "GIRL!" Your body jumped at the sudden outburst, smacking your head on the hard wooden slope, terrified that they had somehow found out about your pilfered treasure.

You scrambled out of the staircase, where you were met by the peculiar view of your uncle Aster frantically swinging a broom at a flighty owl. 

"Get out, you filthy rat with wings!" he demanded in his own uniquely pitched screech before clubbing the poor thing like a baseball, sending its frazzled body skipping to a stop perfectly in front of your feet. The flustered owl spat the letter on your feet and beat its wings back to life, shaking off the daze as well as a few loosened feathers before flying off indignantly. 

Picking up the letter, a strange symbol solidified in a blot of purple ink greeted you. Ministry of Magic. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, girl?" aunt Verna hissed, her pudgy fists hanging at her side with a few stray tawny feathers poking out of her black mush of hair. Curiosity eclipsed your better sense, so you ignored your irate aunt and broke the purple seal of the letter.

Dear Ms. potter,

We have received intelligence that an Accio Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at fifteen minutes past six.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school. (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C.)

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical society (muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks Statues of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE

Ministry of Magic.

Your eyes quizzically rested over the last three words when the letter was snatched from your hand, and Verna's own beady orbs scanning the information before meeting your own with narrowing fury. "You used... used..." The word "magic" stuck in her throat like hot tar, refusing to escape her pursed lips, but her voice continued regardless, climbing in octaves, "in this house??" 

It was true, you had been forewarned against the use by your aunt in the car ride home from the station, and you made good on your promises. For most of the summer. She made good on her own promise as well, locking everything you owned - aside from Hedwig ("The bird will stink up the linen closet," uncle Aster had complained to aunt Verna) and the wand you had always kept hidden in case something like this may happen. She then returned her glower down toward your sullen frame. "You made a promise, girl, and so did I. If you think that we will be letting you go back to that freakshow just to learn new tricks, then you are sorely mistaken."

After cleaning up the mess of feathers and various messes that uncle Aster purposefully created, to the humor of Dusley, you finally retreated back to the grateful solitude of your cupboard under the stairs. There greeted you your spoils of war, laid strewn from where they spill from your lap when you were startled. Looking at them with fresh eyes, the few pieces of candy had not been worth this. How were you going to go back to Hogwarts on your own? They took everything. Your textbooks. Your uniform. Quills, ink, parchment, cauldron, and Galleons. Everything. You lifted the loose floorboard and retrieved your wand, wrapping your fingers around it tightly for comfort. "But not my wand." And then it hit you. "Or Hedwig."

When the house fell silent, you padded into the kitchen, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, and wrote a plea for help. Rolling it up, you finally opened her cage door and freed her. The grateful bird stretched her wings before nipping affectionately at your ear in thanks. Hedwig took the note into her beak and stared at you expectantly with those black, round eyes; as vast and deep as the ocean itself. "Find the Abbotts." You watched her fly into the night sky with a bitter sweet medley of emotions, happy that she could finally spread her wings again, but envious of her freedom.

Before the summer break, Hannah had told you that she would talk to her mother about letting you stay there next summer, so you hoped that your plea for help wouldn't come as too much trouble if they were already aware of your situation. The tepid caress of the summer wind felt good on your face, so you lingered a moment before closing the window and returning to your cupboard, now alone.

You had been rigidly counting the days until school resumed, and it would be another week until Hogwarts opened again. Only another week. The fact both relieved and terrified you. Two weeks until you were free from this prison, but conversely, two weeks for some kind of help to come. 

Days stretched agonizingly long and slow as you waited, your eyes constantly glued to the windows. After the owl incident, the Dursleys had taken special care to never leave a window open. You were sure that hope had slipped past your fingertips when finally you heard a sharp tapping on the window. It was the dead of night and sounded distinctly like a beak against glass. You nearly tripped over yourself as you shot out of the stairs and ran to the window, unlocking it and lifting it up. Excitement had gotten the better of you, but thankfully your fervored footsteps and Hegwigs knocking had gone unheard. She wasted no time dawdling outside, flying right in and landed comfortably on your shoulder. You closed the window and your heart lept with joy to see the envelope attached to her leg. 

After giving Hedwig a few chin scratches, you opened up the envelope but paused immediately after. A mysterious glittery substance sat on the bottom of the envelope and coated the letter. You retrieved the letter from the strange substance, and the particles of glinting dust that clung to it fell to your feet.

Dear (y/n),

That's awful, I'm so sorry to hear. I told my mum that you need help getting to the station (don't worry, I didn't tell her the other details) and she's more than happy to help you. We pushed school shopping back as well, so use the floo powder to get to the Leaky Cauldron and we can meet in front of the Magical Junkshop next Friday. 

Love, Hannah

A deluge of anxiety diluted the brief solace as you wracked your boggled mind over how you were supposed to get there, recalling its location in Diagon Alley. Was this dust "floo powder"? Desperate for answers, you flipped the page over, and your worries slid past your lips in a lengthy sigh when you found more writing on the back. 

Sorry, forgot you were raised by muggles for a second. Throw it into a hearth fire, and step into it once it turns green. Then say where you want to go. I can't wait to see you, I've owled Susan and she's excited to go shopping together!

Love, Hannah.

Repose and disquiet interlaced, ladening your mind as the two emotions fought for dominance. Hannah had indeed come to your aid, but with a mysterious powder and very vague instructions for use. Step into fire? How could that be right? 

But you had no other options, so you decided to trust her and do exactly as she instructed, no matter how absurd it may seem. Luck would finally step onto your side, as the Dursleys would be out of the house for a good 30 minutes that day. Aunt Verna was at work, and uncle Aster was taking Dusley with him to go shopping for a new pair of shoes for the coming school year. You were sweeping the floor when they left, Aster silently glowering down at you with eyes ladened with contempt while Dusley simpered arrogantly. You didn't move an inch when they left, waiting until you heard the car pull away and the engine disappeared before dropping the broom and running to the cupboard. You already prepared everything earlier that morning, pulling out Hedwig with the letter before slipping on your sneakers, tying the laces into a crude knot as you fretted over time. Shoving your wand into your pocket, you gathered Hedwig with one hand and grabbed two letters with the other. 

Resting one letter along with Hedwig's cage on the polished coffee table - if uncle Aster saw he would have fainted - you lit the hearth with the flick of the switch and reexamined the other letter, rereading the instructions carefully, though they remained just as obscure no matter how many times you looked back over them. You hoped beyond hope that it wouldn't matter if the fireplace was electric as you dipped your hand into the envelope and chucked a fistful of the sparkling dust into the fire. Your doubts dulled slightly when the flames shifted from a fiery orange to shimmering green the moment the dust sprinkled across it. "Step into it" was the hardest instruction of all.

Fighting against your basest of instincts, you dipped a tentative toe near the fire. Feeling no heat against your worn sneaker, you slowly lowered your foot into the flames and was taken aback by the distinct lack of pain that should have logically followed. Bolstering your courage, you crouched down and bit back your fear, forcing your other foot to join it in the flames. The green fire licked at your body hungrily, but the lapping flames felt no different than the tepid exhale of the summer breeze against your skin. You had to press your knees to your chest to fit inside the humble hearth, holding Hedwig's cage on top of your knees. "Diagon Alley," you instructed, though you could hardly speak, your voice came muffled against the cage bars. Your fingers curled desperately around the wires of the cage, trying to cling onto some kind of support as you felt yourself begin to spin, finding the Dursleys house gone after an unknown amount of dizzying rotations before darkness overtook your vision. After a few passing glimpses of light, you were finally spat back out, tumbling across a cold stone floor, leaving behind only the letter that gave a brief goodbye to your uncaring captures. 

(A/N) - I renamed Petunia to Aster because I wanted to keep the floral naming theme, but it was the only male-sounding flower name I could find ( ´∀｀;;). I usually edit a few times before publishing, but I really want to get into the story, and there are 6 more books to get through, so please excuse any grammatical errors, I'll be going back over it soon. 

Chapter Text

        You were finally released from the vortex, being unceremoniously spat back out and sent tumbling across a cold, dirty wooden floor. Your surroundings finally stilled, but your brain continued to swirl in your skull as you tried to lift yourself off of the hard ground. Hedwig's aggressive hoots drew your attention, and you saw that her cage had rolled across the floor. She beat her wings against the bars and continued to scold you for dropping her even as you scooped her back into your arms. Hugging her protectively against your chest, you looked around your new surroundings with fresh eyes, realizing with a pang of worry that this wasn't the Leaky Cauldron. 

While it shared the same dingy smell of mold and dust, it was much smaller than the sprawling pub, devoid of any patrons or clerks, and swapped the rows of aged trestle tables with glass cases and shelves that carried an assortment of ancient and macabre items. Your wary orbs paused on an open wardrobe, which housed an ominous tenebrous that seemed to reciprocate your gaze. The brief staring contest was interrupted and your flighty form was chased out of the store by the sharp footsteps that clambered behind the backroom door. The gloomy street you emerged into housed a similar menagerie of moldering shops, but instead of exasperating your disquietude, the sight caused a reassuring familiarity to suddenly set in.

You turned around and began to retrace the steps you once took when Draco escorted you through these streets only a year ago, passing by the store windows that were tinted by dust and grime. "Sorry for the scare, forgive me?" you murmured to Hedwig, dipping a finger through the bars. She clacked her beak hesitantly and stared at the offered appendage for a moment before relenting, giving your finger an affectionate nibble. Your reciprocal titters were corked when a familiar voice faintly caught your ear. Glancing toward the source of the sound, your vision was guided down a neighboring street, where you saw the same tall, ivory-maned man that you spotted conversing through hushed tones a year prior. At the time, you were sure that you had heard your name being spoken within the clandestine whispers. Now, however, his dark cohort was replaced by the miniature version of himself. 

"Father!" Malfoy griped, grabbing your attention and ripping your eyes off of the imposing man. "Silence!" his father bit back, tightening his grip on the serpent-shaped head of his walking cane. Your feet began to move again, simmering your previous pace in an effort to create distance between you and your disdainful schoolmate, but you could still hear in the growing distance, "I gave you a single instruction, and you couldn't even do that much."

"But father..."

After a twist and a turn, the arguing voices were drawn out by the lively buzz of the crowded cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley. Your stride heated to a trot as you melded into the bustling crowd, matching the busy flow of parents and the children that clung to their side, all in a fervor to grab their last-minute school supplies. 

You stepped out of the river of bodies when you caught sight of Cranville Quincey's Magical Junkshop sign. "Hannah! Susan!" you called, running to their waiting figures in front of the store. They both turned toward your voice, but instead of smiles, Hannah's face was a flurry of question marks, while Susan's lips suddenly tightened, as though she was holding in her breath. "What happened to you?" Hannah asked. "I think I fell out of the wrong hearth," you tried to explain, enticing Susan to finally belt out the laughter that brewed ticklishly in her stomach. 

"What?" you asked with slight indignation, watching her try in vain to stifle her laughter. "You're covered in soot! I only recognized you thanks to your owl!" she explained before unleashing another series of lengthy titters, nearly doubling over. Susan's fervent laughter contagiously spread to Hannah as you checked your hands. The stains seemed minor, but when you wiped your face and inspected your finger, you saw the thick streak of black that now coated the tips. 

Before your eyes, the dark stain vanished from your fingers, and your body suddenly felt as though it was being attacked by an invisible rag, fondling your face and tugging at your hair until it left your skin feeling as though it had been scoured. Standing behind Hannah was a woman with a wand poised in her hand, who shared the same honey locks and kind smile as her.

After the pleasantries, the four of you stopped at Gringotts to replenish your pockets before traveling down to Flourish and Blotts, but before you could even enter, a clerk stopped you by the door. He informed you briskly that after an incident regarding a boy and his wanderlust toad, no animals were allowed inside the store. With a promise to buy your books for you, they left you waiting outside. 

Your bored eyes wandered around the crowded street before being brought to the posters that were plastered across the quilted window pane beside you. You recognized the name on the posters as the author of many of your textbooks for the year, and you wondered if he was some kind of celebrity in this world that you still had much to learn about. The visage of a beguiling man with wavey sandy locks flashed a shimmering smile of pearly whites to no one in particular as he lifted up his book, which was adorned similarly by a miniature version of the man that flashed the same smile, holding up yet another smaller version of the book and himself, creating a loop of simpering men that eventually escaped your vision. 

You averted your gaze when dizziness began to seep through your eyes and into your brain, and instead gifted your attention to Hedwig, who seemed to be back to her usual self. You rubbed a finger across the sleek plumage of her cheek, reminding yourself to stop by the Owlery for some treats when a shadow suddenly cast over you, and a pair of shiny, black leather shoes entered your vision. You tentatively peeled your eyes from your owl, peering upward. 

Malfoy's father towered over you almost predatorily, with eyes as colorless as the hair that draped against his back staring down into your own, devoid of the smile that lifted the features that framed them. He held a hand that was wrapped by matching black leather out for you to take.

"Miss Potter, I presume?"

Swallowing the knot that anxiety had knitted inside your throat, you briskly nodded your head and timidly took his hand. His long, thin fingers wrapped around your own like the jaws of a wolf trapping a naive hare. "Charmed to finally meet you. I am Lucius Malfoy." Just like his son, his lips curled ever so slightly as they articulated his family name. He dipped his head, arching his back as he brought your hand to his face, politely placing his lips against your knuckles. You retracted your hand the moment he released it, hiding it behind your back as you wiped it on your shirt. Though his lips had been dry, something about his touch caused your skin to crawl. 

"I'm sure you've met my son, Draco... Draco," he reprimanded coldly. It wasn't until you saw the sulking boy step from behind his father that you realized he had been there at all. It was the quietest you had ever seen him. Lucius placed a hand on his son's back and shoved him forward before returning his scowling gaze back to you, the mask of amiability falling back into place.

"He speaks very fondly of you." All it took was a glance at Malfoy's glower to know that was a lie, but it tickled you regardless. The power you held over him at that moment caused a smile to spread across your face, stretching further as you saw Draco's glower turn fearful when he recognized the impish glimmer in your eyes.

"Yes, we talk often," you replied mercifully yet truthfully. Lucius seemed pleased by this response, and Malfoy's tense frame visually deflated as he silently exhaled his pent-up anxiety. Lucius bid his farewell, and for a moment you wondered if you saw a hint of something softening Malfoy's glare before his father gave a firm tap of his cane against his thin ankle, ushering him into the bookstore. 

You hadn't bothered telling your friends what transpired while they were shopping, deciding you would rather not dampen the outing, and the conversation was quickly whisked into more lighthearted chatter and silly quips. After gathering your supplies at the Apothecary (once again becoming lagged by a large bottle of wriggling slime mold) you paused in front of the Quality Quidditch, gazing at the broom in the window as you remembered the freedom that riding gifted. 

"Are you guys gonna try out for Quidditch?" you asked Hannah and Susan outside Florean Forterscues Ice cream Parlour. Hannah simply shook her head, the spoon in her mouth preoccupying her attention. Susan contemplated the notion for a moment, before finally giving a "nah." 

"I think I might," you told them absentmindedly before taking another bite of your ice cream. Susan simpered, raising an eyebrow, "I bet. I'm sure Cedric will be very pleased to have you on the team." Your face flushed with color, and you whipped your scowling face toward her. 

"What? You're a very good flier," she teased coyly. 

Your ice cream cups sat empty on the table, but you continued to loiter in front of the ice cream parlor. The conversation had turned to each other's summer vacations, and your friends became enraptured by the details of your thieving escapade and the fallout that ensued. Then you remembered. Digging into your pocket, you pulled out a handful of candy. You hadn't wanted to waste the trouble it took to snag the sweets, so you brought them along. Your friends watched you pluck one from the small pile on your hand. "Here... It's a sherbert lemon," you informed them in response to their quizzical stares.

They looked warily at the muggle candy and then at each other. Realizing it would be rude to refuse, Hannah gave Susan a fleeting look that said, "here goes nothing" before accepting the offered sweet. Unwrapping it, she closed her eyes and plopped it into her mouth. Her furrowed brow rose in surprise, and her apprehension melted away. "It's good," she announced, her cheek now jutting out subtly.

Chapter Text

        The second school year started differently than your first; with a swift carriage ride through the cool night air instead of the churning voyage across the Black Lake, and during the Sorting Ceremony, it was you who cheered for the first years that came to your table. "You're in the same House as (y/n) Potter!" some would brag, but you tried to tune those comments -  and the stares they conjured - out. The day ended in the same way, however, as you found (with great relief) the trunk that contained all of your worldly possessions sat safely in front of your bed, before slumbering within the warm embrace of the quilted sheets that adorned it. Only within this castle did you feel home again, like a stray puzzle piece being pressed back into place. You felt complete.

While your dorm mates took their time peeling themselves from the cajoling caress of their beds, you were already slipping on your robe. You were one of the first bodies inside of the Great Hall, and enjoyed the pale beams of sunlight that streamed through the high windows as your table slowly but surely filled up around you. 

"We get to pick extracurricular this year," Ernie Macmillan announced. 

"I heard some fourth years talking about ancient runes, it sounds interesting," Susan said. 

"I just want to pass Potions before I have to worry about new classes," you quipped, picking up the goblet of tea that was wafting an attractive pillar of steam. A lagged Hannah slumped into the seat beside you before erupting with a loud yawn, and you passed her her own goblet of fresh tea. 

The flutter of the owls that streamed above your head was peripheral to your foggy mind as you helped yourself to a mouthful of toast. But you nearly choked on the dry crumbs when a large package was unceremoniously dumped onto the table in front of you - spilling a goblet of orange juice and flattening a plate of eggs. You had never gotten even a single letter during your first year at Hogwarts, as the only people who cared about you were already inside this castle, but your second year started off with a giant package. The package was long and wrapped with thick brown paper, and the unfortunate owl that was tasked with hauling the parcel all the way to Hogwarts was grateful to be lighten as it flew back through the window. All of the Hufflepuffs that lined your table and most of the Gryffindors gathered around you, while the Ravenclaws and Slytherins that curiously peeked over were still attached to their seats.

It was obvious by the long, thin silhouette what it was. What kind was the real question. Despite the annoyance of the boisterous crowd that huddled around you, curiosity drove your fingers through the brown paper, and you pulled the broom free of its confines, earning collective gasps of mingling envy and glee. By now even Slytherins were out of their seats, standing on tip toes to see what the commotion was.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Justin Finch-Fletchley exclaimed to the inquisitive onlookers who couldn't get an eye in. Curious stares turned to wagging tongues and greedy hands, and it wasn't until Hagrid stepped off the High Table and corralled the students that you had any room to breathe. The handle was sleek and smooth, and the thickness of the wood would make you assume it was heavy, yet even in your thin arms, it felt no heavier than your goblet of tea. 

"Quidditch tryouts are on Wednesday," a familiar voice called out. Looking up, you were struck by Cedric's beaming smile as he leaned across the table.

        "Who would send you something like that?" Malfoy had derided in the halls after breakfast, but you had no retort. You kept asking yourself that very question and kept coming up empty. It came without a letter, just a tag that said, "happy birthday, (y/n)."

You wondered initially if it was meant for someone else, "what if the owl dropped it in front of the wrong person?" but you pushed those thoughts back instantly. You wanted this broom too much to even ponder the possibility that you would have to hand it to someone else. And besides, you knew that the moment you were in the air any thoughts would stay on the ground below. 

Your eyes were plastered to the picturesque sky above you as you strolled past the vegetable garden on your way to the greenhouse. When you stepped into the new greenhouse, however, your new surroundings quickly straightened out your head. Larger plants than you had ever seen in the previous greenhouse lounged in their terracotta pots, some squirming to the beat of a silent drum. Professor Sprout was the same as always though, with a few spots of soil already staining her robes despite the fact that this was the first class of the day. The subject of the first lesson of the year was a particularly interesting one; mandrakes. You had read about them just that summer, but those creatures were the size of an adult and shaped like a gnarled mass of roots - these things were more akin to an extra sprouty, extra ugly potato. 

Their dangerous shrieking was nothing more than the squirming of the little hole that appeared to be a mouth with your ears protected, but the little buggers were surprisingly strong, and not keen to slide into their new homes. Yours was exceptionally fussy, its stubby excuse for appendages flailing around in blind fury. From the corner of your eye, you watched Neville collapse, smacking his head against the hardwood of the trestle table. Your own cheeky creature took advantage of your distraction and wrapped its screaming hole around your hand, biting down with surprising strength. Despite the protection of dragonhide gloves, your hand was still smarting when you trudged through the castle.

The moment you found yourself back in the castle, you headed straight to the common room, where you jotted your name among others for the Quidditch team tryouts. Afterward, you spent lunch with Hagrid, where you found that the rock cakes were edible if you dunked them in the tea. You learned that Norbert was actually a Norberta, and she was doing well according to Charlie's letter. Forlorning still dampened Hagrid's eyes though, and he had to excuse himself to grab a handkerchief at one point.

        The days widdled down impossibly slow, but your patience continued to be tested even when Wednesday finally arrived. The anticipation of tryouts had become so distracting that the stool you were supposed to charm into dancing instead flung one of its legs off, giving Neville's shin a bruise that matched the one on his forehead. After Magic History - which you spent near entirely doodling your new broom among a group of lumpy clouds - you bolted from your desk and through the halls, deaf to the scolding of the prefects you passed. Your ardent pace was only slowed when the task of navigating the skyborne staircases arose, and when the marble beneath your feet was swapped for grass, you bounded toward the Quidditch field. 

You felt like a shrub within a forest as you stood among the sporty bodies that knotted together beside the towering stands, but your Nimbus Two Thousand was a honed sword inside a collection of rusty knives. 

The team members hovered in the air while Cedric stood in front of the throng of yellow and black clad bodies. His voice effortlessly commanded their attention as he instructed the mass to form four orderly lines depending on the position they were trying out for. From what you had learned during your research, Keeper seemed like the most sensible position; simply protect the goals. Chaser was also an alluring prospect, and while the idea of bludgeoning your enemies and protecting your allies felt best, you weren't confident enough in the upper arm strength required to be a Beater. 

The line of Seekers was the shortest, followed closely by Beaters; would-be Keepers, and then Chasers was the longest by far.

Cedric took one look at the lines, and announced, "sorry to say, we aren't currently in need of Keepers or Chasers this year, but we are always in need of provisional players. Otherwise, I would recommend considering Seeker or Beater." Your fingers tightened around your broom, and your head swiveled around, observing the people that either merged with the other lines or headed back for the castle. Two options now laid ahead of you; bench-warming or another position. 

Nibbling nervously on your lip, you made the quick decision to meld into the line of Seekers, which was now a few bodies longer. Seeker was the last position you had wanted, as it carried the weight of the entire game on your shoulders. Only two lines now remained, and Cedric nodded at them before turning his attention to the field. Following his instruction, you took to the air around the edge of the pitch, among a flock of other prospective Seekers, and watched as Cedric opened up the box, unleashing the four crazed balls inside. The two black ones were already driving toward the hovering bodies in the middle of the field while the burgundy ball was thrown into the air by Cedric before he joined the rest in the sky; the small golden ball had already disappeared. 

Your hopes towards your performance during the practice had skyrocketed once you acquired your new broom, sure that you would blow every other prospect out of the sky, but that hope was gone the moment you tried to fly forward. You had only ever ridden on the brooms inside the broom shed, which were considered new around Madam Hooch's own time at school. The sudden acceleration nearly knocked you off, and you found yourself having to acclimate midair. Your fingers wrapped tightly around the tip of the broom, which curved up ever so slightly, allowing better control. 

"Oi, watch it!" Zacharias Smith would chide when you had drifted too close to the goal, which was often. A prospective Beater took the opportunity of his distracted focus to smack a Bludger into him. Luckily it only clipped the side of his head, but regardless he unleashed a torrent of verbal wrath your way. 

"It's just practice, Zach," Cedric called. It was enough to end the slew of abuse that he had unleashed upon you, but couldn't quell the heated glower that mutely continued the foul language. You pretended to see the Golden Snitch and flew off toward the stands, but it was simply an excuse to put distance between you and him. 

Then, you actually saw it. That eye-catching glitter of sunlight was unmistakable. But so had the others. The specks of canary yellow suddenly merged into a single swarm as they all set their sights on the tiny flighty ball, but you were quickly becoming acquainted with your broom. You pressed your body against the handle and soon your outstretched hand broke through the tide, the tips of your fingers trying to stretch from their joints as they desperately reached. Although the whipping of the winds against your ears had deafened your surroundings, you were so close that you swore you could hear the faint beating of its wings. Just when you were close enough to wrap your gloved fingers around it, the Snitch abruptly turned left, into a perfect 90-degree dodge from your outstretched fingers. But your body reacted before your mind could, and it flew straight into your other hand. 

Your eyes widened owlishly at the sensation of the wings wriggling against your palm, but your flabergasted smile fell from your face as you felt your body slip from your broom. You released the Snitch, forgetting entirely about the game as you instead focused on steadying the precarious tilt off your broom. Wrapping your legs around the handle, you desperately clamped your hands back on, and like a sloth on a branch, you were suspended upside down for a moment before righting yourself. You sucked in air in an effort to quell your erratic heart, and when your feet gratefully touched land again, you found Cedric had appeared at your side. His hand clutched your shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Judging from the length of his perfect, toothy smile, you never would have thought you nearly dropped from the sky. 

"I knew you'd be bloody brilliant."

Chapter Text

        You dropped an armful of dead leaves into the compost barrel. They were in no short supply, the temperamental autumn winds bearing a relentless siege against the branches and the frail leaves that lingered on them. The smell of dragon dung filled the greenhouse with its pungent odor, bracing your senses better than any caffeinated beverage. The plants seemed to love it, though, judging by their lengthy stature and the many arms branching off their stems. The scent of fertilizer was offset by the fruity perfume of a pot that was in bloom, with flowers nearly as big as your head and more flamboyantly colored than a bird, but you had seen the petals of one flower coil into a fist around a bug that strode too close, so you took the warning. 

One eye-catching flora clung to the greenhouse walls, its wriggling stems anchored between the window panes. A sudden yelp disrupted the tranquil atmosphere, and when you turned your head, you saw Neville sprawled out on the ground, as well as the vine of that plant slinking back into the shadows. After helping him up, you made a mental note to add those vines to the compost pile. That plant clearly needed pruning. 

Much of the studying you had gotten done during summer break was reading One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, so your hand had hovered in the humid air during much of class, rewarding your House twenty points in total. That would prove fortunate because you had lost nearly that much in Potions. Even though it was still the beginning of the year, Snape hadn't tapered his usual loathsome behavior. Instead, it was more as though he had been waiting all summer just to hover over your cauldron, filling your ears with minute criticisms laden with plenty of scorn. As if he could smell the weakness that wafted off of you, he bombarded you with questions he somehow knew you had no answer for.

The trend seemed to continue into Transfiguration. Luckily, Professor McGonagall hadn't hovered over you the entire class, but she had turned a deep shade of red when you insisted that you hadn't failed the assignment; you had turned your quill into a button instead of the beetle that you were meant to be transfiguring (the scurrying creature had gotten to close to it while evading your wand). She did not share this opinion, however. 

To clear your head, you spent the lunch break in the air, but when it was time to come back inside, your sun-warmed skin chilled dreadfully as you made your way back into the dungeons. This year's Defense Against the Dark Arts was with Slytherin. 

When you wrenched open the heavy wooden door, you were immediately met by the golden-haired face that covered the posters from Flourish and Blotts standing in front of the class, striking the same smile and pose, as if your eyes were the camera. You had heard that Professor Quirrell had gotten into some trouble in Transylvania, but seeing this man was a marked surprise. His name had taken up 1/3 of the expansive blackboard, etched in white chalk; Professor Gilderoy Lockheart. You couldn't help but become distracted by the books that stood on his desk, which were mimicking his movement like a backward mirror. When you went to sit down, you were caught by the arm that was slung affectionately over your shoulders. "Ah! Miss potter! I've been looking forward to meeting you as much as you had been me!" You glanced up at him quizzically, and an awkward silence filled the classroom.

"I too have fought against the darkest of dark arts. Though never sustained a wound of course." Lockheart's pale blue eyes stared unabashedly at the cloak of fringe that hid the scar. Malfoy's once languid stare became narrowed as he observed your conjoined frames. 

"Yeah..." Thankfully Lockheart unsnaked his arm before you had to duck beneath it. Hannah wasn't the only person that gave you a look that silently screamed of your luck as you sat down, but you refused to regard them. Malfoy leaned in his chair, hissing behind you, "how gallant of the celebrity to sit among us common folk." Your face flushed with chagrin, but before you could retort Malfoy had straightened his back and redirected his irked gaze. 

"Are we going to start class anytime soon?" The derision that ladened his tone was lost on the professor, who simply pointed an enthusiastic finger toward the pale boy. His jovial smile stretched further across his face, exposing his perfect teeth. "Excited for the lesson, I see! Quite right when you see what I have planned for you!" He whipped around back to the board, his sweeping turquoise robe twirled around his legs in tune with the motion, and the chalk began to move at his mute command, dancing across the blackboard with the same curvacious penmanship that incorporated the signature beside it; The Art of Dueling. Your disposition perked up in pleasant surprise. It would be an improvement from learning which type of garlic vampires hated most. 

Lockheart turned back to the class, standing inside of the tide of light that billowed from the candles, his mane seemed like it was truly made of spun gold in how it shone. "I'm not sure what the last professor taught you, though by word of my previous classes and judging by the smell of garlic that has clung to the furnishing, I can assume that I won't be continuing his curriculum." He paused for the laughter, and after the trickle of awkward titters and a cough, he continued, his smile never wavering. 

"We shall be putting our wands to use this class! You should all feel blessed that I am the one teaching you this art. I have faced many a foe - dark wizard and foul creature alike - and I can tell you that you will not find a wizard as experienced as myself." He was pleased by the stirring that now filled the seats before him, and his beaming smile seemed to glow even brighter in the dim classroom against the glowing interest of their orbs.

"Now! Let us start with a pair of volunteers..." He hadn't even pretended to skim the class, and instead went straight to you without missing a beat. "Miss Potter! Yes, I think you'll do just fine. Come, come!" While he waved his hand, you remained heavy in your chair.

"Ah, um, I don't think-"

"Yes, yes, humble as always! Bravo! Now, come, come!" Having no other choice, with great reluctance you stood from your seat and begrudgingly dragged your feet to the front of the class. After resting a hand on your shoulder, he returned to the rest of the class, "any other-" before he could even finish, Malfoy's hand shot through the air, his arm stiff as a board. His eyes had glued to your own, never breaking as he took his place on Lockhart's other side. 

Lockhart shook your shoulder slightly in enthusiasm, causing you to wobble, before releasing you. Lockheart seemed to merely interpret the silent exchange of animosity between you both as excitement. "That's the ticket! Now, go to opposite ends of the room, just like that, and take your wands out. Good, good." Once you were in position, he continued.

"We will be learning and practicing a simple Disarming Spell, though later this year I might be so inclined to teach you some more hair raising spells. But for today, you will be using the Expelliamus Charm! First, we must recognize the traditions. You must bow to each other." He demonstrated, sweeping his hand in front of him before dipping his torso. You could tell by the heat glinting in Malfoy's colorless eyes that he was smitten to get revenge for the slugs that you had forced him to expel. A sadistic simper curled the edges of your lips as you recalled the slugs that poured from his mouth instead of the usual deluge of malice. 

Your torsos bent, but your faces remained upright, glowers refusing to pry off one another. You didn't trust Malfoy as far as you could throw him, and his enthusiasm for the duel only alluded to the fact that he clearly had something planned. All the while your head combed through the various curses and hexes you had learned. The memory of the shattered mantle inside of the secret room flashed before your mind, and though you tried to shake it away, your hand had loosened on your wand regardless. 'I don't need those spells,' you told yourself in an attempt to rebolster your fire.

As soon as Lockheart's countdown began, Malfoy flung his arm from his side faster than you could react. "Locomotor Wibbly!" Your legs suddenly felt like your knees had turned to water as they collapsed from beneath you. The students rose from their seats, and the room became more akin to a Quidditch stadium than a classroom, hands in the air as they hollered their encouragements and jeers. "Now children-" Lockhart tried to intervene, but Malfoy already had another spell in his holster, finally giving voice to the malignance that was glinted balefully in his eyes; the spell that he had saved up ever since the summer, sprang forth, "Slugulus Eru-"

"Impedimenta!" you shouted desperately, and the rest of the spell dripped from his lips like molasses, each syllable elongated ridiculously. "T-that was a good counterspell, Potter, but-"

"Expelliarmus!" What Lockhart had neglected to teach, was that your wand needed to be aimed at your opponent's. The bright burst of crimson that exhaled from your wand slammed against Malfoy's chest with enough force to smack his body against the stone wall behind him with a sickening thud. He slid down to the floor in a heap, causing the class to draw a collective breath while the pile of rubble beneath the shattered mantle swam to the forefront of your mind, causing your heart to stumble. A relieved exhale escaped your lips when you saw him stir, but before you could apologize, his arm raised, his hand shaking from anger and his fingers wound so tightly around his wand that his knuckles were white. 

"Serpensortia!"

Silence blanketed the room as a long black snake slithered out from the tip of Malfoy's wand. Lockhart himself paled, his radiant smile nowhere to be seen. With your legs splayed out on the ground in front of you, you were eye level with the snake, and with your knees still jinxed, you had no means of escape. The serpant slithered toward you, but the pernicious shade in the snake's slitted eyes vanished when they connected with your own. You shared none of the fear around you. Instead, a smile quirked your lips. 

"Hello," you greeted. The snake tilted its head ponderously before reciprocating, "good evening." Your eyes flashed deviously to Malfoy, who now wore a pallor to rival Lockheart's. "You wouldn't mind giving my friend here a little scare, would you?" The serpent paused and looked over its nonexistent shoulder before heeding your command. A pathetic whimper escaped Malfoy's throat as the snake slithered toward him with its intimidating length in the air. Your widened smile vanished in tune with the snake, which evaporated into a fine black mist as suddenly as it had been conjured. 

"I heard shouting," a familiar voice spoke from behind you. Snapping your head around, your owlish gaze found Snape, but this time his heated glower was locked on Lockhart. "What exactly is going on in here," he inquired through a tensed jaw. His voice was nothing above a soft whisper, yet it was more jarring than a scream. Lockhart stuttered through his explanation while Snape redirected his wand toward you without breaking his eye contact with the professor. You flinched back at what you presumed would be a punishment of some sort, but you only found that your legs suddenly functioned again. 

You were lifting yourself back up when the bell rang, and bodies filed out so quickly that after gathering your things, you had to run to your friends. "Malfoy is an absolute-" but when you glanced at Susan's face, you found that she was purposefully staring at the ground. When you looked to the others, they were the same.  It seemed like they felt more comfortable looking in every direction that you didn't exist in. "What's wrong?"

Hannah spoke for them. "We just didn't know you were a parselmouth, that's all..." You were taken aback when Susan explained what parselmouth was and how rare the talent was. "It's kinda cool that you can speak parseltongue," she said, but her amiable voice didn't reach her troubled eyes. You didn't understand their obvious discomfort. You had found the skill extremely useful when tasked with weeding the garden, even becoming friends with a local garter snake that lived between gardens. Snakes were quite nice when you got to know them, and offer much better conversation than your family. 

~~

        "Parsel Potter," had started as a cruel nickname created by the Slytherins and shared only in class, but after Peeves caught wind of it, he was kind enough to spread it through the whole school in the form of an annoyingly catching song, and soon enough it was on the tip of everyone's tongue. The lingering glances and murmurs behind cupped hands had nearly died out after the first year, but the messy events of the duel had spread like wildfire around the school, fanned by the already infamous name of 'Potter' that was attached to it. Becoming deaf to the brittle titters of the Slytherin and a few Ravenclaw was much easier than becoming blind to the occasional wary glances of the Hufflepuffs who had been in the class at the time. 

Luckily, Quidditch practice had taken up most of your free time. After the humiliating defeat that Hufflepuff suffered against Slytherin last year, Cedric had started ramping up practice now that the match with Ravenclaw was coming up. When you stepped onto the pitch, the only whispering that touched your ears was the whipping of the crisp autumn wind, as all that existed for the team was managing those four balls.

When you would find the Snitch, you simply followed after it, preferring to trail after it like a shadow than bother snatching it from the air. It was less of a game of chase and more a means of fleeing the burdensome thoughts and feelings that stalked after your own flighty frame. Eventually, the Golden Snitch would turn in some direction and disappear again, and your hunt was back on.

Draco had been shaken during the duel, but the next day at Potions he appeared as cool as a cucumber, retelling the events as though the terrifying experience was simply some comedic joke that he was the architect of. While everyone else had their noses pointed toward their desks, he folded a piece of parchment into the visage of an origami crane before parting his smirking lips and gently blowing it gracefully toward you. It glided deftly through the dungeon air and landed gracefully with a few flaps of its wings on top of the brass scales in front of you. You put your quill down and unfurled the paper, smoothing out the folds with your thumb as you stared at it. On the parchment was an animated drawing of a girl with a scratchy mop of (h/l) (h/c) hair and a lightning bolt scar above one of her black dot eyes. From all of the sides of the paper, sketchy, noodly snakes slithered out, followed by the words that appeared above the girl's messy head, "Parsel Potter's only friends."

You whipped your face behind you, meeting with his simpering face, but the now crumpled piece of parchment that itched to be chucked at his smug head stayed in your hand. Both of you knew very well which held the greater influence in this domain. All you could do was turn back around and try and ignore the amused eyes that burrowed holes in your back. In your anger, you accidentally squished your Doxy egg, and Snape added insult to injury by noting the runniness of your potion far louder than necessary. 

When the bell tolled your freedom, you slammed your textbook shut with a punctual thud that only displayed an ounce of your frustration and glided outside of that rank dungeon before anyone else. Down the hall, Justin Finch-Fletchley jogged up to meet with the vexed stomp of your pace. "Don't bother with Malfoy, he's just embarrassed about losing the duel." You hadn't spoken much with Justin despite sharing your classes with him, but the kind word doused some of the fire in your chest. You weren't the only one that heard him, though.

"So Parsel Potter consorts with snakes and mudbloods. How fitting." You didn't need to look back to know who said that, but instead of anger, confusion molded your features as you looked back at him. He was flanked by his cronies, but you hardly noticed them. "Mudblood?"

"What did you just say?" a voice hissed behind you, catching you all off guard. The boy had a flaming head of hair that matched the Weasley twins but stood much taller and leaner than them. His horror-stricken leer was plastered solely to your face. Your eyes drifted lower, and your heart dropped when you saw his silver prefect badge. You parted your lips to speak in your defense, but Malfoy spoke faster. "Potter called poor Justin Finch-Fletchley here a mudblood." 

The lie was so audacious that it completely wiped your protest from your head, and all you could do was gape helplessly for a moment. Justin stared at him just as incredulously, but found his words. "He was the one who called me that!" he said with an accusatory finger. Though Justin knew just as much about that word as you, he recognized that it was a horrible insult judging by the prefect's reaction to its simple utterance. Malfoy innocently shook his head while the Gryffindor prefect watched them all closely.

"He's a loyal lad, trying to save his House's reputation and points from Potter's vile tongue- I'm sure you've heard she's a parslemouth, so it's quite fitting that her mouth would be full of venom." Red drenched your vision and your chest swelled with your pent-up voice, your shoulders threw back as you sunk your hand into your pocket and gripped your wand. The prefect was faster, grabbing your wrist as you pulled it from your robe. His hand was able to double around your thin wrist, and your wand was effortlessly wrenched from your hand. Malfoy's smile never flinched, and stretched with immense pleasure as he watched you get dragged off by the prefect.

Chapter Text

        "I ain't gonna say I told yeh so..." Hagrid began, and thankfully ended it with a somber, "jus', now yeh know," letting the rest of the words remain unspoken. The sullen clouds that silently overcast your disposition coated his victory in a bitter taste, so he quickly changed the subject. "It'll be a'right, a lil trouble's good fer a kid. Those Weasley twins jus' got done wit' their second detention this year. Yeh better get up to some more mischief if yeh wanna catch up." The lighthearted joke was appreciated, but ineffective in swaying your mood. Little did he know, the name Weasley was one of the last you wanted to hear. Despite the visual resemblance, you could hardly believe that that prefect was Fred and George's brother. He was devoid of even an ounce of the twin's lackadaisical nature, and possessed a scowl and smile that were equal in their pompousness, and the air of self-importance that wafted off of him hung like an odor.

Thankfully though, he had brought you to your House professor, who knew you better than to assume you'd call anyone by that horrible name, let alone someone of your own House, so you hadn't been deducted any points. There was still the matter of using your wand in the corridors and potentially against another student, so your wand had been confiscated before detention and held for the night. Professor Sprout taught the first class of the morning, so she promised to give it back to you then. Being as it was outside Snape's class that you had gotten into trouble, you thanked the minimal amount of luck you had that she had tasked Hagrid with your detention instead. 

Hagrid stood beside you, with a ridiculous-sized rake that fit his ridiculous-size frame, keeping you company during your detention. While you listened half-heartedly to his complaints about the slugs that had found his oversized vegetable garden, your eyes couldn't help but linger on the Quidditch field. The Ravenclaw match was nearing closer, and it was Hufflepuff's day to use it, but you weren't there for your team. You were here, a speck on the massive grounds of Hogwarts, raking up drops in a sea of autumn-dyed leaves that scattered the immense area. 

The disappointment that shrunk Cedric's kind smile still hung heavy in your mind, chastizing you mercilessly. You were desperate to take your mind somewhere else. 

"Hagrid, what is a mudblood?" The moment the word slipped past your lips, his steady raking stop completely, and when you looked up at him, he was staring down at you with a deep crease between his bushy brows. He watched you for a few seconds before letting out a rough exhale that ran visually down his thick, scraggly beard. "It's a cruel name tha' purebloods - like teh Malfoy's, I told yeh-" he stopped himself, biting back the flood of word bile and animosity that that word brought up. He ran a hand through his beard and smoothed the coal bristles along with his emotions. "It's a name tha' folks tha' ain't worth their spit call muggleborns. Means dirty blood." He followed it with a sharp exhale in the form of a dry laugh and started raking again. "Yer mother was muggleborn, an' never was there a finer witch!" Your ears perked up at the mention of your mother, and you noticed that the blaze in his eyes had begun to shimmer with admiration. He flicked his flint gaze to you, and though his beard hid his mouth, you watched the apples of his cheeks bloom with a smile. "And her daughter's shapin' up teh same. Though she's got a touch o' her dad's trouble makin'."

Hagrid invited you inside to supplement the dinner that you had missed with some treacle fudge he had made, but where the rock cakes had threatened to crack your teeth, the fudge nearly pulled them out at the root, so you went back to the castle hungry. Padding through the halls, you kept your head on a swivel, making sure that if you saw those yellow saucers of Mrs. Norris's that you'd get a good head start before she could summon Mr. Filch. 

The distant murmuring of a faint whisper caused your heart to stumble, but when you looked around, you found nothing but the sconce-bound torches and the deep shadows that they cast. The blanket of silence fell back over the corridor, but just as you began your trek again, the same muffled sound cast softly off of the stone walls. Or, was it in the wall? Your brow furrowed with puzzlement, and you gingerly stepped toward the wall, standing as still as the suits of armor as you tentatively rested an ear against the cold stone. 

"...Blood... Ssssssssweet blood... I want to tasssssssssste..." You wrenched your body away as if it suddenly burned, stumbling backward before falling back on your rear. The drumming of your heart filled your ears as you pulled yourself back up, never breaking your eyes off of the carved stone in front of you. It was unmistakable. There was a voice inside of the walls. And it wasn't the castle's usual, campy inhabitance; it was high and cold, like the cracking of ice, and reminiscent of the foreboding voice that haunted your dreams.

"Disgrace! PATHETIC!"

Your breath caught in your throat when a scream ripped through the corridor. Your heart sank as the frigid whispering replayed your ears like a ghost, "Ssssssssweet blood" and your feet reacted before your mind could. You found two other students, one standing with their hand clutching their mouth in terror, and the other laid sprawled on the ground in front of them. The boy on the ground stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, while the girl's eyes were stuck to you. The girl had long red hair, a speckling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and wore a frightful pallor that managed to somehow pale further when your eyes connected.

"What happened?" you asked breathlessly, and whether it was your voice or her scream, more students had been summoned from the woodwork. Cedric was among them, and was the first to clear the students from the splayed body. You noticed Percy had popped up from the small crowd as well but quickly vanished in search of a professor. You stood static among the bodies, watching Cedric hold his wrist in search of a pulse, but you were unaware of the set of eyes of that first-year student that had never peeled off you, or the silly name that was now shrouded in an ominous shadow as it repeated in her head.

"Parsel Potter."

~~

        Lockhart's hand found your shoulder as soon as you stepped into the Defense dungeon. "It's too bad that you hadn't gotten detention with me! I would have taken the time to take you under my wing and show you how to properly manage fame!"

As if to demonstrate, he again snaked his arm around your back and clapped your other shoulder. Draco stepped into the room just in time to see this, and his mood instantly soured as his eyes lingered on the arm that bound you to the handsome professor - somehow blind to the annoyed expression that subtly pinched your features. Lockhart knelt down slightly, pulling you closer, and said, "that incident was quite jarring for someone like you, I'm sure, but if you ever get scared you know you can come to me. They didn't hire me as the Defense professor because of my good looks - although they did win me the Witch Weekly award for best smile." He gave you a demonstration just as Draco slammed the door shut, unwittingly and uncaringly slamming it in someone's face. Lockhart's body shot back up like a coiled spring, nearly jumping off the ground, and his lips parted as though he was on the precipice of shrieking.

It seemed to you that he was more scared of the attack than you were. Running a hand through his golden mane in an effort to steady his frazzled nerves and heart, his frightened mien vanished as he retrieved his bravest smile and slid back into the persona of the worldly professor. "As enthusiastic as ever, Mr. Malfoy! Good on you!" Draco responded with a cloying grin dripping with condescension, but the intended insult flew right over Lockhart's handsome head. 

The incident last night had caused a wave of disquietude to ripple across the students and professors alike; everywhere except the Defense classroom. A more pressing matter had taken over the current class. The swarm of cornish pixies sieged control over the dank domain, chucking wads of paper and erasers at students and smashing ink wells with the mischievous fury of a dozen Peeves.

By the time you slipped out of the classroom, you were rubbing a sore pixie bite on your ear when a sly hand reached into your bag. "I wonder how much a pen from the great (y/n) Potter would sell for?" Before you could react, another arm reached over and grabbed another object from your bag, one that had gotten lost in your pile of textbooks; a black leather-bound journal. "Even better, a notebook -" George was cut off by the hand that suddenly flew at him. "Give that back!" you demanded with an ardor that momentarily caught them off guard. They stared down at you in surprise for a moment before the stoking of their mischievous flames sparkled through their matching eyes. Dangling it just out of reach, they spoke to each other as you hopped on your tiptoes with your grabby hands outstretched. 

"I wonder what's inside."

"Give-"

"Maybe a list of boys' names?"

"-that-"

"Perhaps some teachers' names with hexes beside them?"

"-back!"

"Or new swear words?"

But their fun had ended when the book was plucked from Georges's own hands. You thanked Cedric as he gave it back to you, hugging it protectively to your chest. "What are you two doing? I assume you didn't come here just to tease second-years."

"Nah, that was just a fun little bonus," Fred said before glancing at George, sharing a pensive stare before shifting that gaze to you. They hovered over you, shoulder to shoulder, and both put a hand on either of your shoulders, speaking in a rare dire tone, "remember that favor we did for you last year? That dragon-sized problem we made disappear? Well, it's time to pay up."

"We need you to take down Slytherin."

"Utterly crush them."

"Into tiny, unrecognizable pieces." Gryffindor's game against Slytherin had taken place within a downpour so dense that you could see little more than the occasional red or green blur through the pelting of raindrops, relying entirely on Lee Jordan's narration. The pained groan he gave at the end was enough to know that Slytherin had won.

"They've gone undefeated for too long. We've seen you on the field," George's eyes flicked back up to Cedric, who had a skeptical brow raised. "Not that we were spying. Just happened to find a pair of Omnioculars laying around the broom shed and have a healthy love of the game, that's all." He then brought his attention back to you, "anyways, we've seen you fly, and well, you're good. Not as good as our Seeker, mind you-"

"Gryffindors got the best team on the field, of course," Fred added.

"-but you've got a brilliant broom and some good moves. Might be a good enough combination to put those smarmy green troll-snoggers in their place."

"This is to say if ol' Ceddy boy here is able to out cat our Oliver." Cedric folded his arms as George coiled his own affectionately around his neck, and the boasting stretched his smile.

"Which is more likely than not," Cedric retorted with lackadaisical confidence.

"Haha! I wish Wood told jokes half as funny as yours!" George shot back.

You stood in silence, simply watching them as they conversed and teased. You expected an outrageous request from them, but you hadn't even played your first game yet. When you looked to Cedric for help, he only smiled down at you, his hazel eyes glinting playfully. "Well? Are you going to utterly crush Slytherin?" your captain asked. His smile was suddenly contagious. 

"Into tiny, unrecognizable pieces," you agreed.

Chapter Text

        When you laid your head on the pillow, it wasn't thoughts of the looming game against Ravenclaw that laden your mind, but the unearthed journal. You had only set the journal aside because of the minimal time you knew you had to explore that secret room behind the Slytherin hearth, but with the start of the school year, you had completely forgotten about your winter companion.

You couldn't help wondering what Tom had done during the summer. Was he forced to go back to the orphanage? Did he have to make the same grand escape from his muggle captures that you had? You were so tempted to wet your quill and put those questions to paper that you sat back up, but a sudden apprehension bit deeper than your curiosity. You hadn't written him all summer. Would he be mad? Sad? Would he even respond anymore? The notion of watching your words sink into the page only to be met with sallow parchment was enough to ice your desire.

'Later,' you told yourself as you slipped back under the covers. 'I have to focus on Quidditch right now. I'll write him later.'

It would prove the better idea, as you would need all the sleep you could get that week before the game. It seemed that the Weasley's words had lit a fire under him, because from then on Cedric started practice at dawn. The sun still remained hidden behind the treeline of the Forbidden Forest, but its glow warmed the black sky into a dusky blush as Maxine O'Flaherty plucked you from your bed and dragged your half-asleep frame into the locker room. It took a few laps around the field to wake up enough to be of any use. Cedric only paused this excruciating regiment two days before the match, graciously gifting your team two proper nights of sleep. 

It would be the first time you dawned your Quidditch robes for a match. After clipping the dragon scale hairpin into your fringe to keep it from your eyes, you stared for a moment at the exposed scar that ran jaggedly down your forehead. The phantom of aunt Verna's sneering voice haunted your ears, "no one wants to see that horrible thing, girl. Cover it back up." and you swiftly took it out, instead placing it in your trouser pocket.

When you exited the girl's changing room, you admired your huddled teammates, all matching in your canary yellow and jet black robes. But the excitement had curdled inside your stomach when you saw the full stadiums. Your fingers rubbed nervously at the thick leather of the gloves, and your breathing quickened along with your escalating pulse. Cedric must have been watching you, because he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Breath deep, in and out." You did as instructed, and the warm exhale streamed past your lips in misty plumes against the burgeoning winter atmosphere. Cedric smirked, and said, "see? You're a dragon." Although your exposed skin was near numb in the chill, you could still feel your face heat. 

It was even colder in the air, and the soft caress of the wind turned to knives against your flesh. The nerves were left on the ground as you kicked off, and the punishing whipping of the icy wind sharpened your senses. The second the box was opened, the Golden Snitch had vanished. The sky was a dreary grey, and small raindrops were weakly spat from the sullen clouds, but thankfully it wasn't as bad as the Gryffindors had it. You did a few laps around the edge of the field, your eyes scanning around. The leaves that danced alongside the wind only proved to be a distraction once, and then they melded into the same peripheral blur as the brooms and bodies in the air around you.

Your broom jerked to the side suddenly, avoiding the Bludger that had been aimed toward your wandering broom by a Ravenclaw Beater. You lost your focus only for a few seconds, and then quickly regained it as you reassumed your patrol. 

The rain picked up, and your eyes glided downward when you saw the Ravenclaw Seeker dive suddenly, but before you could give chase, you saw a flicker of glimmering movement at your side. You weren't sure what she thought she saw, or if she was simply goading you, but it didn't matter. Like a hawk, you never let the tiny ball escape your vision now that it was locked on it. It was only when the cold gold gilding and the helpless flutter of thin wings filled your palm did you finally see the world again, noticing then that Cho Chang had been riding beside you in the same pursuit. 

Their Chasers had been making the Hufflepuff Keepers work harder than they had wanted, so the victory came sweetly to their ears. When you landed, to your surprise it was Zacharias that had scooped you into his arms. Cedric was also caught off guard, but quickly shook it off and joined in. 

You soaked in the tide of warmth that enveloped you, imprinting your first victory into your memory. You would need it, as the beast that slithered through the castles, unseen to all and unheard to all but you, had struck another student.

~~

        The second attack reignited the unease that had followed the first. Dawning a detective's cap, you had deduced that it must be a serpentine creature that was the cause of this. You had conversed with enough snakes in the Dursley's garden to recognize their hissing drawl, and the subtle sound that had accompanied it was reminiscent of scales scraping against stone. There had been a moment when you were tempted to confide in your friends about this theory, but that thought was fleeting. The last thing you wanted was to exasperate their fears, and in retrospect, it seemed like telling them about the blood-thirsty monster that possibly resided inside the walls around them would be a very bad idea. A similar sentiment sprung back up when Professor McGonagall asked the class for any information they may have had regarding the attack. According to the malicious whispers that had sprouted around you, only Dark Wizards could speak Parseltongue.

So you dawned a mask of ignorance and bottled your voice up instead. 

You left the Great Hall earlier than the others, wishing to get some flying in before the lunch break was over, but as you strolled down the marble staircase, you heard the faint shifting inside the wall. You hadn't balked this time, pressing your ear against the cold stone. "Death... Die..." The voice grew fainter as it traveled down the staircase, but you followed close to the wall. You had no idea how you could catch the creature, but you couldn't let it escape. Perhaps if you could just see the monster, you might be able to find some way to banish it. "I sssssssssmell it... Blood..." Your feet flew across the marble floor as they raced to keep up with the murmuring behind the stone, but it quickly outpaced you, and you were left straining to hear even the tail end of its hissed words.

As you turned a corner, your feet slipped out from beneath you. You fell hard on the ground, and when you pried opened your wincing eyes, your worst fears were quelled when you saw that the substance that tripped you was simply water. But as you followed the trail of water, you saw the puddle lead to a fallen body. He was a mouse of a boy, easily missed inside of the scant light that the torches effused.

Despite it still being daylight, the torches washed the corridor with an eery glow that now felt unsettling. All of the fiery courage that had simmered inside your muscles suddenly vanished, and the scream that should have ripped from your throat at the sight of the body stuck in your throat. Instead, you simply sat there, a traffic jam of thoughts gumming up the gears in your head. The scream that was corked inside your throat sounded behind you, where the same first-year now stood. She flinched when you looked back at her, and her feet nearly slipped out from under her as she ran. The long red hair that bounced against her back as she sprinted away in terror caused a chilling wave of recollection to wash over your mind.

From the other time, she was there as well. The scream had conjured a nearby professor. Snape's first reaction was to reprimand whoever had just disrupted the peace inside the hallway, but his voice stuck as well when he saw the body. You simply stared sightlessly at the afterimage of her fleeing form. Why did it seem like she was running from you? The realization hit you like a slap across the face.

"Did she think I...?"

Judging by the rumor that had swept over the school like a tsunami, she did in fact think that. You couldn't exactly blame her, she had seen you near two of the victim's bodies now, but with the speed in which the rumor spread was as if she had a thousand mouths.

A clear pattern had begun to form in everyone's head; all three victims had been muggleborn. The students and professors alike were becoming more restless with every mysterious attack. In Magical History, a Ravenclaw student raised their hand; to the bewilderment of Professor Binns, who was used to his classroom being full of stultified statues. "I overheard some of the professors talking about a Chamber of Secrets." This perked your own dozy disposition, and for the first time since your first year, you sat up and paused your doodling. 

The discomfort that suddenly molded his disposition only fueled your interest, and after half a dozen dismissals toward the question and the cajoling from the whole class, who were equally intrigued now, he finally broke. His bland voice was spiced by the story he told; of the persecution toward the wizards that callused Salazar to the muggleborn students and created the rift between him and the other founders. "These are the sourceable facts about our school's heritage. Anything regarding the creation of a secret chamber that houses some ancient monster or an heir that would release it is pure nonsense that has been stretched to further absurdity by each mouth that has told the tale, and should be taken as such." 

Then, Justin raised his hand. "I heard that Salazar Slytherin could speak to snakes." 

"That is true. And his descendants are also known to carry the trait as well." As he turned back to the blackboard, every eye was suddenly on you. Some conspicuously leaned over, while others unabashedly turned around in their chairs. Not one of them heard the professor as he said, "and that is the last that I will be speaking of such folly. There is actual history to learn, so you shouldn't bother wasting your thoughts on rumors and myths."

When Malfoy had caught wind of this story, he hadn't helped curb the spread of the vicious rumor, and instead did his best to pass on the tale of the "heir of Slytherin" to anyone who would listen. Thanks to him, "Parsel Potter" became a distant memory, and the nickname on the tip of everyone's tongues was swapped for "The Slytherin Princess."

He would stand up when you entered the class, and dip his torso in a performative bow to the delight of his Housemates and nausea to your own. All you could do was plaster your eyes to your feet, but as you sat down he leaned across his table and whispered into your ear, "would you like my seat, Princess? It has a great view of the mudbloods."

It was during the next class that you noticed Justin was no longer among the flock of yellow-lined hoods.

~~

       It was as though a chill had followed you like a shadow. A wide birth was given to you as you traversed the hall, and some students preferred to totally miss the swinging staircase if you were on it, choosing to wait for its next circuit and risk being late to class than face the perilous prospect of sharing it with Slytherin's supposed heir. Though it might have just been your imagination, you felt like even spiders were fleeing from you. Susan and Hannah remained loyally by your side, but they were among the minority. People no longer openly stared or whispered, and you found that the silence you previously wished for had a far more bitter taste. You spent most of your time inside the library, where the silence felt natural instead of insidious.

A few books had been scattered around your table, with your Transfiguration homework sat in the middle. Your fingers smoothed across your forehead as your eyes skimmed the words, but your focus was broken by the poorly hushed voices that spilled through the bookshelf beside your table.

"Poor Justin is afraid to go to class now!" It was Ernie.

"He's being stupid. (y/n) wouldn't hurt anyone." ...And Hannah...

"Oh really?? You saw how she smiled when she was hissing at that snake to attack Malfoy!"

"But that's Malfoy, you've seen how he is. Why would she want to harm muggleborns??"

"You've heard her talking about her muggle family. And it happened right after she starts speaking Parseltongue! Only Dark Wizards can talk to snakes!"

"Now you're just being ridiculous. She's the reason that You-Know-Who disappeared," she retorted. Ernie's voice dropped an octave, and his harsh tone dawned a mysterious cloak. 

"No one knows how she survived You-Know-Who... Seems to me that maybe it takes a Dark Wizard to defeat one..." Ernie's sharp words plunged into your chest like a blade, but it was the reply of silence that was most painful. You didn't wait for Hannah's response, and quietly escaped the library. 

You spent the rest of your day avoiding everybody as skillfully as they avoided you, but when curfew drew closer, you begrudgingly dipped through the barrel. The chatter that warmed the common room dropped by a few voices, and when you straightened your back you were met with the exasperated eyes of nearly all your classmates. Your lips pursed and you pried away from their gazes by going straight into the dorm. Cedric stood up, but it was Hannah that trailed after you. You spun on your heel, turning your glower to her. "What? Not scared I might turn you to stone or whatever those jelly brains have been whispering?" She glanced away guiltily at your daggerous gaze, but said, "Justin told them that he isn't leaving his dorm. He said that the heir of Slytherin is hunting muggleborns and that he's scared of-"

"Me?" you spat back. She swallowed nervously and kept her eyes safely away from your vexed glare. While Ernie had always been much closer to Justin than you ever had been, he had only ever spoken amiably to you, even consoling you after Malfoy's harassment barely a month ago. For Justin's tone to change so suddenly felt like a betrayal. "Well, yes. No one believed the stupid rumors at first, but now his fear has kinda spread to the others- those that are dumb enough to listen-"

"Are you?" you accused boldly, finally enticing her to meet your eyes. "Of course not!" She tried to swallow the knot in her throat again, continuing, "it's just, you were there. Both times. And the parseltongue thing-" You turned your back to her, but she grabbed the sleeve of your robe. "I'm not saying I believe it too! I'm just telling you why they're scared!" You tentatively looked back and searched her eyes, but this time they were unflinching. "I'm scared too. We all are. But not of you, of whatever is doing this..." The slight quiver that weakened her voice had found the chink in the armor that you had constructed around your heart in defense against the cruel tongues that had sprouted up all around you. "Sorry," you murmured into the dark stairwell. "Me too," she replied. 

That night, you tossed and turned restlessly, the silence around you amplifying the echoing thoughts to a deafening degree inside your skull. Your restive body finally lifted, and you didn't think you could sleep unless you purged some of the pressure inside your head. You glanced at Hannah's sleeping figure, and then to the bag that hung from the handle of your bedside table. You dove your hand inside and felt around before retrieving the thin journal, along with a quill and ink well. You still couldn't bring yourself to spill your soul to Hannah, but there was one person that you knew wouldn't flinch from you. Crawling beneath your quilted covers, you flicked your wand and murmured, "Lumos," before opening the journal.

Your previous trepidation regarding whether or not Tom would speak to you again had become washed away by the two words that instantly appeared on the page.

"Hello again."

Chapter Text

       When you weren't immured inside classrooms, you sequestered yourself in the library or courtyard, preferring the solitude than enduring the leaden aura of discomfort that your very presence sowed. Sometimes one of your friends would loyally accompany you, under the notion that you were simply studying all by yourself. But you hardly got any studying done, and you were never alone. While your lips remained still, your hand was always moving.

The shadow of the mysterious attacks had dyed the castle its saturnine shade, yet inside the library, a rare smile had been carved into your face. It had been so long since you smiled this much that your cheeks began to grow sore, but it was a pleasant discomfort. Your homework loitered by your elbow as you instead hovered over the journal, reciting your day to Tom, who in exchange added his own little witticisms and opinions. Embarrassment subtly suffused across your cheery complexion as you read the words that appeared on the page, almost able to hear the tittering that surely preceded it.

"Tell me, how does one manage to successfully cast a Softening Charm on their entire table by accident?"

"Easily, when you have a professor like McGonagall breathing down your neck. It's a wonder the entire room didn't turn to jelly, really."

"How did you ever pass your Transfiguration exam?"

"Well, I suppose she was just as impressed as you are."

Your quill paused after you put the ink to paper as you noticed the seat beside you fill, and your quizzical gaze stiffened to a glare when it found Malfoy's smirking face.

"What are you writing, Princess Potter? The names of more mudbloods you wish to eradicate? If so, I have some names I'd like to see disappear." You closed the journal before he could get a peek at it and began to silently gather your things. His grin dipped slightly at the frigid response, but it only stoked his desire for your attention.

"Why don't you spend the break in the dungeons? I'm sure Lockhart will have so much to talk with you about," he called after you in an effort to rouse your focus, and to his delight, it finally succeeded. You paused, turning around to give him a scathing look.

"Why would I care about Lockhart?" Before Malfoy could retort, you added, "better yet, why do you care?" His pale face flushed with color at the question, and his mouth worked, but no words came. The bell broke the awkward tension that built around him, and you returned to your retreat, leaving him alone in the library.

While you were on your way to the Great Hall for lunch, the Weasley twins fell in line with your steps. "When we told you to utterly crush the other students, we didn't mean literally," Fred quipped through a blithe grin that contrasted the dreary mood around him. Their light teasing was a breath of fresh air from the tangible fear that effused from everyone else like a miasma. Percy stepped beside them, his expression as solemn as always. "Stop joking about that. The students are worried enough without you two stoking the flames." You were surprised that Percy was one of the rare few who didn't seem scared of you either. "And you," he turned his scowl to you. "You're just as bad. Wandering halls at night. My little sister's frightened half to death of you."

"You don't think I'm doing it?" you asked nearly dumbfounded. He gave you an incredulous look, his eyes looking you up and down, "you've got a vile tongue, but you don't seem the sort to be able to cause this kind of mayhem, even if you wanted to.

"Although," he continued his eyes resting just beneath your own, "you look like you could get some more sleep. I hope you're not scared like the rest of them. You've got nothing to fear so long as you stay close to the professors and prefects and stop wandering around!"

~~

        The winter break passed the same as it had last year; lounging within the comfortable embrace of the seats inside the common room with the journal snug in your hands. This year the emptiness inside of the castle felt more comforting than forlornly, and though you still missed your friends, Tom helped dampen even that longing. The slate skies turned white as the torrent of rain solidified into a shower of snow that piled up against the circular windows. Your legs were draped across the arm of the heartily plush armchair, with your head rested against its twin, basking in front of the bubbling hearth. 

"Do you believe in the Chamber of Secrets?"

"The idea of a secret chamber that only Salazar's true heir can access is an enticing one. Do you believe it?"

"It seems far-fetched."

"Skepticism is healthy, but this is Hogwarts, after all. Near anything is possible."

True, it didn't seem so fantastical when you regularly shared the halls with ghosts and chatty paintings. Was a notion of a hidden chamber truly absurd when you had already discovered a secret room? Was the existence of an ancient beast so extraordinary when just the other day you had been pelted with erasers by a poltergeist?

"What else could explain these attacks if not the return of Slytherin's heir?"

You were pondering the question when new words replaced the ones that had retreated back into the parchment.

"Are you afraid?"

'Yes, but not for myself,' you mused to yourself, but your quill wrote something different.

"Are you?"

"No. And neither should you be. So long as I'm with you, you'll always be safe."

You couldn't help but snort out an uncouth laugh at what you perceived to be a flimsy sentiment of honeyed chivalry. "How does he plan to battle an ancient monster?" you giggled to yourself, but your complexion warmed regardless.

The conversations weren't always as airy, though. Beneath the silver shine of the moon, with your legs tucked against your chest, you confided onto the enchanted parchment of your woes concerning your peculiar talent. Swept up in your brooding, a tidal wave soon followed; a near-complete retelling of the past few months.

"Only powerful wizards have the ability to communicate with snakes, you know."

"Only Dark Wizards, you mean."

"Light or dark, power is power. Power breeds jealousy, which begets spite. "

You paused, but before demure could set in, his writing continued to soak through the page.

"Lesser wizards may turn their backs to you, but I'll always stay by your side, (y/n)."

A small smile made its home on your lips.

"Thank you for keeping me company."

"Thank you for picking up my diary."

~~

        The second semester started too quickly for your liking, and began with the declaration that professors would now be escorting students between classes. Without your little catnaps, you began to feel the fatigue that had soaked back into your bones (and after a few weeks of patrolling the corridors at night, the professors began to look similar), but you assumed that it was just the early morning practices that resumed now that the match against Gryffindor was coming up.

Layers of snow had stacked up all around the castle, so you wore a sweater beneath your robe and doubled up your socks before stepping outside for Herbology. Justin had been forced to leave the safety of the dormitory and attend class again, but always found the seat on the table furthest from your own. You hadn't even noticed his return, however, as you were currently asleep, with a string of drool dripping from your parted lips and threatening to dampen the desk. 

Thankfully, Snape had been kind enough to wake you up by dropping a thick Potions textbook beside your head. For once, the stiff atmosphere was momentarily shattered as the classroom was briefly filled with laughter. "So kind of you to rejoin us, Potter, but if this lesson isn't entertaining enough for you, then you have full freedom to leave." The murmur of laughter stopped the second Snape flicked his icy gaze to them.

"And that goes for all of you. I will hear nothing about what is going on outside this classroom. This is not the gossip column of the Daily Prophet, this is a Potions class."

Despite how the class started, by the end the fruits of Tom's tutoring had paid off. The Wiggenweld Potion inside your cauldron had mirrored the description inside of the textbook, but you truly knew that you had perfected the potion from the flabbergasted expression that painted Snape's gaunt face. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously down at you, and begrudgingly hissed a "passable," before going on his way and accosting Ernie's brew with the venom he had saved for you. 

Just as quickly as the snow had accumulated, it seemed to disappear at a similar rate. With the Gryffindor match on the horizon, Cedric declared that practice would include weekend afternoons, canceling Hogsmeade. This earned him an earful from the team, but he stayed firm, reassuring them by informing them that "the butterbeer will taste twice as good during our victory party."

It seemed that Lockhart had had enough of the chaos that had become accustomed to his dungeon, because the lesson plan drastically shifted from the previous semester as he started the first class by reading passages from his books.

He forced you to stand in front of the class with him, "Come on now, no need to be shy, I'll be more gentle with you than I was with that Transylvanian vampire, I promise," and reenact some of the scenes. Malfoy jeered from across the room, "Quite the small vampire for you to defeat, Professor," though he himself had only grown a mere inch above your height over the year. Lockhart addressed the chiding by simply flashing his glimmering teeth. "Stack Miss Potter on top of her own shoulders and you'll have the true size of the vampire that I wrangled." But the criticism seemed to bother Lockhart more than any other, and he had made you step up your ferocious acting.

~~

        Despite the fatigue that weighed down your eyelids, your fingers clasped around the Golden Snitch before the Gryffindor Seeker had even glimpsed it. The hustle and bustle of the match helped perk your mind, though the goblets of coffee that you had swapped your morning tea likely helped as well.

While the atmosphere erupted in cheers, and Jordan Lee gave another pained groan (though Professor McGonagall reprimanded him for it, she seemed to share his sullen tone) you loitered in the air momentarily, your eyes gliding over the stands, stopping on the one that was decorated by thick checkers of green and silver. You wondered if Tom was sat within the indistinguishable crowd, and if his clapping hands were one within the sea of applause.

You had the curtains of your four-post bed shut tight that night, but a dim light reflected off of the ceiling above your bed. While the dormitory slept, you held your lit wand in one hand and a quill in the other.

"Do you think we could meet sometime?"

You nervously chewed on your lip as you waited for his reply, but as always, a smile was created by it.

"We will. Soon."

Chapter Text

       The murky light of dawn broke through the horizon, painting the sky with the same pale rosy hue that spilled through the windows of the corridors that Maxine and yourself traveled through. You, however, couldn't enjoy the serene surroundings, as you were asleep, hoisted by Maxine's surprisingly strong arm, and dragged like a rag doll across the castle. The chilly edge of the weather was dulling. The tepid morning winds greeted your complexion pleasantly, but the gentleness of their caress was proving ineffective in widdling away your torpor.

As you mounted your broom and kicked off, you allowed your heavy eyes to close, just enough to satisfy their cries. You assumed that the sensation of weightlessness that comfortably swaddled your body was simply your drifting broom, but your eyes snapped back open when the air was violently knocked out of your lungs. The open sky met your vision instead of the pitch, and a dull ache attacked your back. 

You observed the mouths moving on the faces that gathered around you, but you struggled to make out a word as the world now sounded like it was submerged in water. A hand found your cheek, and your dozy eyes turned to meet with Cedric's. His face was knotted with concern, and his voice came from the end of an expansive hallway. It took a few seconds for the fog inside your ears to finally dissipate. "(y/n), are you alright?? (y/n)??" 

You held a thumb up in response, but his solicitude only dimmed when you peeled yourself off the grass and stood back up on your own. His eyes searched your face as he reached over, pulling a stray leaf from your jostled tresses. "You look pale."

"Well, I did just fall from the sky." He disregarded the lighthearted cheek and tossed the leaf aside with the flick of the wrist.

"Have you been getting enough sleep?" 

"At night, yes. In the mornings? Not quite," you jokingly replied, hoping to soften his stony disposition. His expression only seemed to harden, though, as he looked over to Maxine. "Take her to the infirmary to make sure she's alright, please."

"I can go myself," you retorted, a pouty frown now pursing your lips. 

"Good. While you're there, ask Madam Pomfrey for some Pepperup Potion. And you're excused from practice until you're rested enough to stay on your broom."

Your protests toward skipping practice would have been more readily regarded by a brick wall, and when he called Maxine back over, you performed a tactical retreat back into the castle. You heeded his suggestion about the potion and was pleasantly surprised by the sudden surge in stamina - even with the steam that billowed from your ears like an overheated kettle. You felt better than you had since the start of the second semester, yet when you woke up the next morning, the same stultification had returned to your bones. 

But the potion had helped, so you spent the lunch break inside of the library, researching through various potion books for the recipe for Pepperup Potion. It was inside Magical Drafts and Potions where your search ended. Wideye Potion. It wasn't the potion you were in search of, but it appeared just as attractive. You pulled out a piece of scrap parchment and wrote down the ingredients and instructions before departing for Transfiguration, where you would accidentally doze off again. Fortunately, it was Neville that woke you up this time with a few gentle shakes, but Professor McGonagall's keen eyes had still noticed your lulling head. You left that class 10 points lighter with an essay on the dangers of lazy transfiguration.

The next day during Potions, you were surprised at how easy it was to swipe the extra ingredients from the student cupboard. You had been dreading the perilous task since you first decided to brew your own potion, but when the time for filching had arrived, Snape had been too absorbed in drilling into a student with his low icy voice to pay you any attention. The pilfered ingredients found their way into the empty vial inside your robe.

When dinnertime came, your friends hadn't batted an eye when you excused yourself, already accustomed to your cloistered behavior. You slipped into the abandoned bathroom, where you had already set up your cauldron. You flicked your wand, birthing a small blue fire on top of the porcelain tank, and skimmed over the instructions again. You calculated the time it would take until it was finished, and decided that it would be ready by lunch tomarrow. 

When you left the stall, you caught a glimpse of your reflection off one of the dust-tinted mirrors and had to do a doubletake; your complexion was bordering a pallor, and a faint shadow laced the bottom of your eyes. Turning around, you nearly jumped from your skin as you found Moaning Myrtle filling the space that the mirror had shown you was empty.

"Pretty people can never stop staring at their reflection!" she bellowed bitterly as she chased you out. The next time you entered the bathroom was to check up on the bubbling brew, and by lunch, you came with a vial in hand. You let out a sigh of relief to find the same shade of cyan that was documented inside the potions book. After a tentative sniff and a "here goes nothing," you threw the vial back. A wave of clarity washed over your body like a crashing tide, and your mind felt as though a cloak of fog had been ripped off of it - all without the earmuffs of steam. Yet the discolorment beneath your eyes hadn't dimmed.

~~

        "Wake up," Hannah said with a few helpful nudges on your shoulder. She was already dressed in her robes. If it wasn't for her waking you up every morning, you may have slept the entire day away. When she left for breakfast, you retrieved the vial from your bedside table and took a swig of the potion. The lethargy was stripped from your body by the time you climbed the first staircase. You stole some toast from the Great Hall and devoured it on your way to the library, where you chatted with Tom until classes started. 

Snape was the only professor to sneer when you gave correct answers, but you simply drank it in with satisfaction. But when Potions ended that day, Snape held you back. His dark frame loomed over you, something unsettling now twinkling in his black eye. "There have been some supplies from the student cupboard that have been pilfered-" he held his hand up to preemptively silence you, "- don't bother denying it, Potter, I've been keeping a close eye on the stock as of recently, and it was after your class was dismissed that I found a handful of certain items missing."

You felt like an ant beneath a magnifying glass under the weight of his glower, while he clearly soaked in the satisfaction of having finally caught you. "What potion was it," he murmured softly, almost a whisper. "I don't know what you-" before you could finish the lie, Snape had wrapped his fingers around your open jaw, holding it like that as he leaned in.

"I can smell it on your breath, Potter. I've already narrowed it down, so tell me." You swallowed the knot in your throat and attempted to craft some clever excuse or lie, but came up wanting. In defeat, you finally relented, "Wideye Potion." There was no surprise on his face, but neither was there vindication or triumph. Instead, anger licked at his dark eyes like the lapping flames against a soot-stained hearth. "I knew it," he hissed through clenched teeth. 

"Do you know what can happen if you overheat this potion? If you added asphodel instead of aconite??" It was clearly a rhetorical question, but even if it wasn't, you couldn't speak. You had never seen Snape so furious. "You wouldn't be standing in front of me, you would be in thousands of pieces painting whatever dark corridor you brewed this in!" He dropped his hand from your face, knotting it at his sides. "You will bring me whatever is left of this potion. Now!" You slunk through the doorway, somewhat shaken but otherwise grateful - until you heard him call out, "50 points from Hufflepuff!" 

~~

"He's right."

"50 points?! My own House hates me enough already!"

"Go to the infirmary and sleep."

"Not you too."

"Sleep."

"The match against Slytherin is tomarrow, if I miss it Hufflepuff is toast."

"Good night."

No responses followed your retorts, clearly indicating the end of the conversation.

~~

        On the Quidditch field, the Slytherin team were towering figures in green. Marcus Flint stood in front of them like a redwood among oak trees, and had to incline his chin downward to regard even Cedric. A cocky smile pulled at his lips, while Cedric remained stoic and courteous, though the handshake they shared was clearly a match in and of itself. Cedric seemed to give as good as he got, but when he went back to your team, you saw him flexing his hand uncomfortably.

The second every foot was off the ground, bodies were whizzing through the air with the fervor of an aggravated hive. Fleet patrolled the goals and Zacharias and Cedric kept their hands and eyes glued to the Quaffle while Maxine and Rickett put their clubs to work. Then there was you. You swapped your discarded potion for a few goblets of coffee, and the late spring chill that had swept back into the air helped wipe some of the sleep from your eyes. You were deaf to the grunting of the Beaters and the cheering from the stands - which came primarily from the ones that were adorned by green and silver - every time the Quaffle glided through one of the goals. The melodious whispering of the wind that whipped your ears was all you heard once you took flight. 

Glinting appeared in your peripheral vision, and your broom was off, as quick as a Bludger and just as unreadable. You closed the gap between you and the hovering gilded orb, but it came back to life when you extended your hand and whizzed out of your open palm just as you closed your fingers around it. You swore beneath your breath, but before you could give chase, your broom veered to the side in a dodge from the large elbow that was aimed at your side. Marcus Flint was gone as suddenly as he had appeared, but his bulky frame had somehow gotten even bigger now that the ground was a mile below.

Bludgers rained down on you so frequently that you wondered if they had snuck an extra ball in, but Maxine stayed to your blind spots and generously clubbed each one back to their sender. The next time you saw the glittering, it hovered just behind the Slytherin Keeper. Pressing your torso against your broom, you cut through the field - one of the Bludgers that the Beater had frantically whipped at you nearly unseated one of their own Chasers - and drove past over him, twirling to fit through the goal. The tiny ball seemed to notice your approach, as it darted away from your outstretched fingers. Before you could accept the Snitch's proposal for a race, a green Chaser had stopped in front of you, blocking your view just as the Slytherin Seeker flew past you. 

Pulling the handle back and tightening your grip, you flew upwards and raced toward the Snitch and Seeker. You quickly caught up with the rival Seeker, flying just above him. You were about to fall beside him when the Golden Snitch miraculously decided to drift upwards. You laid your torso flat against the broom and dropped your arm down toward it, but again the ball tantalizingly brushed against your fingertips just to painfully veering off. 

"Potter is giving her Nimbus Two Thousand a workout! Flint has Diggory hard pressed for that Quaffle. They don't call him Foul Flint for nothing- It's a term of endearment, Professor, honest. Is Fleet blind?! I saw that throw coming from all the way over here! Hufflepuff is hanging on by a thread. Pucey and Potter are neck and neck- A BLOODY BRILLIANT HIT FROM RICKETT! Potter's all on her own now!"

Like an echo, Lee Jordan narrated your movements a few seconds after they happened. His voice became more animated as your own heart began to thunder in your ears. You were hardly more than a yellow streak across the sky, appearing more like a shooting star than a person. Your gloved hand was extended, your torso was hovering off the tip of the broom, and you willed your arm to grow just an inch longer as your fingers tips desperately reached for the Golden Snitch. 

Whether the Golden Snitch slowed or your broom became faster didn't matter. All that mattered was the fact that your fingers coiled around the elusive ball. Before you could appreciate the taste of victory, a wall of green appeared at your side and engulfed your vision before a screen of black devoured your consciousness. 

        The sensation of smell was the first to revive, and you were greeted by a medley of medicine and cleaning supplies. Your eyes fluttered open dreamily, and you parted your lips to speak, but the only sound that emerged was a groan. Then, the events of the game came back to you, and another groan escaped. You flexed your fingers and toes and found that although your body was stiff, your limbs were at least intact. The curtain around your bed was pulled back, and Cedric's tense face greeted you. He was still in his Quidditch uniform, but judging by the dusky light that swam into the room, the game was hours ago. 

"How are you feeling?" The gentle cadence that softened his voice was a stark contrast from his stiff disposition. 

"Like I've been chewed up and spat out by a snake. How did it end?" Cedric's lips pressed thin, and his fist clenched by his side as the recollection of you falling from the sky replayed in his mind. 

"Flint decided that he'd make a better Bludger than Chaser." A dry laugh escaped your lips, but your smile quickly died on your face. "I'm sorr-" Cedric leaned over you, placing a hand on your mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm the captain. I've played against Slytherin before, I should have prepared you to deal with their fouls." He retracted his hand, leaving your face flushed from the contact.

"What about the Weasley's debt?" you said, trying to distract yourself from the lingering warmth on your lips. A smile finally lifted Cedric's solemn face. "They never said it had to be this year," sitting down on the edge of the bed, he added, "when Flint landed, the Weasley twins had climbed down from the stands and looked ready to flatten him." The sun had nearly set, and the sconce-bound lanterns burned low, so you hadn't noticed the red welt below Cedric's eye until now. It appeared that he had attempted to flatten Flint before the twins could get to him. 

Cedric was eventually shooed from your side by Madam Pomfrey, who informed you that while you had no broken bones, you were dangerously sleep-deprived. "Many students are losing sleep over these attacks," she told you sympathetically before drawing your curtain and leaving you with a cup of sleeping potion. You turned your attention to the pile of books that had been left on your bedside table, finding the journal sandwiched between the textbooks. Before you could reach for it, you heard the infirmary door open, and two sets of footsteps trailed across the room.

"I made him return to class." It was Professor Sprout. "It had to be done, Pomona. You couldn't have known." And Professor Dumbledore? You laid as still as you could, hoping to eavesdrop on their conversation, but that interest iced over when you saw the shadowy silhouette that the silvery glow of the moon cast onto your bed curtain; it was a petrified body being lowered onto the neighboring bed. 

"The mandrakes are so close to being ready, but now... We're going to have to shut down the school, aren't we?" Her voice was gripped by the skeletal fingers of grief, and you heard a sniffle. "I'm afraid so. The parents trusted us enough to send their children back here, and we have failed them. Hogwarts Express will arrive in the morning to send the children home." 

'No! No, no, no, no,' you mutely protested. Your fist coiled tightly around the blanket as tears began to well on your lashes, blurring your vision. 'They can't shut down the school.' It wasn't a school, it was your home. Without this castle, you would have no way of reaching the world you truly belong in. The only world you belong in. 

This monster had turned everyone against you, and now it was going to steal away the only home you had ever known. 

When they were gone, your torso shot up, and you grabbed the journal, pouring your emotional bile onto the page. A few tears fell from your chin and saturated the page, drinking into the page just as the ink had.

"I'll die locked in that cupboard."

"I told you before, you don't need to be afraid. I'll protect you."

Your tears stained your pillow as your sore, reddened eyes finally shut for the night. The respite lasted mere seconds, as they were forced back open when a sudden chill washed over you. You were no longer laying down, and nor were you inside the infirmary. Taking a step back, you investigated your new surroundings. Judging by the doors that hung precariously on the stalls, you had somehow found yourself back inside of the abandoned girl's bathroom.

Then you saw him, the boy from the secret room. He was half-hidden by the dense tenebrous that inhabited this neglected room, knelt down beside the sink. When he glanced over his shoulder, you finally glimpsed his face. His skin was pure porcelain and was complemented handsomely by sculpted cheekbones, which were framed by the refined swirls of obsidian tresses that played against one side of his forehead. Your lips parted to speak to him, but your words died in your throat as his eyes sightlessly swept over you before he returned his attention back to the pipes. 

You placed your hand on the sink beside you. The cold soaked into your skin, triggering a trail of goosebumps to climb up your arm. This wasn't a dream. 

'It wasn't then either.'

His voice brought your focus back to him - it held a silky cadence that pleasantly caressed your ears - and observed the sink retreat from him, revealing a secret tunnel. He gave one last glance over his shoulder before scurrying inside. Into a secret chamber.

The Chamber of Secrets.

Chapter Text

        The lanterns had burned out when you awoke, leaving only the silvery tendrils of moonlight that leaked through the windows to push back the shadows. You examined the goosebumps that still clad your forearm. Those weren't dreams. They weren't the scenes that your own mind's hands had crafted, but someone else's. The beguiling face of that mysterious boy swam to the forefront of your mind as questions mounted in your head, each leading back to the benevolence of Tom Riddle. Each how was tangential to the every why. 'Why would he show me where the chamber was located?' Your silent query was answered by the memory of Tom's words before you slept; "I'll protect you." You once thought that they were simply empty reassurances, but they now cast a dark shadow over the recollection of your dear pen pal.

You listened for any sound of Madam Pomfrey before peering past the curtain. The only sign of the Healer was a thin strip of yellow light that escaped from the bottom of her office door. Sliding off the bed, you found your Quidditch robes were missing, replaced by your pajamas; a hand-me-down button-up pajama shirt that hovered above your knees but dipped far enough past your thighs to serve as a nightgown. 

You grabbed the journal and your wand, abandoning everything else in the infirmary. Once you shut the heavy wooden door with painstaking care, your feet flew across the hall, the cold stone and air against your bare feet and legs peripheral to your mind.

Only one thing mattered; that abandoned bathroom where you had brewed your potion. Find the chamber, and you will find the creature. You had considered telling a professor, but why would they believe you? Because you saw it in a dream? You couldn't take the risk of them disregarding your warning and keeping an eye on you afterward. You combed through the spells you had learned from the books inside of the secret room and decided that now you would use them. Only you could save the school. Only Parsel Potter. 

Your journey down to the first floor was hindered from time to time; once having to hide behind a tapestry to avoid Peeves, and then stowing away into an empty classroom when you heard Snape turning down the hall. You were sure he would hear your boisterous heartbeat, but his stride never faltered as he passed your hiding spot, dipping past the corner you had come from. 

You almost thought you had been caught when you came across Lockhart patrolling the corridors with his golden locks entwined in curlers, but he seemed to mistake your shadowy frame for the monster's and turned tail with a tremulous whimper.

When you came to the bathroom, you wrenched the door open and slid inside. With a flick, your wand illuminated the dark area in a white glow, but you became a mirror image of Lockhart's startled mien when a voice spoke behind you, "What are you doing in my bathroom now?" You spun around to see Moaning Myrtle, a few silvery tears brimming her lashes.

"The mirrors in the upstairs bathrooms not as shiny?" she mocked through a pouty frown. 

"Your bathroom?" you asked. You had been unfortunate enough to have encountered her in the other bathrooms, finding it annoyingly hard to avoid her some days when she was feeling particularly soppy. The question regarding herself seemed to lighten her mood, which still wasn't saying much for the perpetually melancholic ghost, as she lithely swirled through the air, sitting down on top of a stall door. 

"This is where I died. This very stall," she said, her glum tone oddly chipper now. You weren't sure what to say. It was obvious that she was a student when she died, she wore the same uniform as you, but you never really gave the drab ghost's existence any deeper thought. 

"I'm, I'm sorry," you tried to say, but she only scrunched up her nose at you. "Yes, that really does me wonders doesn't it." You returned your attention to the sinks, finding the one that the boy had knelt beside. "Planning to fix the plumbing?" she quipped as your eyes scanned over the pipes until you found a peculiarity. The tiny visage of a winding snake was etched into the copper. Staring at the crude engraving, you echoed him, "Open."

A small glow began at the tip of its tiny tail before tracing up its minimal length, swallowing it in light. A deep groan filled the bathroom as the sink sunk into the wall, giving way to an extraordinarily large pipe entrance. Just as you had seen in your dream. Myrtle's bespeckled orbs were owlish now, her head titled quizzically to one side at the sight. She watched you walk inside, calling after your body as it became engulfed by the consuming darkness that inhabited the pipe like a maw, "If you're planning to die down there, you're free to share my bathroom." You weren't sure if the rare glee that eclipsed her usual sulky demeanor was from mockery or genuine hopefulness. 

Your journey was full of twists and bends, the sloshing of the small puddle of water that pathed the tunnel reverberating softly off of the walls. The gentle white light that effused from the tip of your wand was clearly an unwanted guest within the near opaque darkness that ruled this domain, but soon your path opened up, and the soft orange glow of twin braziers illuminated the end of the passageway and bathed the stone doors that now barred your path. 

Two stone snakes danced motionlessly on the door, and though their emerald eyes were dulled by the dust that covered them, it felt as though they still met your own gaze. "Nox." You gingerly ran the tips of your fingers across the cold stone before looking back to their eyes, repeating the words you spoke to the previous snake. 

As you had hoped, the serpents parted from each other's embrace at your command, and a fine green mist was exhaled from the twin doors as they moved likewise. The chamber was cavernous, supported by ornate pillars in the visage of entangled snakes that marched down the impressive length of the room in two rows. It took you a second to realize that the pale sculpted stone that incorporated the wall at the very end of the pillars was an enormous face, one that you could only presume to be Salazar himself. 

Your fingers tightened around your wand as you stepped inside, and cringed as even your bare footsteps seemed to echo inside the massive chamber. The atmosphere was as dank as the damp tunnel, and somehow achieved a chill that sank even deeper. Beside your timid footsteps and a faint dripping of water, the room housed a paralyzing silence. 'Where could it be?' You realized that you weren't even sure what exactly you were hunting, but still knew that it wasn't in this room. The beast's home must be further within.

'Should I call it?' you wondered, your head on a cautious swivel as you traversed the expanse cautiously. 'If I can understand it, surely it could understand me.'

"Well done," a voice softly spoke from beside the pillar as you passed it. The sudden sound nearly popped your heart like an overfilled balloon inside your chest. You found a boy leaning against one of the columns with his long arms folded across his chest, previously perfectly hidden from your sight. Dark curls delicately framed his pale, handsome face, while a few stray locks dangled above one of his playful eyes. His appearance came with no surprise; he was the exact reflection of the boy in your dreams. You hugged the journal to your chest, tightened your hold, chastising yourself for not realizing it sooner. You raised your arm, pointing your wand at his chest. His vulpine smile stretched ever so slightly in amusement at this.

"Tom," you said, enticing a nod that sank your stomach. "So you are a student."

"Were," he corrected, unfolding his arms. "It's so sweet to finally hear your voice. I truly owe you my gratitude."

"Who- What are you?"

"A memory," he murmured softly, "preserved for 50 years. Until now." As if to prove this, he reached his hand, gently gliding the tips of his fingers against your skin. You could feel the warmth. 

You ripped your face away from his touch, taking a few more steps back, though the wand you held in front of you seemed much less threatening with your fleeing. "How," you demanded, trying to build some confidence in your voice, but it betrayed you with a quiver. A thoughtful smile built on his lips, and he slowly but surely trailed after you, matching every step you took. He was wandless, yet it was him who stalked after you like a predator looming over its prospective prey, effusing more confidence than you could hope.

"I've been siphoning your magic. Every laugh, every smile, every secret, every bond that was created was a tether between you and I, entwining our souls. And I grew stronger from it."

'And I grew weaker,' you thought bitterly. Angry tears brimmed your eyes as every happy memory turned to ash in your mouth. "I created that diary so that I could one day reopen the chamber and finish Salazar's noble work, but when you told me of the fall of Lord Voldemort's reign, it was all I could think about. I was beyond furious. But can you imagine how lucky I felt to learn that the girl I was writing was the very person responsible for his downfall?"

Your face molded in confusion, and Tom's smile only widened, flashing his perfect teeth. He spoke in a near whisper, "any other wizard would have died by now, you know. But not you. You..." his playful simper expanded with each word, "...are truly the girl who lived."

In a swift motion, he lunged forward, grabbing your wrist and forcing your arm to the side, aiming your wand toward the floor. He used his other hand to brush away the fringe from your forehead, and a tender expression softened his features as he stared down at your forehead with a bemusing endearment. "My mark." You dropped the journal, instead wrapping your hand around his wrist in an attempt to pull his hand away.

"What are you talking about? Voldemort-" He soaked in the fall of your expression as the realization sunk in, the corners of his perfect lips twisting cruelly with amusement. "-preserved for 50 years." He wrapped his long, slender fingers around your jaw, leaning his tall frame over you as he placed his lips against your ear. "I've waited so long to finally meet you." Your knuckles were white as the skin was pulled taut against them from your tightening grip on the wand. Your hands shook along with your voice as tears streamed down your cheeks, warming them as you realize that the true monster stood before you. One of your own creation. 

"Voldemort," your voice was saturated with hatred and the name was spat from your mouth with disgust, yet Tom's eyes flashed, clearly taking pleasure from watching your lips articulate and hearing the utterance of his true name.

"I can't believe I was such a fool," you lamented aloud, causing his eyes to dim in a rare shade of sympathy.

"You were lonely. You needed a friend. And I kindly obliged," he said, repainting the deceitful events with a brush of innocent altruism. He gingerly rubbed his thumb against your bottom lip, unaware or uncaring of the sneer that molded them. "I never lied to you, you know. Every word I ever wrote was true." Your teeth clenched, and you tilted the wand in your fingers, aiming it upward as best you could before the incantation escaped from your throat, startling even Tom, as a spell shot from your shaky wand. It missed its intended mark, whizzing past his shoulder, obliterating the column behind him. You were able to wrench your wrist out of his hand and took a few steps back, creating much needed distance between you, your wand filling the gap between.

Instead of anger, excitement stretched his smile and danced inside of his dark eyes. "A spell from Magick Moste Evile. I'm so glad you've gotten use out of my old hideout after all. I thought you would appreciate the amount of wisdom that I had procured for that room, but I must confess, I had gotten worried when you stopped talking to me. That you might have realized that your dream was actually a memory of mine. Fortunately, by then I had stolen enough magic from you to trigger the Chamber of Secrets to open once again. And just as I had planned, you finally came back to me, though I never would have guessed it would be because everyone would suspect you. Then again, why would I ever assume you spoke Parseltongue?" His eyes seemed to glitter as he mused over that peculiar fact.

"I would have burned that damned journal along with your little lair if I had known who you were!" you yelled furiously, hatred coating your tongue in venom, but this only seemed to amuse him further. "I know you. You benefited from our time together as well. The silly little girl who picked up my journal was failing first-year potions," he said in a cold, mocking tone, "but the girl that stands before me is flinging curses at a seventh-year level."

He slowly extended a hand and took another step toward you, forcing you to take one back. "Come. Take my hand, and I will build you into the second greatest wizard to ever live." You sneered at him. "You killed my parents! You tried to kill me!" He simply blinked.

"I'm sure I did. You must have been a potential obstacle," he spoke in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. "But now you're an advantage, and I want you by my side."

Your retreat was paused when your foot stepped into a puddle, nearly slipping out from beneath you. You caught your balance, but Tom's eyes flared, like a wolf ready to lunge, scoping for any weakness in its prey. "The silly little girl who needed help from a talking diary with her potions classes is an advantage? To the great Lord Voldemort himself?" you asked with a matching tone of mockery, but your chiding words streamed past Tom, who retained his confident disposition.

"I've seen for myself your potential as a powerful wizard, It's only natural that I would want you by my side, as I've cultivated so many others." His smile dimmed slightly with a flash of puzzlement, and his pursuit paused. "There is something else, though..." His voice became small and pensive, "Something I can't quite put in words. It's almost frustrating, this puzzling feeling. I've never experienced it before. Although..." His eyes trace where your scar laid, murmuring, "I've done extensive research of wizard families, back when I was trying to learn of my own lineage. The Potter's were a pureblood family, but not a drop of Gaunt blood flowed through their veins, so when you told me that you could speak Parseltongue, I was stumped as to how. But now, I have a theory..."

You took a deep breath, ready to sling another spell, but just as he had anticipated, you couldn't cast it, and instead wobbled on your knees, swimming in your own head. He took the opportunity, lunging toward you. You fell back just as he did, tumbling to the ground, but he easily wrenched the wand from your hand. He coiled his fingers around your neck, drinking in the warmth of your skin beneath his own, and held your wand in the air, poised above your face. 

"Sleep. As I said, any lesser wizard would be dead by now. Sleep has been the only thing that is keeping you alive." A small blue light began to build on the tip of your wand. "After a long rest, I promise you'll feel much better." As your eyes stuck to the pernicious glow that illuminated your wand, your mind raced desperately til the memory of one of your discussions popped into your head.

'"W-why do you want to kill muggleborns when your father was a muggle," you asked, your words fumbling from your lips, trying to keep his mouth moving. The dull glow faded, and his eyes narrowed, disgust wrinkling his nose. "That filthy muggle abandoned me at that orphanage." His grip on your throat tightened. "You should know how horrible muggles are." Tears returned to your eyes. You felt so stupid for telling him about that now. For everything.

"You're a coward! Even at your strongest, you were terrified of Dumbledore!" you spat, hoping to throw even an ounce of the humiliation you felt back onto him. "Everyone says that you never attacked Hogwarts because you were scared of him! And after all, you were such a powerful wizard that you were defeated by an infant." Despite the fear that pumped through your veins, it felt good to say. The fear and satisfaction entwined as you watched his face contort in reaction to your venomous words, his vulpine features turning feral as something dangerous flashed in his eye. 

"Oh? Is that what you think? That I'm scared of that crooked-nosed old fool?"

He turned his head, speaking a dialect only understood by the both of you. The ground rumbles as stone slid against stone, and you heard a rough slithering sound, like scales against stone. The monster. "Go now. Kill." While he looked away, you took the opportunity of his distraction to lunge forward, pushing him off.

Your feet nearly slipped out from under you as dashed across the moist ground before scooping up the journal. The slate grey creature was longer than you could even see and encapsulated most of your vision as it slivered past the columns. It was a fool's errand to believe that you could slay Salazar's monster. You didn't have the power to defeat this kind of monstrosity. But Voldemort would.

He told you he never lied. That every word he had ever written was true.

"I'll protect you."

And desperation forced you to trust him.

Your instincts desperately begged you to run in the opposite direction that the beast traveled, but you defied them. "Hey!" you bellowed, unsure if you spoke its language or your own. Either way, you succeeded in rousing its attention. Just as it began to crane its massive neck to look back at you, a fiery bot shot through the air, piercing its tough hide. A relief flooded you when you watched the serpentine beast's pained spasms finally die, but it was short-lived as a spell crashed against your own body. The force of the blow sent you tumbling painfully across the hard ground. The side of your body that ate the spell stung, but before you could even regain your bearings, a gasp escaped your lips as a fist was knotted into your hair before brutally yanking your head back. Tom loomed above you, pressing your own wand into the tender flesh of your neck. His brow was knitted tightly together, and he spoke through gritted teeth, "It's time to sleep. You will repay this debt when you awake." Raising the wand above your head, the tip began to illuminate once again.

Your arms moved on impulse to shield yourself from the attack, holding the journal before you like a shield. The spell hit the journal with a dull sizzling sound that was quickly drowned out by the scream that ripped through Tom's throat, and his hands abandoned your hair and wand. You hardly noticed the river of ink that bubbled from the journal like black blood from a mortal wound, as his hands now clung to his own locks as he stumbled backward, writhing in pain. You couldn't understand his sudden distress, but nor could you investigate the source. 

As your eyelids finally collapsed beneath the crippling weight that had plagued them for months, a melodious song overshadowed the screaming, somehow carrying with it deep mourning that eclipsed even Tom's dying breath. The song grew more distant as you slipped beneath the current of consciousness, a tear trickled down your cheek in sympathy for the singer's abyssal sorrow. 

~~

        The warm finger of sunlight that glided through the window coaxed you gently awake. The familiar scent of cleaning supplies and medicine greeted you, and when your eyes fluttered open, you weren't surprised to find the same white curtain. But when it was pulled back this time, it was by a seamed hand. Dumbledore's face was the same welcome amiability that had greeted you at the table during Christmas break.

"How long have I..."

"You've been asleep for two weeks," he informed you mildly.

"Exams--!" A small chuckle warmed his kind smile. "You've been excused from exams this year. You were on death's door. And you may have entered, if not for my dear Fawkes."

"Fawkes?"

"My apologies. Fawkes is my phoenix. Phoenix's have healing tears."

'That sad, sad song was for me,' you realized. "Is everyone awake?" you inquired timidly. You had broken half a hundred school rules - had rebirthed a shade of Voldemort - was Dumbledore here to personally announce your expulsion?

His twinkling pale eyes peered gently past half-moon spectacles, and the warm grin that lifted his snowy beard washed away those worries. "Yes, the grown mandrakes have found their way into Professor Snape's potion, and all of the students are awake now." A sigh of relief escaped your lips, yet tears quickly followed. You curled your legs to your chest before releasing the fumbling torrent of word bile that had built in your throat. 

"Tom- The journal-" 

"Has found its way into my hands. Do not worry, Tom Riddle is gone. You cleverly saw to that." But the verbal vomit hadn't stopped there, "We had so much in common- Our pasts- Well, my present, his past- " Dumbledore weaved his fingers behind his back and simply stood patiently and listened. "And I can speak to snakes, Professor. Everyone says that's the sign of an evil wizard. Tom said that was the sign of a powerful wizard, but he..." Your nose wrinkled as you recall your naivete. "I'm such a fool."

"Many a wise wizard have become beguiled by Riddle's words. Despite his many faults, he certainly had a way with them. It makes sense that Riddle would equate Parseltongue to power; he also possessed the skill. I have many and more theories regarding that peculiar fact, but the most likely seems to be that your soul has become entwined with Riddle's. When he murdered your family, your mother used a very powerful charm to protect you, and that is likely an aftereffect." 

Your veins ran cold, and your hands knotted around the knitted blanket that was laid across your lap. He watched you thoughtfully, deciding that his initial feeling was correct; you did not need to know the full extent of this troublesome connection. Someday you would have to know, but that day was not this one. 'And may it be far into the future,' he mused wistfully.

The infirmary door opened, and a flood of bodies streamed inside. Hannah led the pack, with Susan and Cedric close on her heels, engulfing you inside of her arms. Ernie stood beside a newly awaken Justin, who cleared his throat before giving you a heartfelt apology. Behind him were the Weasly twins, with the red-headed first-year between them. Her own apology was stifled by the quips and japes that her brothers made beside her. 

Dumbledore traveled toward the door, leaving you to your throng of friends and classmates with a bitter-sweet taste coating his tongue. The spring of youth is sowed with blissful innocence. 

'I must let her enjoy what little innocence has been left her for as long as I can.'

Chapter Text

Book Three

        The stuffy smell that clung to the stiff duvet beneath your sprawled limbs was peripheral to your muddled mine as you stared dreamily at the ceiling. Your eyes focused sightlessly on a particular stain that saturated the dusty rafters. Everything that occurred after aunt Verna's brother stepped into the house flew by in a blinding blur, as if a tornado had followed on your uncle's heels and carried you from 4 Privet Drive just to spit you back out into the Leaky Cauldron.

The anger that drenched your vision in red and clouded your judgment; the drumming of your heart that deafened your ears to the threats that your aunt shot at you as you stormed past her and out the house; the touch of the night air you blindly ran through that bore a trail of goosebumps across your skin in its wake; the sudden appearance of the Knight Bus and the brief conversation with the Minister of Magic himself all seemed like a series of events that you had simply watched from a television screen.

You knew you should be relieved that you weren't facing any punishment for turning your uncle into a living balloon, but you derived no respite in the fact. Only two things were tangible enough to ground your flustered mind; you had finally escaped that nightmarish house, and you were going back to Hogwarts. You already topped off your pockets at Gringotts and gotten your supplies for the start of your third year, so now all you could do now was kill time until school started. 

You sat up slowly and crawled to the edge of the bed. A fire had been crackling merrily when you first stepped into the room, but that had been hours ago. The smoldering remnants that stubbornly clung to life now gave off more smoke than heat. Looking over at the shabby oak dresser where your school supplies laid, you found the knotted pillowcase that slumbered beneath the other textbooks. You nearly got your nose bitten off when you first investigated The Monster Book of Monsters, and had a hell of a time wrangling it afterward. As your robe ended around the middle of your calf and your sweater was becoming snug, a new uniform, courtesy of Madam Malkin, rested beside it. 

Your legs dangled off of the bed before you slid off the mattress, your feet dragging across the dusty wooden floor as you wandered listlessly to the window. Parting the long curtains that huddled on the ground on either side like fabric puddles, you lifted open the window.

A crisp breeze was exhaled from the aged, wooden frame, bathing you generously in the brisk air as you filled your lungs with its serene scent. The pure influence of the night air helped cleanse your muddled mind. A full moon hung in the sky, but its watery glow was fettered by a dense shroud of wispy clouds that filtered the pristine, silvery beams through its haze. Below, the sleepy cobblestone street of Diagon Alley was cloaked by a matching blanket of fog. 

You placed your arms against the window sill and leaned down, resting your chin against them. The clouds continued their voyage across the black ocean, and the deep saturation of shadows that had taken up residency in the cobblestone street shifted along with them, pulling the cover off of a dark figure that was once hidden inside of them. You lifted your head, squinting your eyes at the strange shape, but your heart leaped and your eyes snapped wide when you realized that it was staring back. The trailing fog succeeded in obscuring the mysterious creature, but the two yellow eyes that were embedded in the dark mass shone like the unfettered moon above. A floorboard groaned behind you, jolting your body upwards in alarm, causing your head to smack against the window. 

The fire inside the grate was all but exhausted, and the candlelight flickered subtly, causing the shadows to dance ominously around you. Your body twisted around, but all that met you was the shabby furnishing. And a few pitched squeaks. "Just a rat..." you muttered to yourself, but your rattled heart refused to settle. Rubbing the crown of your head, you glanced back out the window, finding only empty space where the strange dark shape once stood. You weren't sure if that was relieving, or more unsettling. Even after shutting the window and closing the curtains, you couldn't pry the feeling of those yellow eyes off of your body. The room itself was suddenly growing claustrophobic, so you wandered downstairs. 

The pub downstairs didn't give much reprieve from your unease. Wanted posters were plastered all around the worn brick walls, each adorned by the same emaciated visage of a straggly, black-haired man with his brisling jaw stretched in an inaudible scream of madness. Though you knew that the paper was no more than a magical photograph, you couldn't help blinking away whenever your eyes would meet with his own crazed orbs. 

You had chosen the perfect time to run away it would seem, though it did align well with your luck that your escape attempt would coincide with the flight of a vicious criminal. Cornelious Fudge had told you of the maniac criminal over a tray of scones; Sirius Black had done the seemingly impossible by escaping the impenetrable prison known as Azkaban. What details the cagey Minister had purposefully redacted, you heard over your dinner plate earlier that day. Apparently, he had been a loyal servant of "He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Name", and his acts of callous cruelty followed in the footsteps of his Dark Lord. 

The whispers of "You-Know-Who" that simmered in the air resurfaced the memory of Tom Riddle. His dark eyes that hungrily soak in every inch of you flashed inside the back of your head and his cajoling voice haunted your ears like a ghostly whisper. "I've waited so long to finally meet you." It had been enough to make you drop your fork and retreat into your room for the night. Confronting Tom had been the most difficult task of your young life, and yet that was a mere shade of the real Tom Riddle. A dim shadow of Lord Voldemort's true power. 

You walked around the pile of dust and dirt that the disembodied broom dutifully swept up from the cold stone floor and slumped into a table in the corner. The pub was nearly empty at this time of night, but a few stray guests still speckled the vast trestle tables and benches, the clacking of their spoons against dishes filling the otherwise sullen atmosphere. You nursed a cup of coffee in your hand (you had acquired a taste for the beverage over your second year) and when the kettle hovered over to you expectingly, you offered your cup, allowing it to top off your cup before listlessly wandering away. The sound of footsteps stomping down the stairs drew your attention, and you watched a man cloaked in a dark overcoat with a large case at his side approach Tom the innkeeper.

"I'd like to check out."

"So soon?" The innkeeper inquired, and the reply came in the form of a wary, hushed tone, "I heard the Potter girl is stayin' here, and I don't wanna be here too when Black comes lookin' for her." 

When the patron left, you abandoned your lukewarm beverage and slunk back into your room. Without the flickering candlelight, the stain on the ceiling melded seamlessly with the other shadows that now drenched the room. Your fingers wrapped around the musty duvet that sat on your chest, and you tried to picture the starry sky of the Great Hall splayed across the rafters. "I'll be safe in Hogwarts. Voldemort was scared of Dumbledore, so Black must be as well."

The skittering sound of rat claws against the hardwood gave you little peace that night.

Chapter Text

        The red steam engine glimmered enthusiastically beneath the oceanic summer sky, greeting you like an old friend. The thistle of disquiet that the gaunt madman on the wanted posters had sowed inside your chest was purged from your body like a cleansing rain by the brick wall of platform 9 3/4 and abandoned at King's Crossing. You traveled through the encirclements of fussy parents and bashful classmates that peppered the platform, wasting no time in boarding the train now that Hogwarts was at your mere fingertips. The beckoning hand of the Hogwarts Express was momentarily retracted as a distracted body collided with your own, halting your trek. Your heavy trunk anchored your body, keeping it upright, and when you glanced upwards, your apology died in your throat. 

Malfoy mirrored your surprised expression at first, but as yours soured, his own simpered devilishly. You hardly recognized him at first glance; he had developed a jawline over the summer, and his slicked-back platinum hair now fell freely, dangling lackadaisically over his pale forehead. His colorless eyes were still limned in haughty self-satisfaction, however, and the same smarmy grin curled the corners of his lips. He gluttonously soaked in the fact that you now had to incline your chin upward to address him. 

"Oh my, I didn't see you down there," he quipped boastfully. Zabini Blaise stood by Malfoy's side, appearing much less entertained by your mere existence. Malfoy seemed to have completely forgotten about his friend as he placed a hand on top of your head, continuing, "Did you confuse a Shrinking Solution for some muggle drink over the summer, Potter?" Smacking his hand away, you simply tried to move past him, but like a mirror, his steps moved in tune with your own.

"Move, Malfoy."

"Well, I plainly see you haven't gained any manners over the summer. I'll teach you some then since I suspect your muggle family has no concept of what courtesies are. Perhaps if you sweetened your words, I'd be more inclined to listen to them." A few choice words indeed began to build on your tongue, though none sweet, but your vexation vanished when you heard your name being called behind you. You could hear his perfect smile without having to look over your shoulder.

"(y/n)!" 

Malfoy and yourself swiveled your necks at the same time, greeting Cedric with contrasting expressions. Malfoy had grown in height, but Cedric still stood nearly a head above him. He retained his slender, willowy silhouette, while Cedric's broad frame had filled out further throughout the summer, and his handsome features were subtly yet noticeably more defined. Malfoy's simper curdled into a toothy sneer, his previous pleasure turning bitter on his tongue. When he flicked his gaze back down to you, the color that delicately blushed your cheeks only caused him further strife. 

"Ah yes, the perfect prefect of Hufflepuff. I would have thought that you'd have taught our dear Potter better manners, but I suppose there really is just empty space behind that pretty face." Cedric appeared to have not even noticed Malfoy's existence until that moment, and if he was bothered by his words, not an ounce bled into his expression. Instead, a charming smile flashed across his face, exasperating Malfoy's envy.

"Malfoy, I presume? Kind of you to call me a perfect prefect, but I'm far from it. If I was, I'd be able to keep a better eye on our mischievous friend here." 

Malfoy's glower boiled and the retort he so clearly wanted to hiss faltered as he watched Cedric's long, slender fingers wrap around your own. His pale complexion had suffused into a volatile shade of red, appearing as though he was choking on the vile words he wished to loose like arrows. This time Malfoy made no attempts at detaining you as you trailed after Cedric. His ability to zip Malfoy's pale lips with a single breath left you envious.

"So that's what you have to put up with?" he commented once you were safely inside the train. "Since first year," you lamented, though a smile still sat snugly on your lips. Ernie poked his head out of a compartment and waved you both over. Cedric parted ways as you stepped inside, saying that he had to go to the prefect compartment. "I'll slip away and join you before sunset." 

Susan and Hannah joined shortly after. The Weasley twins popped in as well, though they only loitered in the doorway long enough to congratulate you on your newest escapade.

"Blowing up your uncle? Even we can't claim such a feat!"

"Really living up to that famous name of yours, Potter."

After you chased the twins away, the airy conversation that drifted inside the compartment shifted toward a darker topic when Susan mentioned a piece of ministry news that her aunt had told her.

"Dementors?" you echoed quizzically.

"The guards of Azkaban," Ernie informed you loftily, as though he was an expert on the subject. 

"Why does Professor Dumbledore think that Black would come to Hogwarts?" Hannah asked. Your friends were kind enough not to voice the obvious answer that simultaneously popped into their heads; "That's where his Dark Lord's vanquisher resides." The baleful shift in conversation seemed to have influenced the weather. Outside, a sullen sheet of dreary grey had suffocated the once picturesque sky, replacing the comfortable warmth with a torrent of chilly rain. An awkward silence had filled the compartment, so you took it upon yourself to disperse it. 

"Maybe I'll see him inside my crystal ball." Ernie and Hannah chuckled, but Susan tsked her tongue. 

"I still can't believe you're taking Divination. It's a useless class. I don't even understand why Hogwarts offers it. My aunt says that prophecies are a sword with no hilt. There's no safe way to use them."

"Cedric said it was an easy class. And doesn't being able to see the future sound interesting?"

She perked a skeptical brow, "That's assuming you have The Sight."

You shrugged, "Then I'll phone it in. Not like the professor will even know, it'll be in the future. It's going to be a lot easier than Ancient Runes." 

"I don't even want to imagine what the O.W.Ls for Runes looks like," Hannah sighed melancholically, clearly already worried about what O.W.Ls will be like in two years.

"Probably like a jinxed cheat quill spat ink all over the exam page," you quipped, pleased to see Hannah's disposition lighten again as she snorted out an uncouth laugh.

You excused yourself to grab a drink from the food cart. As you strolled through the train corridor, you couldn't help but reminisce on your first ride on this train. Inexperience led you to assume that Malfoy's curt speech was normal among friends. Only ever knowing malice and neglect, even that trick with the chocolate frog seemed like kindness; after all, the jumpy sweet had been one of the few gifts you had ever received. But now that you had real friends, you knew better. The laughter that was shared between Malfoy and his entourage of trolls was not mutual, it was at your expense. 

Your brooding thoughts were disrupted when you were nearly knocked to the floor as a sudden jerk shook the train. The lanterns that laced the narrow corridor flickered erratically for a brief moment, birthing ominous shadows just to snuff them out, before finally dying. A cold pocket of air formed around you, biting as deep as a stagnant winter breeze. A shiver electrified your spine. You mused unnervingly how such a frigid temperature shouldn't be able to exist during the balmy tail end of summer. The door you clung to opened beneath your hand, revealing a perplexed Malfoy.

He looked around the corridor wearily, asking, "Why has the train stopped?" Disquiet entangled with the indignation as he added, "And why is it so cold?"

"I don't know," you replied in a small voice, your words misting the air in front of you. You didn't know why the train had stopped, but the foreboding sense of dread that leadened the pit of your stomach told you the cause was anything but benign. 

"Get back in your cabin," you murmured pensively. Malfoy's brow furrowed further, "Why?" 

"It's safer." Before he could protest, you slid the door shut for him. Mutterring, "Colloportus," you tapped your wand on the door handle before turning around and entering the opposite compartment. You hardly even noticed the threadbare man that slept in the corner of the compartment as you went straight for the window, examining the outside through flecks of raindrops. Nothing seemed amiss that you could observe, until you noticed ice begin to spiderweb across the drops that speckled the glass as they began to freeze over. 

Then, a black whisp drifted in the corner of your eye. The frigid temperature turned artic as your eyes met with the cloaked figure behind the window. Swallowing the choking trepidation, you attempted to take a few steps away from the window, but it was as though you were wading through churning water. It was when you turned around that you faced the second figure, this one hovering in the doorway. 

Your heart quivered in its chamber of ribs, and even if you had somewhere to run, your legs now completely refused to work. The hooded figure lifted its arm, the black cloak that shrouded its form moving as fluidly as water as it fell back from the raised hand, exposing blackened, skeletal fingers as long and thin as spider legs. 

The tips ghosted against your cheek, barely making contact, yet the cold that wafted off of the creature's appendage penetrated your flesh like a dagger. The touch injected frost into your veins, pumping a chill that could not be shivered away throughout your entire body. Your very heart felt as though it was slowly turning to ice, just like those raindrops. The harsh rasping sound that came from behind its tattered hood was your last sensation before you were drowned within your own consciousness.

That, and the numbing cold.

A sickening scream ripped through the darkness, waking you with a start. You tried to sit up, but your body had become a quivering mess, ignoring your commands. A cold sweat clung to your pallor and you were shaking - not from fear, but from the lingering frost that still laden your bones. It took you a few moments to realize that you were being held in someone's arms. The ragged man that was slumbering inside the carriage now knelt on the floor with you, an arm wrapped beneath your shoulders. 

"Does anyone have any chocolate?" He asked, his voice hoarse and weary. 'Chocolate? Why? Who is he asking?' It took a great effort to simply move your neck, but when you did, you found who he was talking to. Faces filled the doorway, gawking at you with more intrigue than concern.

"I-I do," the voice was hardly more than a whisper. Malfoy stood in the middle, dawning a frightful pallor that mirrored your own. Frantically, he slid a hand into his trouser pocket, pulling out a Chocolate Frog.

Chapter Text

        You stayed in the compartment with the professor for the rest of the trip to Hogwarts, nibbling quietly on the edible frog. The memory of those gaping expressions embarrassed you more than you cared to admit, and you were still a tad shaky. The professor hadn't spoken a word after the attack, his gaze matching yours as he too simply stared silently out the window. 

You rejoined your friends only when the train finally reached Hogsmeade station, rebuking their concerns with your most confident mask. No words could satiate Cedric, however, who had taken to hovering around you. When you would reassure him that you were fine, he would simply smile and say that he knew, but clung to your heels regardless. 

He didn't ride in the carriage with the rest of the prefects this year, deciding instead that the one you picked out seemed more comfortable. Hannah rode with Ernie, and Susan with a second-year Ravenclaw named Lovegood, leaving you and Cedric alone. That was until Justin announced that there were no carriages left before making his home between you both. 

You shrank in your seat when you saw the haunting creatures hovering above the entrance gate, spotting more floating around the outskirts of the grounds. The image of that haggard, cackling madman had vanished from your mind only to be replaced by an even more frightening visage.

"The Dementors are here to keep you children safe," Dumbledore had reassured after the Sorting Ceremony - though his tone was dyed with a similar shade of the trepidation that you felt - but his words went out of your ears as quickly as they entered. The name Black drifted among the four trestle tables in response, and all you could do was keep your sullen gaze to your dinner, though your stomach recoiled at the sight. Your fork poked at more food than you ate that night, your dreary mood was displayed above your head across the cloudy ceiling of the Great Hall.

~~

        You woke up to the chewed-through pillowcase half-hazardly strewn across the floor beside your bedside table, and spent most of the early morning trying to recapture your feral book from its new hiding place beneath the wardrobe, using the battered pillowcase as bait to entice it out. Thankfully, the Hufflepuff dormitory was close to the Great Hall, so you were able to catch the tail-end of breakfast.

"She lives," Hannah announced as you approached the table. You gave her a cheeky smirk as you took the spot between her and Leanne. "Alive, but not unscathed." Your fingers still smarted from the nipping that the bitey textbook had given you when you strayed too close to its paper maw. 

Finding that the platter that offered waffles and pancakes was bare, you settled for a thick piece of toast with a healthy slathering of jam. Looking over to the dais, you spotted the threadbare man from the train. The wrath in which he was attacking his plate made you wonder when his last meal had been. 

"We were just talking about Hogsmeade," Susan informed you, regathering your attention. "I say we should visit Honeydukes first." 

"The Three Broomsticks is closer," Hannah reasoned.

"It's a better plan to grab some sweets from Honeydukes and enjoy them in the Three Broomsticks," Susan retorted.

"But then we'd be going back and forth! It'll waste time!"

You took another mouthful of jammed toast, listening to their squabble. When they both redirected their faces to you, waiting to see which side you'd join, you simply said, "I'm fine with either plan, so long as we visit the Shrieking Shack." Hannah's complexion paled at the idea of swinging by the most haunted house in all of Britain, while Susan pursed her lips in annoyance at your flippant reply. Dumbledore stood up from his grand seat in the middle of the staff table, his voice effortlessly washing over the vast hall. 

"Before you go off to your first classes of the year, I would like to have the great honor of introducing two new professors." He swung one arm, draped by a velvet yawning sleeve, to his left, "Please welcome your newest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin."

Lupin stood up at Dumbledore's introduction. His shabby tweed suit looked seamed in various places, and his trousers bared patches, where swatches of fabric had been placed to repair holes that couldn't be sewed. Lukewarm applause drifted across the hall, more politeness than enthusiasm, but the new professor didn't seem to mind, sitting back down once the tepid welcome died down.

You couldn't help but notice that a few seats down the staff table, Snape's perpetual dour expression had exasperated, twisting into a grimace of pure odium. If his flinty eyes had been looking down at his plate, you might have thought that his sausages had been replaced by flobberworms - instead, they were plastered to the newest professor.

Hannah leaned across the table, saying in a hushed voice, "I guess Professor Dumbledore couldn't be too picky about Dark Arts professors, since the position is jinxed." 

Your mind was on a different matter. "Two new professors? I only see one new face." 

As if to answer the hushed observation, Dumbledore glided his right arm to his side. "And our newest Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Professor Hagrid." The applause enticed by this announcement dwarfed the last, causing the minimal amount of Hagrid's face that wasn't covered in bristling hair to flush bashfully. With a beaming smile plastered across your face, you slapped your hands together till they were raw. You had already been looking forward to the class, but now you couldn't wait. 

"That explains your biting book," Susan quipped.

Dumbledore hadn't sat down when the applause died. "I also have some less happy news to share with you. Due to the presence of the Dementors, no one is to leave the school without permission. And unfortunately, for the same reason, we will be canceling Quidditch this year." The Great Hall came alive again, except with jeers and groans instead of cheers and claps. The twins stood up from their table, while Oliver Wood had his head in his hands. Never would you have thought that you would agree with Marcus Flint, but you now shared his nonplussed expression.

Dumbledore patiently waited for the outrage to die down before finishing, "I wholeheartedly understand your disappointment, but I hold all of your safety paramount, and I will give them no means of provocation. Dementors do not hear pleading, nor do they recognize excuses. They guard the halls of Azkaban for a reason, and the last thing I want is for any students to be harmed by them." Glancing to Cedric, you ended up meeting his gaze. He was already looking at you, his lips pursed but otherwise seemed understanding of the decision. 

"And with all of that out of the way, whether it is your first year inside these walls or your last, I hope you enjoy the year here at Hogwarts."

~~

        You left your friends and cloak inside the castle before you made the trek to the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. The sun hadn't even reached its peak, and yet the day was already balmy. The foresight to leave your cumbersome cloak and vest behind ended up being wise, as even the reprieving wind was laden with humidity. The moisture from the nighttime shower saturated the ground, filling the thick air with the sweet scent of earth and grass. You looked across the grounds at the Whomping Willow, which was covered endearingly in plumes of pink pastel flowers.

Your content mien pinched with distaste when you spotted the green that dyed the ties of half your classmates, and exasperated further when you spotted a head of feathery silver hair. Hagrid stood between the two separate groups of bodies, his shovel hands wringing together, clearly anxious to start his first class. Melding into the rest of your housemates, you saw Malfoy sniggering to Crabbe behind a cupped hand, enticing the flesh golem to unleash a bellowing chortle in response. When he caught a glimpse of you, though, his bored disposition perked, his eyes gleaming playfully.

"That teh last o' yeh? A'right, hope yeh all remembered ter bring yeh books! Follow me, hurry up now, I gotta really treat fer yeh." Like little ducklings following their mother, Hagrid led you through the dense thicket to a make-shift paddock. Upon your arrival, a mini-lesson ensued; how to safely open your textbooks. Following Hagrid's instructions, you gently stroked your fingers down the spine of the book, enticing a soft coo before it became lax in your hands. You found the surprisingly simple solution quite humorous, but Malfoy seemed less amused. His own had been bound tightly with a rope that now pooled at his feet. 

"Oh, if only we had thought to pet the thing while it was trying to devour our hands." When you saw Hagrid's enthusiasm dim slightly at the cruel quip, it was all you could do to hold your tongue. Remaining undeterred, Hagrid instructed you to stay there, not to move, and he would be right back.

The towering foliage did little to diminish the elevating temperature. Rolling your sleeves up, the humidity caused your blouse to stick uncomfortably to your torso. You took the free time to appreciate the scenery, admiring the stray fingers of light that poked through the coverage above. Malfoy deflated in the muggy atmosphere, however, hooking a finger between the knot in his green and silver striped tie, loosening it. "Why couldn't it have been a sane professor that took up this class." 

"For once in your life, would you mind shutting the hell up?" you bit back, the concern for Hagrid sharpening your tongue. Malfoy appeared taken aback by the response, but quickly his surprised expression pinched with miff. The heat of your words along with the sultry atmosphere piqued his already fraying temper. "Ah, that's right, you're friends with that oaf, aren't you? Yes, you two freaks fit together like a glove. Mind telling him after the lesson that he's supposed to come to class prepared? Better yet, remind him that classes take place inside classrooms." 

Your mouth opened to retort, but before you could you heard Hagrid's footsteps through the foliage and swallowed your words. Another pair of footsteps followed, sounding like the trotting of horse hoofs. Hagrid was grinning ear to ear, leading the creature behind him like it were a dog. The beast possessed the long torso and back legs of a horse, as well as the sleek, elegant wings and head of a massive eagle, wielding the same deadly claws.

"This-" The animal lagged once it caught sight of the students, but Hagrid gave an encouraging tug on the chain leash. "C'mon now, it's a'right," he murmured sweetly to it before looking back to the class, continuing proudly, "This is Buckbeak! And Buckbeak is-" Malfoy heard you softly murmur, "a Hippogriff," seeing your eyes glittering with wonder before Hagrid could announce with hearty mirth, "- a Hippogriff!" 

His chest swelled when he saw the curiosity that widened everyone's stare, regaining some of the confidence he had previously lost. He regaled you with how to properly approach a Hippogriff, and how they were a very proud animal. 

"Yeh can even ride'em! But fer now, let's jus' try an' get comfortable sittin' on 'im. A'right, who wants ter give it a try?" While everyone took a collective step back, your body moved forward. Hagrid beamed at you. '''Course yeh'd want ter, (y/n)! C'mere now- But slowly, 'member?"

Malfoy's owlish gaze stiffened as he watched you slowly approach the creature. Never breaking eye contact, after treading halfway, you dipped your torso into a 90-degree angle. The delighted squeal that came out of Hagrid enticed you to tentatively raise your head, seeing the crown of Buckbeak's head. You raised your torso in time with the Hippogryph raising his neck, your eyes conjoined. Your heart fluttered in your chest, and your lips curled upwards ever so slightly. You were breathless. Hagrid sparkled with pride, expecting nothing less. He shifted the chain in his hand, and asked, "Yeh can mount 'im now."

Malfoy guffawed, "You can't be serious, that's a wild animal- Look at its claws!"

But you did as Hagrid instructed, extending a hand timidly, not daring to bat a single lash as you stared into his golden eyes. The tips of your finger ghosted against his beak, and you murmured beneath your breath, "You're simply brilliant, aren't you?" Buckbeak seemed to appreciate the compliment, because he filled in the gap, nuzzling the sleek surface of his beak against the palm of your hand.

Before you could appreciate the affection, Hagrid had his hands around your waist, effortlessly picking you up into the air and placing you back down on Buckbeak's back. The back of your legs fell behind his wing joints, and you felt slightly miffed when Hagrid took now as the time to list off the multitude of offenses that will provoke the creature you had already mounted. Buckbeak began to trot, and you mused how different it was from riding a broomstick, where you held all of the control. 

"Yer a natural, (y/n)! I think yeh could even go on a short flight!" 

A choking knot formed in Malfoy's throat as the recollection of the afternoon prior invaded his mind; staring through the charmed compartment door, watching helplessly as that monstrous creature hovered over your limp body like a vulture. That sickening feeling of powerlessness that reinjected into his muscles filled his stomach with the same chill that inhabited that train. Before Buckbeak could break ground, Malfoy impulsively stepped out of the crowd and stomped toward the beast. 

"This is hardly safe! Just get down from there before-" Hagrid protectively took a step toward Malfoy, but Buckbeak moved faster. Your vision was cut off when the magic animal reared up, tossing you off of its back. The grass cushioned most of the fall, but the air was still knocked violently from your lungs. Once you caught your lost breath, you lifted your aching body off the ground, rubbing a lightly bruised shoulder when a terrified scream pierced the paddock. Malfoy laid flat on the ground, surrounded by specks of red that stained the grass around him.

His white blouse was stained by sanguine fluid that streamed down his forearm and crawled up the fibers. He curled up on the ground, holding his injured forearm to his chest. You stomped over to his crying heap of a body. "You nearly got me killed!" he hissed at you through clenched teeth as the tears that welled on his pale lashes began to slide down his blanched cheeks. 

"Me!? You're the one that almost killed me!"

"I was- You- Ugh!" Scrambling to his feet, still clutching his scratched arm as though it hung from his shoulder by a mere sinew, he seethed down at you, seeming to choke on his own words.

"You reckless, witless-"

Hagrid had finally shaken off his fluster, getting between the two of you, "Crabbe, Goyle, take yer friend to Madam Pomfrey." 

You breathed heavily as you watched him go, your heart still pounding in your ears, your fists in knots. Then you remembered the class. You smoothed your fingers through your tousled hair to try and calm yourself, asking everyone, "So, uh, anyone else want to try...?"

Chapter Text

        You were awoken at night by the noisy skittering of an anxious rat. Sitting up, you rubbed the heel of your hand against your sleep-laden eyes, but the sound stopped just as suddenly as it started, leaving you to wonder if you simply dreamt it. Letting your torso plop back down onto the mattress, so too did your mind dip back through the murky veil of consciousness. When the next day rolled over, you would need all of the stamina that a good night's rest would have gifted you.

After racing up the Marble Staircase and through the Grand Staircase, you now flew up the final set of swaying stairs. Sucking in a lung full of air, you braced your courage before leaping off the top step just as it began to swing toward the other side. You took a moment to steady your teetering balance and catch your lagging breath.

"You better leg it, Miss Potter, class is about to start," Norvel Twonk's portrait unhelpfully advised. You gave the painting a withering glare before wrenching the door open. Upon stepping into the room, the anguish that slapped you across the face threatened to bring tears to your eyes when you were greeted tauntingly by yet another staircase. At the top of those stairs, you were tempted to crumble to your knees in defeat at the sight of a narrow wooden ladder. You couldn't possibly do this every day.

You were wheezing by the time you finally crawled into the classroom above. The taxing venture made you grateful that your dormitory was conveniently on the ground. Although a classroom in the attic of a tower was horribly impractical, you had to admit that it had its appeal. The classroom held unique comforts that none of the others could boast; the filtered sunlight that swam in through the sheer curtains that tinted the room in warm shades, shining on all of the dust that swam languidly in the air. It held a balmy atmosphere that one would expect from a room so high up, and housed a redolent medley of mildew, tea leaves, and smoke that spilled from the bubbling hearth. The collection of ornate teacups that lined a china cabinet beside the hearth and the odd assortment of seating choices gave the room the appeal of an eclectic tea shop.

The miscellaneous teacups that were missing from the china cabinet were placed on the equally varied tables; you chose to sit on the pouf in front of a spool-shaped table. You were particularly pleased to see that you would be sharing this class with the Gryffindors, glad to be spared from Malfoy for an hour.

A poorly strained cup of tea was housed within the cup that sat before you, which was decorated with a miniature solar system. When you watched the tiny collection of planets closely, you could have sworn they were slowly circulating around the cup. You hadn't even cracked the Divination textbook open yet, so you were intrigued to see exactly what the class was going to be about.

Lavender Brown had been sitting to your left, and when Neville finally crawled in (looking the same shade of red as you had) he took your left. Once that class was full, the professor finally emerged from the shadows that she must have been basking in, giving the class a brief startle. She was a small woman, bearing a wild mane of salt and pepper hair, but the most notable thing about her was the thick wide spectacles that sat on the bridge of her nose, magnifying her eyes eerily. She wasted no time in getting straight to the lesson.

"The Sight is something that even the most talented and gifted witches and wizards lack..." Trelawney's voice was as thin and sparse as the smoke that wafted from the roaring hearth. "It is not something that can be taught. It is a gift granted to few, but if you do possess such talent, then I shall refine and polish it. It is a very useful tool to be able to lift the mysterious veil of the future and gaze into it...

"For our first lesson, you will be reading tea leaves... Please drink deep of the tea before you, and when there is nothing left but dregs, pass the cup to your neighbor."

Cups in hand, the class opened their textbooks, Unfogging the Future, and immediately got to work reading. The shapes that were listed along with their meanings all seemed like amorphic blobs, but at least it was refreshing having a sip of tea during class - and the tea was surprisingly lovely, though a tad cold by now. You took Lavender's empty cup and gave your own to Neville. Down the row, each student fumbled over their reading, Trelawney nodding sympathetically at their struggles. 

When it was Lavender's turn, though, she gave a dolorous reading of Dean Thomas's cup that caused Trelawney's disposition to perk up. "Very good, child. It looks like we may have a student that possesses promise..." While Dean Thomas paled, Lavender simpered proudly at the compliment. Then, the professor's amplified eyes swung over to you. You shrunk beneath her expecting gaze, shifting your own from the strange patterns on the page to the shapeless dregs that loitered on the bottom of Lavender's cup. 

"I, uh, can see an, um-" You dipped your gaze back to symbols in the book, picking one at random, "-a star. Which means good luck on the morrow." The professor's lips were pressed thinly in a skeptical frown, but she nodded her head regardless. "The Sight is a very rare gift, don't fret." 

Neville flinched beneath Trelawney's intense gaze, dropping your cup. Pieces flew across the ground and the remnants of tea soaked into the plush Persian carpeting. "I-I-I'm sorry!" he stammered out to you and then the professor, but she seemed to have expected this, simply waved him off as she knelt down and gently picked up the largest piece of the cup that remained intact. "All a part of the process dear, don't worry..." 

But her blank expression pinched deeply, her lips parting in terror, as her bulbous eyes inspected the stain of tea leaves that were scattered across the broken porcelain. The professor stared at the piece for a few exasperating seconds, leaving the class on the edge of their seats. The room fell silent, and even you found yourself craning your neck to see what had entranced her. "The Grim..." she announced through a low breath. She tore her eyes off of it and found you worriedly. "My poor, dear girl. This is not a happy cup..." Everyone was now staring at you as though you were the leaves inside their cups, and Neville piped up, "I'm really sorry..."

Sinking low in your backless chair, you decided that you owed Susan an apology and Cedric a kick in the shin for recommending this class. You may not have seen the tea leaves that were sprawled across the piece of your shattered cup, but you did see Lavender's, and what sat on the bottom was no omen, ill or benign; just a bunch of mushy leaves.

~~

        The sky across the Great Hall portrayed the pillowy clouds that swam lackadaisically across the blithe blue sky outside, and the owls rained down Daily Prophets onto the students below. You glanced across the table toward Ernie, who had one tucked between his hands, and nearly choked on your porage when Sirius's crazed dark eyes locked with your own. 

The headline was plastered in big letters, Sighted recently. 

"I heard he could turn into a hedge," Hannah was telling Ernie, but he simply scoffed. "He's killed a dozen muggles with a single spell, he doesn't need to turn into a hedge."

Susan seemed to be the only one that noticed your disquietude, rebutting, "The grounds are crawling with Dementors, this is the safest place in the world right now." But you responded, "Unless the Dementors attack you instead," in a tone that was far snippier than you intended. Muttering an apology, you took a swig of pumpkin juice and stood up, leaving for class early. 

It was your first week back at school and death already lingered on the horizon. You glanced out the corridor window, watching the black whispy silhouettes of the Dementors gliding in the distance, before continuing down the Marble Staircase. The memory of those luminous eyes blazing like golden coals inside of the opaque fog that mantled the streets of Diagon Alley sprang to the forefront of your mind, but you forced it aside.

'There is no Grim-' The mollifying thought was interrupted sharply by the hand that reached out from behind you, latching onto your shoulder. Before you could turn your head, a voice came from over your other shoulder, "Boo!" Your heart leaped into your throat in a failed escape attempt, and your body moved on instinct, stumbling forward in retreat. Spinning around, you were faced with Malfoy's expansive grin, his arm cradled against his chest in a sling. Zabini Blaise and Pansy Parkinson stood by one side, while Crabbe and Goyle towered around his other. His cronies chuckled in amusement, and you shot them the frigid glare you usually saved just for Malfoy. 

"You are the most irritating git in this entire castle." 

"Awww, still bothered of the Dementors? Sorry to say, I don't have any chocolate on me today..." His impish leer darkened slightly, "Or is it Sirius Black that's got you on edge?" Your lips pursed at that name, and his smile widened further. Malfoy leaned in closer, taking advantage of his new boost in height to loom over you. "Scared he's going to sneak into your room at night," his lips hovered over your shoulder again, his pale eyes drinking in your discomfort as he whispered, "and finish the job for You-Know-Who?"

Your fist coiled by your side tightly at your side, your nails digging painfully into the tender flesh of your palm. You were about to abandon the need for your wand and satiate your fist's desire to kiss the smug amusement off his pale face, but Malfoy (and ultimate, yourself) were saved by the professor that loomed over both of you.

"Class is about to start."

Every head turned to the scruffy professor. 'Professor Lupin,' you recalled. Malfoy straightened his back and politely bid you farewell before striding haughtily into the Defense classroom, his little followers hot on his heels. You followed after the teacher, your glower still firm in place.

The desks and chairs had vanished from the room, and an aged wardrobe was alone at the front. Lupin gestured to the wardrobe that stood awkwardly out of place.

"Anyone have any idea what we will be going over today?" His eyes scanned the class patiently before saying, "A boggart." He then gave a detailed summary of the creature's proclivities and purpose. When he brought up fears, Malfoy's face turned a beet shade of red, his eyes momentarily flicking to you. He clutched his sling and arched his back in a feigned display of sudden pain. "Aarrgghh, my arm," he groaned piteously. 

As Lupin excused him, a limp had suddenly afflicted Malfoy along with his battered arm, mysteriously developing in only the span of a few seconds. At the professor's instruction, all of the other students formed a line. You stuck your head curiously to the side to see the boggart in action. The wardrobe creaked slowly open on its own at first, unleashing a torrent of fog before a pair of silver spindly fingers wrapped around the edge of the door. The sound preceded the boggart's emergence; a piercing wail that shook the dust from the crevices that it clung to.

The ear-splitting cry of the banshee left Howler's envious. Hands clasped desperately to ears, but the wail that flew from the misty maw of the banshee penetrated your hands effortlessly, rendering the defense useless. Before she could exhale another attack, Lupin held his wand out, shouting, "Riddikulus!"

The tremulous atmosphere dissolved, the tense silence now warmed by giggles as the banshee's wail became caught in her throat, leading to a coughing fit. You had never had a decent Defense class; Quirrel would start to stammer uncontrollably if you brought up a magical creature that possessed fangs, and Lockhart seemed to know more about toothpaste brands than actual spellwork. Until today.

With each student that stood before the wardrobe, the monstrous appearances that the boggart wore were dismantled, rearranged into a silly caricature of their deepest fears. The line slowly diminished with every "Riddikulus!" and the following chorus of laughter. Lupin himself was laughing with the students as their imaginations conjured up absurd visages, the deep lines that were engraved along his features endearingly deepening with every chuckle. 

Then, the person in front of you stepped aside, and you found yourself standing in front of the wardrobe. The smile that had been carved into your cheeks dimmed slowly as you stared down at the scattered pieces of what had once been a giant spider, realizing that you had gotten so absorbed in the display that you hadn't given a single thought to your deepest fear, nor how to dismantle it. What did you fear the most? Black? The Dementors? The Grim? Tea leaves? Voldemort? It should be him, you knew, but you had no real image of the Dark Lord, you had never even seen him.

Then it popped into your head; Tom. You had only defeated a shadow of the young Tom Riddle, yet he was effortlessly overpowering, his mere presence sapping your courage like the winter wind sapped warmth from the skin. His hand knotted painfully in your hair, how your own wand jabbed against your throat. You hadn't killed him. Not really. A phantom whispered into your ear, as it had countless times since that night. "I've waited so long to finally meet you."

Your breath hitched in your throat as the boggart's form began to shift, a blur of colors becoming black as it composed its form. 'I have to defeat it,' you thought, but you hadn't defeated Tom, your body simply moved on its own. It felt as though another person had destroyed that diary, a braver person that ran toward the basilisk. Your fingers twitched, and your wand dropped from your hand with a clatter as the boggart began to reconstruct its shape, beginning with that twisted, vulpine smile. Suddenly, your vision was eclipsed by Lupin's back

"Riddikulus!" You could see over the corner of his shoulder the unfinished creature swirling into the air, shifting from black to silver as it formed a luminous moon before popping like a balloon, sparking a resurgence of laughter to thaw the tense air. He then ushered the creature back into the wardrobe and shut it, turning around to regard the class. "That's good for today." You flexed your fingers at your side in an effort to push out the remaining trepidation that still infected your muscles.

When the bell rang and students began to file out of the class, you heard muffled comments of, "Glad it wasn't You-Know-Who..." An ounce of the saturninity that had replaced the fear effused from your lips in a breathy sigh as you bent down to retrieve your wand, but a seamed hand entered your vision first, picking it up instead. Lupin straightened his back, holding the wand out for you.

"Are you alright?" 

Taking the offered wand, you kept your gaze on the floor below, taking in a deep, cleansing breath in an attempt to gather yourself. Looking back up to the professor, you held the corners of your lips up in a placating smile. "Yeah. Just a bit tired." He reciprocated your smile with a worn yet reassuring grin, and gave your shoulder a comforting pat.

"Some fears are more complicated than others." The smile you returned came more naturally than the previous one, but as you stared up at him, you noticed that his complexion seemed paler than usual, and the bags beneath his eyes hung heavier. You were about direct his own query back to him when a knock sounded.

Snape's eyes snapped momentarily to you before returning Lupin. His gaunt face even seemed stiffer than usual as he glided inside, a chalice of wafting potion in his hand. An awkward lapse fell over Lupin as he looked to you, then Snape, and then the potion, his mouth working silently before finally speaking. "Ah, thank you, Severus. (y/n), you should get going, I don't want to be the reason why you're late for the next class."

(A/N) - Thank you so much for the kind comments ( ⑅❛ั ヮ ❛ั ⑅) Please excuse me if I don't reply, I'm a tad shy  (´͈  ᵕ `͈;;;) but I read and appreciate them all! It's great motivation! Thank you so much for reading!

As this is a reader insert, I'm curious what you would like your Patronus to be? Would you prefer that I stick with the stag? I have an idea for a different animal, but if I can, I'd rather keep it something you personally feel more connected to.

Chapter Text

        As the air grew brisker, the students were warming themselves with the excited buzz of Hogsmeade that drifted throughout the castle. Talks of bubbly tankards of golden butterbeer inside the Three Broomsticks; the shelves on top of shelves of Honeydukes, housing sweets of every kind and more (even blood flavored lollipops and chocolate-covered roaches if Fred and George were to be believed), all wrapped inside brightly colored foils; browsing Scrivenshaft's assortment of quills with extraordinary and luxurious plumage and a veritable rainbow's selection of inks (some that even changed color depending on the writer's mood); stocking up on dungbombs and hiccoughing sweets from Zonko's, and the thrill of visiting the Shrieking Shack in hopes of glimpsing one of the many savage poltergeists that were rumored to live there. All residing within the high street. And all a week away.

The autumn-dyed foliage that once clad the whomping willow's gnarled branches were scoured by the constant current of rain-addled wind that lashed mercilessly. A dense humidity was born from the frequent showers, casting an opaque layer of fog to mask the brittle leaves that littered the grounds, and turning the air of the greenhouse into a sticky soup. While the residential plants thrived within the moist environment, visitors were left miserable by the vaporized swamp that clung to their skin and painted the inside of their lungs with the same hazy condensation that tinted the glass window panes.

Without Quidditch to fill your free time, you voluntarily submerged yourself within the muggy atmosphere that was incubated within the greenhouse to work on the project that Professor Sprout had bestowed on her two best students, Neville and yourself. Each of you were given a pot with a newly sprouted plant embedded in it, and it was your task to nurture it and eventually identify the species. You received a glass pot full of little round stones and water, the plant little more than an entanglement of olive green roots, and Neville's was little more than a tiny green bulb poking just out of the surrounding soil. 

The thin plumes of fog that pooled around your heels trailed in with you as you slipped into the greenhouse. Grabbing an apron off the hook and tying it around your waist, you strode over to the table, finding your project companion already present. Neville was bent over the trestle table, a rusted watering can in his hand and a small absentminded smile warming his face as his eyes tenderly stared down at his little project. Whether it was because of the humidity or because of his attentive care, it had already grown almost two inches. 

"Mornin'."

The lax greeting struck Neville like a fish hook, jarringly yanking his consciousness out from the comfortable confines of his own head. As though suddenly injured by a piece of that shattered silence, his muscles coiled like a tensed spring, jolting upward, and so too did the water can.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Beads of water hung in the air above Neville alongside the worn watering can, hovering midair as if they existed in a bubble of space where time had stopped. After weeks of working side by side with Neville, you had gotten into the habit of always having your wand close at hand. 

Striding through the dungeon corridor, you stuffed your wet cloak into your bag and ran a hand through your dampened (h/c) locks. After stepping into the Potions dungeon, a sharp shiver electrified down your spine. The biting chill that perpetually filled this specific classroom had dropped a few more degrees since the beginning of the school year, though you knew that no amount of clothing could protect you from the moody professor that had cultivated this frigid environment.

Bitter scoldings had decayed into cruel beratement as Snape enthusiastically poured his deluge of animosity onto the class, and as your shining Potions grades had vanished in tune with Tom's demise, you had become a particularly alluring lightning rod for Snape's mysterious acrimony.

After attendance, Snape glided from his desk to the blackboard, and with the lazy flick of his wrist, his curt instructions were etched onto the blackboard by an animated stub of chalk, along with the recipe for the potion you had been preparing for. The words were smaller than usual, and the curvatures in the handwriting were too tightly wound, making it hardly legible, yet every soul knew that if they were to break the tensed atmosphere that Snape had crafted with his own hands, they would be struck by the whiplash.

Aside from copying your neighbors, you had no other choice than to lean on the edge of your chair and squint. When that failed, you simply made educated guesses as to what steps and ingredients were listed - was hemlock or herbaria? - managing to turn the potion that was supposed to be a viscus red into a gelatinous white.

When Snape drifted across the class to inspect everyone's concoction, muttering criticisms as he went, he paused in front of your cauldron. Snape's brow lifted, appearing almost impressed, "Amazing. Truly amazing," and for a fleeting moment, you had gotten hopeful. Until he continued. "You've managed to screw up a potion so severely that I've never seen anything like it. I have been practicing potions since long before you were born, and I have never achieved nor seen a student achieve such a level of utter disaster as you, Potter. Congratulations. Truly." The frequency and virulence of his acidic chidings were eroding away at your patience, fraying the nerves that were shielded behind it. As he continued on his way, it was as though the retort simply slipped out with your breath, "Blame the teacher."

The hem of his black robes swirled around along with his frame. His nostrils flared, his black orbs burrowing into your own, sapping all rebellion from your head and dousing the vexed fire inside your chest with an arctic tide of regret. A handful of brave students let out a few snickers, but they were instantly quelled by a single glance in their general direction. "Detention," he hissed through a clenched jaw. "You can say goodbye to Hogsmeade." 

Your lips pressed thin and your teeth gritted together as you forcefully swallowed the poisonous word bile that brewed in response. Hearing a poorly stifled titter from behind you, you waited until Snape was back behind his desk before twisting in your seat, purging your vitriol onto Malfoy instead. "Keep laughing, maybe I'll ask Buckbeak to give you another kiss?"

The smile fell from his face, molding a rigid scowl against his jaw, but he lifted the corners of his lips into a coy smile. "Seems to me that Sirius Black will finish you off before you get the chance."

Your eyes were a blazing emerald fire, attempting to melt the cold chips of ice that were his own pale orbs. The staring contest was broken as Malfoy's icy gaze glided upward, and to your bemusement, his scowl warmed back into a satisfied simper. Your brow furrowed, but before you could even begin to wonder, the answer loudly smacked your desk. Twisted back around, you were once again faced with Snape, both of his hands resting on your desk, glowering over you. 

~~

        The candles that hovered in the air of the Great Hall had made houses out of the jako lanterns that dozed above the tables, illuminating their mouths and eyes like oddly shaped windows. The Halloween feast was before you, but you had become immersed inside the melodious song that the Fat Frier belted out, a content smile warming your lips. Despite being translucent, his voice was surprisingly soulful, singing the unfortunate tale of a muggle named Ichabod Crane. The fear of Sirius Black had become smothered by the hearty festivities, and even you were able to forget about the looming Grim that Professor Trewlaney always made sure to remind you of. 

Across the expansive room, the Bloody Baren was regaling the Slytherins with a terrifying tale, the Grey Lady was offering riddles with macabre answers to the Ravenclaw, and Nearly Headless Nick was telling the tale of his near beheading to the Gryffindors. By the time the Fat Friar had begun his third song - a tragic ballad of the inauspicious arrival of a black cat - you had already eaten your fill, so when dessert appeared on the empty dinner platters, you got up from the table.

"Where're you goin'?" Hannah inquired, a few stray pastry crumbles accompanying her words.

"Potions essay." Those two words were enough to quell your friends, who had witnessed the altercation between you and the austere professor. You had just passed through the Great Hall doors when you heard the second set of footsteps that escaped the buzzing chatter that leaked out of the lively hall. Peering over your shoulder, you saw Cedric jogging after you. "Hey," he greeted through his usual toothy smile. 

"Why aren't you staying for the feast?" you inquired. He ran a hand through the back of his hazel tresses, turning his gaze to the stone wall. "Well, we haven't really gotten much time to talk since Quidditch was canceled, so I figure..." Dropping his arm, he looked back to you, "So, um, how have you been?"

That reminded you. Stomping over to him, you poked an accusatory finger against his annoyingly taut chest. "I'll have you know that Divination was not all "tea drinking and guess work."" He simply regarded your jabbing finger with an amused smile. "Yeah, I had heard that you were Professor Trelawney's newest favorite student."

You puffed your cheeks out in annoyance. "Well, you clearly 'lack The Sight' if you didn't give me any warning about that." He chuckled at your sardonic scolding, effortlessly melting away your vexation beneath his warm cadence, and you couldn't help the smile that infectious spread across your face. 

"At least getting to the class is giving me a workout. I might just try out for Keeper next year." Side by side, you both traveled through the entrance hall at a blithe pace.

"There's a shortcut, you know. Opposite the tapestry of Barnabas getting pummeled by trolls in tutus, there's a room that will let you skip three floors." 

"Really? I've never seen a door there."

"I use it all the time when I'm in a pinch." You pondered that peculiarity, wondering if you had simply missed it. Cedric watched you as he walked, a content smile embedded on his face. Glancing downward, his eyes momentarily clung to your hand, his own fingers suddenly feeling lonely. A rosy hue suddenly blushed his complexion as a thought drifted into his head, and he was forced to turn his gaze to the ground. 

"Um, hey, at Hogsmeade-" The mere mention of the word draped a dour shroud over your mind.

"I'm not going to Hogsmeade this week, I have detention," the sourness in your tone pursed your own lips. 

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear. What ha-" A voice that was choked by fear sliced through Cedric's speech like a dagger, wringing the comfortable from the atmosphere with fingers of disquietude.

"Help!"

As swift as if he was on the Quidditch field, Cedric grabbed your arm and pulled you back, stepping in front of you. His hand flung into his pocket, wrapping around the wand that resided there, but when he looked down the hall he found only Neville. The usual dolorous aura that always hovered around the misfortunate lad had become twisted into a miasma of pure terror. 

"What's wrong? What happened?" Cedric asked, assuming his stoic prefect tone. Neville stopped in front of him, and you could see that he was shaking. "T-The Fat Lady," this threw you for a loop, and when you looked to Cedric, you saw that he was just as puzzled. 

"S-S-She's been m-murdered," his quivering lips finally spat out. His tremulous words contagiously spread his frightful pallor to you and Cedric.

After Cedric had helped Neville to the staff table to report the incident to the professors, you learned that the Fat Lady was simply the painting that hid the entrance to the Gryffindor dormitory, and her canvas had only been cut up. A mixture of emotions spawned from that knowledge; you were relieved that no one was really harmed, but you were annoyed at Neville for phrasing it in such a dire manner. 

Everyone was sequestered to their house tables, and after the professors conversed among themselves regarding the matter, they had decided that you would be camping out in the Great Hall. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore cleared the four trestle tables and replaced them with a plethora of sleeping bags. With a second and final wag of his hand, an invisible gust of wind ran across the air, extinguishing the candles in its wake before the professors disappeared through the door in search of the culprit, leaving the Head Boy and Girl in control.

You abandoned your robe and tie before unbuttoning the first two buttons on your blouse, hoping to find some comfort in your uniform as you slipped into the sleeping bag. They were surprisingly comfortable, their plush embrace cushioning comfortably against the cold marble floor directly below. But no matter how comfortable the sleeping bags were, no one was even considering sleeping; all around you, people were propped up on their elbows, speculating about the nature of the attack. 

Some discussed the mystery; "It had to be Sirius Black! Who else would attack the Fat Lady!"

Some wanted to scare each other and themselves; "The professors must have us sleeping in here because they think he's still inside the castle!"

And others you'd rather ignore; "Do you think Black thought (y/n) Potter was in Gryffindor?"

For once you were grateful to have Percy nearby. You heard his haughty stomping beside your head, and though you kept your eyes closed, you could still hear his puffed out chest as he belted out instructions, "Lights out means sleep, it is not an invitation to chat!" and hissing out shushes as he stalked around the chattier circles of students, fully in his element within the chaos.

Cedric patrolled along with the other prefects, but he never strayed too far from your cluster of sleeping bags, and never broke his gaze off of the entrance door. Unlike the other prefects, he kept his wand in his hand. Rolling onto your back, you looked to the ceiling, meeting with the curtain of black clouds above, not a single light, star or candle, within the sea of black. 

As the hours rolled past, even the clandestine whispers had died out as one by one the tiredness overshadowed the excitement until the Great Hall fell silent.

Except for the muffled skittering of rat claws.

Chapter Text

        Not much sleep was had all around that night, yet everyone was bustling with energy as they traded gossip about Sirius Black. "Settle down! There is no way to know if it was really him," Percy discouraged when such chatter would catch his ears, yet his actions told another tale, as he had taken to following on your trail every time your paths crossed in the hall. He was easy enough to elude when this would happen. Cedric, on the other hand, was harder. That night still hung over him like a tenebrous cloud of disquietude, casting a shadow of foreboding over his mind. Using the pretense of being a prefect, he began walking you to your classes.

"You're going to be late if you keep following me," you informed him - on more than one occasion - but he simply continued the nonchalant facade. "I'm a very fast runner." 

Cedric wasn't the only one who had become riled up by the mysterious attack. Hannah would spontaneously acquire the gift of gab whenever Black was mentioned, telling anyone that would listen about her strange theories regarding the escaped prisoner. Trudging through the fog that swallowed your feet on your way to Herbology, Hannah was boasting to a sullen Ernie.

"I told you he can!"

You snapped your head toward Hannah, retorting before Ernie could respond, "Black did not turn himself into a hedge!" Every time someone mentioned that man's name, it was like another nail in your head. "Well he got in here didn't he!" she fought back, stubbornly steadfast in this strange belief. 

The soft pitter-patter of rain beating gently against the glass windowpanes and the rich scent of soil that saturated the thick humid air purged the stresses that addled your mind and body. All of your focus was poured into the sheers in your hand as you delicately cut sprigs of Valerian - which Professor Sprout intended to give to Snape for his personal collection of potions ingredients. Your absentminded thoughts drifted to your project plant, which currently resided in the first year greenhouse, and glancing over to the ferocious flora that littered the third year greenhouse, you hoped that it would grow into something more... friendlier.

The languid trickle had grown into a downpour by the time Herbology ended, forcing your classmates to make a mad dash back to the castle. You were crowded around the door with your friends, ready to join in the same hare, when Professor Sprout asked you to stay after. The apologetic expression that stiffened her features informed you and your friends that this wasn't regarding another project. After giving you remorseful looks, Susan and Hannah bounded into the rain, leaving you and the professor. 

"I'd rather you didn't come to the greenhouse all by yourself anymore, dear. Neville's agreed to take care of your project for the time being." No matter how much you wished to protest and object, you could tell from the resignment that steeled her usually soft eyes that she wouldn't be moved by any amount of pleading. She gave you a kind smile as a form of condolence, but you couldn't reciprocate it.

"I swear, their new painting is a riot! I heard that Finnigan had gotten into a shouting match with him because he kept changing the password!" you heard Malfoy cackling to his gaggle as they strode into the Defense classroom. Snape stood behind Lupin's desk, but no one dared comment or inquire on this irregularity in fear of earning an earful of Snape's generous wrath. But Snape seemed to move just a little lither inside this classroom, his thin lips almost lifting high enough to count as a smile. 

The room was quiet enough to hear the whisper of the hem of his dark robes against the polished stone ground as he glided across toward the blackboard. With a single mute command, the chalk hovered into the air. 

"Professor Lupin is under the weather, so I will be filling in for him. I don't know what you've been learning, and nor do I care, as today we will be starting a new lesson." The chalk levitated across the board, writing down the words as Snape spoke them. "Lycanthrope. Better known as werewolves." The chalk underlined "werewolves" twice before resting back on the board mantle.

"Which of you can tell me the distinguishing factors between werewolves and true wolves?" You peered around, seeing only puzzled faces. Tentatively, you dipped your hand into the air. Now that you knew how to properly handle your Monster Book of Monsters textbook, you had submerged yourself within the pages for hours on end - usually eating up time that would have been better served by studying. 

"Well, this is a first," Snape commented, quirking a brow. "Werewolves are forced to transform by the full moon, and there are physical differences, as well," you said before listing a few. Snape had never witnessed you in your element, and was frustratingly unable to find any way to ridicule you during the entirety of the class, though not for a lack of trying, searching for any chink in your new set of knowledgable armor. In the end, he settled for critiquing your handwriting when you turned in your parchment.

For some fleeting period of naive optimism, you hoped that Snape might have forgotten about the promised detention, but it was a feeble aspiration. In typical fashion, he had waited until you were in the doorway, letting you stew in the prospect of Hogsmeade before calling out, "Meet me in the Potions dungeon tomarrow morning." It was more despondence than disappointment that stained your mood.

"Of course he kindly plans the detention for the hour Hogsmeade started," you griped to the friends with a cloying lilt, the sardonic grin chiseled into your face. He must have wanted you to watch your friends get to line up at the entrance hall before dragging you into his dreary dungeon.

~~

        Your heavy footsteps echoed loudly off of the spiral stairs and torches that lit your path through the damp corridor flickered subtly, coaxing your lanky shadow to dance across the rough carved stone. Snape sat at his desk, reading over a stack of essays. He didn't bother informing you what your assignment was, he didn't even glance up at you as you entered, as it was plainly clear by the bucket of flobberworms that sat on one table and the accompanying dagger what your assignment was.

Snape was infamous for his sadistic detention assignments - you had even heard that he forced a Gryffindor to scrub the bedpans from the infirmary without magic - and you had been so sure that your task would somehow trump even that, especially because of the horrible mood that seemed to come over him this year, that you had actually been relieved to only see flobberworms.

You had already handled the bulbous worms in your recent Magical Creatures lesson, so the disgust of the task of disembowelment wore off after the first few, and ended up being slightly cathartic when you allowed your imagination to wander down a shadowy, malevolent road. You had found a rhythm by the time Snape stood up from his desk, finally uttering the first thing he had spoken to you that day, "You're dismissed for the day. I'll see you back here at the same time tomarrow," before gliding across the room and holding the door open for you.

The gifts of a chocolate cauldron and licorice wand from Honeydukes - as well as Pepper Imps from Fred and Geroge, though they choicely neglected to mention the fire that would lance from your mouth after a few chews - and a bottle of butterbeer was a soothing balm to your stinging exclusion, but the tales they told you only increased your forlornness. 

~~

        After the second day concluded, Snape held you once again. He never looked up from the parchment neatly piled on the desk in front of him as he informed you, "I have spoken with the headmaster, and he agrees that it would be for the best if you stayed in the castle until this Sirius Black nastiness clears up." His lips peeled back as he spoke the fugitive's name, as if the mere utterance left a foul taste on his tongue.

You flared, and to his surprise, he heard your footsteps approaching his desk. Snape listlessly glanced up from the parchment, meeting your heated glare.

"That isn't fair."

"I'm sorry, Potter, please regale me of your superior knowledge of fairness," he replied bitterly before returning his gaze back to the parchment. "Let this be a lesson that life is full of injustices. If you must blame someone, blame Black," his lips seemed to curl back again. "You may only care about sweet shops and pubs, but the professors care about your safety. Hogsmeade will still remain where it is next year. Your dismissed." When you stood defiantly in front of his desk, trying to piece together some semblance of an argument, he wrenched his vision impatiently up at you, sapping the remaining remnants of your brave disobedience.

"I said. You. Are. Dismissed."

~~

        Darkness encased you like a closed fist, and all that existed inside the void was you and Tom. He ran his fingers tenderly through your hair with a loving stroke, until his fingers curled into a fist, violently pulling your head back. When you pried open your wincing eyes, you saw that his young, smooth face had become gaunt, his high cheekbones now jutting out like jagged cliffs beneath his sallow skin, a wild patch of black bristles now covering his jaw. A pair of black eyes that acted as doors to his equally dark soul leered down at you as though they wished to swallow you whole.

Black's mouth opened, unleashing an inaudible cackle of madness that silently shook the air around you, reverberating through your bones. You suddenly remembered your wand, but just as you went to raise it, it had vanished from your hand, reappearing in his own. Your own wand was stabbed beneath your chin, forcing your face to meet with his own as a sickly green fog began to effuse the tip.

The quilted sheet was thrown from your torso as it lurched forward with a start. Your chest rose and fell as you attempted to catch your breath, running a hand through your sleep-stained tresses. Thunder shook the air around you, giving your tensed muscles another jolt. Swearing beneath your breath, you knew that even if you could, you didn't want to go back to sleep. Not at the risk of falling back into that man's embrace. A mismatched pair of solid and striped socks shielded your feet from the cold that soaked into the floor and muted your light steps.

Flashes of lightning poured through the windows every so often, bathing you momentarily in its soft white light, followed by a clap that would occasionally prompt a flinch from your wanderlust frame. There was something peaceful about the pattering of rain, however, and even the rolling thunder became comfortable once you had gotten used to it. You finally settled down in front of a yawning window, hugging your knees to your chest and watching the fat beads of rain trail down the glass as the world slept outside. 

The winds howled mournfully, creating a melodious lullaby alongside the rhythmic pounding of rain. You were actually relieved that you didn't have to play Quidditch in this weather, but none made you more grateful than when you'd catch a glimpse of the tattered wisps of black that sailed across the treeline, nearly invisible against the dark backdrop. 

A string of lightning splintered across the black ocean, brightening it against the jagged silhouette of the forbidden forest. Your eyelids were beginning to grow heavy again, lulled peacefully by the distant rumbling of thunder, until another fork of lightning licked at the sky, and for a moment, you were sure that you saw a dog standing by the treeline. Its ears were too pointed to be Fangs, though, and you knew that the cowardly dog was terrified of thunder. The world fell black again before you could get a good look, however.

You suddenly felt wide awake again as you crawled closer to the window, waiting for another streak of lightning to flare. Your nose nearly touched the glass as you mused briefly if you had simply fallen asleep for a split second, but that thought became eclipsed by an alarmingly familiar sensation; the submerging cold that foretold the arrival of those creatures. A cloak of black mist glided past the window. A mute scream encompassed your lips, and your torso flung backward as the hooded creature rounded back toward you.

The Dementor placed the tips of a glistening, blackened hand against the window, conjuring a trail of ice that forked out from its skeletal fingers and creep across the glass. It leaned closer to the window, and the same rattling sound was emitted from the black abyss that resided inside of its shadowy hood.

It was strange. A branching streak of lightning flashed behind the Dementor, yet no thunder followed. No sound at all could be heard, not even your own heartbeat, which echoed in your ears only a second prior. The color was slowly being leached from your surroundings, and it seemed as if the whole world around you was dying. The chill sank deeper than your bones; it was leaking into your very soul. Your body grew weak, and despondency settled into your brain, staining your thoughts as cold, colorless, and bleak as your surroundings. Everything that you once held dear suddenly felt trivial. As you became submerged within the abyssal arctic tide, you didn't feel fear, and the idea of death seemed like a welcome prospect.

A flash of green overtook your vision, and a scream ripped through your head again. Your eyes flung open, but when you lurched your torso back up, you began to swim inside your own head. The numbness that leaden your body slowly faded, allowing you to feel the arm that cradled your shoulders, steadying you. You were too weak to jump in alarm, but fear still bit into you at the sudden touch.

Instead of relief to see Lupin kneeling beside you, all that encompassed your mind was confusion as you wondered where you were. For a second, nothing existed anymore, and then all of a sudden, it had again. Wordlessly, he held out a piece of candy, and you knew enough to take it obediently. As you chewed, it all came back to you, and along with your mind, so too returned the warmth.

"Are you feeling better?" you asked him, enticing a kindly smile to endearingly deepen the creases around his features. "I believe that's what I should be asking you, (y/n). I won't ask why you are out of bed this late, but you better go back to your dorm before another professor finds you that will."

Chapter Text

        "I heard that one of the Gryffindor girls has a cat. I'm thinking about asking her to let us borrow it," Hannah told you as you both got dressed. It turned out that the rat was keeping her up at night as well. When she first complained about the noise, you were simply grateful to know that you weren't hearing things again.

"Please do." As the two of you entered the common room, the visage of Christmas greeted you fondly. Professor Sprout must have slipped through the barrels late last night and hung up her usual assortment of colorful bobbles around the foliage and set up the fir tree. Outside the common room, the decorations continued throughout the corridors, streamed over the carved stone walls, all boasting Flitwick's signature flair for the holiday.

The boisterous festivities along with a goblet full of coffee and a smattering of jam on your toast lightened your sleep leaden mind. You chose to skip Divination that day, having had enough of the countless deadly omens that appeared out of nothing and nowhere - last week it was the muddy footprint that was apparently shaped exactly like the Grim - and the mournful looks that Lavender and Padma always flashed you.

Unable to go to the greenhouse, you instead snuck across the grounds to Hagrid's hut. After a few knocks and a few more muffled barks, Hagrid's hairy head appeared in the door. "(y/n)! Good ter see yeh! Yeh get yer Magical Creatures homework done??" A warm cup of tea and conversation met you inside, while Fang's head covered your entire lap, his tongue lulling contently out the side of his drooly mouth.

It wasn't until roughly 20 minutes after you stepped through the doorway that the remembrance hit him, yanking him out of his chair and onto his feet. "Yer not meant teh be leavin' the castle!" He lifted the drowsy dog off of you by his belt-sized collar and ushered you to the door with a hand that nearly engulfed your back. "Ok, ok! But can I borrow some yarn?" He paused, narrowing his eyes with suspicion. "Whatd'ya need yarn fer?" Your complexion dusted a bashful shade of rouge, and it took you a few seconds to find the words. Once your explination was finished, Hagrid's eyes sparkling down at you, a big smile hidden behind his bushy bristles. 

"D'aw, now how can I say no ter that?"

Walking into the defense dungeon, you were pleased to see Lupin standing in front of the class, and even so to see the dusty cloth draped over a glass cage. This lesson was a vast improvement over the essay that Snape had tasked the class with writing, leaving you on the edge of your seat, leaning across your desk in an effort to get a better look at the creature. It appeared to be nothing more than a harmless wisp of smoke, but Lupin warned the class that looks could be deceiving. 

After the bell rang, Lupin held you over. "I told Professor Dumbledore about last night." You paled.

"You told him that I was out past curfew...?" Lupin couldn't help but chuckle at the misunderstanding. "No, I left you out of the story, don't worry. I just told him about the wandering Dementor. They aren't allowed to come onto the grounds, and when I told him, well, to say that he was livid would be an understatement."

His smile fell, and his face turned serious as he said, "You've been attacked twice now, and I believe it may be because of your... past, that you might be more susceptible to them. They siphon the happiness from a person, devour every happy memory, every good feeling, the very warmth from your body. Gone. Though I hope you'll never need it, I'd like to show you how to defend yourself against them." 

"Yes, please!" You hated how weak they made you feel. Entering the world of magic and acquiring a wand had given you the means of power that had been stolen from you by the Dursleys. You had come so far in these three years, yet in the presence of the Dementors you fell back into the mind of that small girl still locked away inside of the cupboard beneath the stairs. Helpless and alone, with only tears and the constant darkness as company.

Being overpowered by the Dursley's, by Tom Riddle's shadow, and now by these wretched beings. You needed a way to defend yourself, so you'd never be subjected to that again.

By anyone. 

"It's a highly advanced charm, but I think that if you practice in the meantime, you'll be able to perform it. At its root, the spell is a projection of hope. I'll scour the grounds for another boggart for you to practice on, so take the time to think of a particularly happy memory."

A particularly happy memory. You frowned thoughtfully as you walked to Charms, combing through your head. Receiving the letter for Hogwarts? Being gifted Hedwig? Winning your first Quidditch match? When you met Norberta? 

~~

        More students than the previous years were staying behind for winter break, likely under the impression that this was currently the safest place to be while Black still roamed free. The decorations were amplified because of this; each wall flourishing with bustling bushels of tinsil, colorful fluttering faeries flying freely through the corridors, speckling the halls with their shimmering colors, while the fir trees that laced the entrance hall and the Great Hall seemed to be more ornament than foliage. Accompanying the usual festive assortment were fluffy piles of snow resting beneath the every-lasting icicles that hung beneath the window ledges, lining the corridors and giving off none of the chill of the nonsnow outside. The music of an invisible orchestra filled the Great Hall, slipping past the enormous twin wooden doors and echoing into the entrance hall.

You would surely have an ample amount of time to contemplate what happy memory was most potent; or perhaps, make new ones. Cedric was among those that stayed at Hogwarts, though you didn't entirely believe him when he told you that his parents were simply on a couples vacation for the holidays.

You spent dinner sitting beside Cedric at the scantly inhabited table, and it was refreshing to talk with him over your meal, as he was usually surrounded by his possessive friend group.

"You know, I did learn a thing or two from Divination," Cedric was telling you. You lowered your goblet, a teasing smirk played on your lips, "Oh? Is that why you're not taking it again this year? You've already learned everything?"

"Exactly. Let me see your palm." You put down your fork and raised your hand obediently, wondering what he was playing at. He took it gently into his own, turning it over to examine the palm. Your face betrayed your coy disposition as it flushed at his touch; his fingers ghosted across the subtly creases that were molded into your palm. 

"Ah yes, I see it now."

"See what?"

"Look at this line here?" His thumb tenderly traced over the example and your face grew warmer. "This says that you will receive a pair of socks for Christmas." You snorted out a laugh and wrenched your hand away, using it to give him a playful shove. Your laughter intertwined, his hearty chuckle and your uncouth titters, unaware of the other eyes on you; two sets of mischievous gazes and one simmering with jealous wrath. 

After dinner, while you were walking through the corridor back to the common room, Cedric was unusually quiet. Glancing over his shoulder, his steady pace suddenly paused. You followed suit, looking back as well as he said, "Can I help you two?" The Fred and Geroge stepped out from the suit of armor that they were hiding behind with an air of dignity that felt misplaced in the two lurkers.

"You could by letting us borrow (y/n)," George replied.

"You've been stuck to her hip since break began. Couldn't get a private word in with her all week," Fred added with slight indignation. 

A teasing smile curled George's lips in reaction to his chary expression. "Don't fret now, Ceddy, we'll give her right back when we're done with her." Cedric flashed you a wary glance, but you walked over to them regardless, reassuring him that you'll be right back.

The three of you slipped into the nearest classroom, which was lit solely by the dim sunlight that lazily swam in through the windows. The two exchanged an excited look, and Fred took an aged piece of sallow parchment that was chipped on the sides from his trouser pocket. Together, they placed their freckle speckled hands over your own, placing them on each end of the parchment, guiding you as you unfolded it. Your own climbing expectations plummeted when you were faced with the blank surface of the simple parchment. They both took in your lackluster expression with growing excitement.

"You do the honors, George." Taking out his wand, he spoke the sacred words with reverence gripping each word. "I Solemnly Swear I Am Up To No Good." From where the tip of his wand lightly kissed the page, a dot of black was left. Before your expanding eyes, that tiny mark began to sprout like a germinated seed, its ink roots spiderwebbing across the pages, criss crossing as it crafted walls and names and tiny footprints that marched between the lines. At the very top, the straight river beds of ink began to loop into a curvaceous flourish as it spelled out; Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present THE MARAUDER'S MAP.

Your lashes fluttered as you took it all in, your eyes darting across the page as you tried to take in every strange inch of the enchanted map. Snape's footsteps were pacing in his office. Lupin was stationary at his desk. Mrs. Norris was prowling around the floor above them, and you could even see Hagrid and Buckbeak on the outskirts of the forbidden forest, with Fang inside his hut. Their hands clapped onto your shoulder, appreciating the glimmer of endless possibilities that glinted in your owlish orbs.

"Seeing how you nearly died last year, and that the prospect is back again this year, we figured you could use some extra security."

"Or just a means of having some more fun. You really need to step up your troublemaking game, and this is the key to our own success. We've already memorized every passage, and know Filch's routine by heart. Seemed to us that it was time to pass the torch."

It was difficult to peel your gaze from the map. "What about your little sister?"

"She's on track to become a prefect next year."

"We couldn't be more disappointed."

Once the two released you, you bounded over to Cedric, clasped his arm, and dragged him all the way to the common room, not even bothering to let go as you both awkwardly crawled through the barrel. "What happened?" he asked as you scoped the room to make sure that you were alone. In answer to his query, you wordlessly unrolled the sallow parchment, and at first he was a mirror of your own questioning mien, before you said the golden words. His eyes turned to saucers as he watched the ink travel across the page, his lips ajar as he took in all of the moving feet, settling on the stationary pair of both of yours, stood side by side. 

"(y/n), this is..." An internal struggle took place between his head and heart; he was a prefect, and this couldn't be allowed. Yet, when he finally tore his eyes off the map and looked to you, saw your beaming smile, your glinting eyes that stared up at him expectantly. Those two polished emerald gems bolstered the latter and effortlessly thwarted the former. Looking back to the map, an idea formed in his head as he inspected a specific tower that was currently empty.

"I may have heard a rumor regarding the Gryffindor password..." Your hand instantly latched onto his own, entwining your fingers as you once again led him through the castle.

"Do you have any idea which painting it is?" you asked as you strolled up the Grand Staircase.

"No, just that it's been giving them a hard time." Wandering through the seventh floor corridor, you kept your head on a swivel, examining each painting, trying to find one that fit this bill. The residents within the frames gave you equally searching look in return. Turning a corner, your face was consumed by a foggy pocket of cold that sent a shiver through your body. Stumbling backward, you looked up to see Peeves staring down at you with equal puzzlement. Then his silvery face lifted into a toothy leer. Cedric grabbed your wrist and bolted down the hall, dragging you in tow as Peeves ripped in his loudest voice, "OI NICK! BEST PUT THE KETTLE ON! YOU GOT SOME HUFFLEY PUFFLEY GUESTS IN YOUR TOWER!

You were finally able to stop and catch your breath once your feet rested on the last step of the marble staircase. "I..." you began through huffed breaths, stubbornly steadfast in wanting to make use of this opportunity that the twins gifted to you, "I know where the Slytherin common room is..." Cedric stared at you for a moment, and you thought for a second that he had had enough, until a broad smile played on his face. It seemed that your mischievousness was rubbing off on the perfect prefect, because he confessed, "I may have a dungbomb laying around."

The two of you treaded down the spiral staircase, crept into the dungeon, and found the blank brick wall between the torches. An ocean of nostalgia washed over you as you gently brushed the tips of your fingers across the cold damp stone. It felt like it had been an entire lifetime since you lasted stepped inside. Was the password was still even the same? It wasn't until now that you remembered to check the map, but as you pulled it from your pocket, the bricks began shifting, crafting the doorway. 

Malfoy's listless gaze expanded when it settled on you. His lips parted in surprise, but pursed closed again when he saw Cedric behind you. "What's a good little prefect doing with their nose in another House's dorm, hm?" Malfoy chided spitefully before shouldering his way past him. 

"We were just walking around and happened to see the bricks suddenly move. This is the Slytherin dormitory, you say? We had no idea," you lied through your teeth. "Well then, Cedric, let's continue our stroll. Good day to you, Malfoy." Malfoy simply crossed his arms in response, his eyes flickering dangerously like the sconce-bound torches that lined the wall as he watched you and the perfect pretty prefect disappear down the tenebrous corridor.

~~

        Christmas morning came in a flash. Running up the stairs, you found Cedric already sitting by the full tree. You apologized for making him wait, saying he didn't need to, but he just laughed it off. "I can never sleep at Christmas." You both tore into your presents; more sweets from Honeyduke that Susan must have been hiding, a broom repair kit (what good that was now) from Hannah, and a pair of socks from Ernie. You held them up for Cedric to see, and he let out a chuckle.

"You might just have the Sight after all," you said through laughter. Picking up your final gift, which was pushed all the way at the back of the tree, your smile fell, and your complexion heated as you read the tag. To: (y/n) From: Cedric. Beneath the cheery wrapping was a thin long box, and inside was a quill; its plumage was the same uniform size as your others, but it boasted a brilliant shade of green that matched your eyes. 

"I saw it at Scrivenshaft, and it reminded me of you..." he told you bashfully, ruffling a nervous hand through the back of his brown locks. Then, it was his turn to become embarrassed when he found the present from you. You thought you saw his own complexion deepen when he lifted up the woven scarf from the shredded wrapping paper. It was golden and grey pattern, with a mismatch of grey and gold tassels flourishing the ends. You felt insecure comparing the presents, but his eyes lit up.

"You made this?" You nodded. "For me?" You nodded again, both of your faces were the color of the red lights that illuminated the tree. While he wrapped it around his neck, you rambled out a long-winded explanation, "I knew you already have a scarf but I transfigured the yarn I borrowed from Hagrid-its very nice yarn, the wool is really soft- into yellow and grey, so it would be different." He sat patiently and listened to you rant, and once you were done, he simply said through his comfortable smile, "Thank you, I love it."

You donned the sweater that Hagrid had made you with that same yarn and found that it fit much better than the year prior, the sleeves stopping just above your knuckles and the hem now sitting comfortably on your hips. As the two of you strolled up the marble staircase together, you tried not to think about the fact that, despite the transfigured coloring, you and Cedric were basically matching with the same yarn. Malfoy stood at top, looking over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps, and eyed Cedric's scarf. "Who made your scarf, Diggory? The same blind tailor that hobbled together Potter's sweater?"

"(y/n) made it for me," he replied confidently, a proud smile crafting his lips. Malfoy's simper was ripped from his face and his pale complexion drained further. His nose flared and his lips pressed thin, as though he wanted to unleash so many vile words that they all jammed inside his throat. Twisting around, he simply stomped ahead of you. Inside the Great Hall, however, he was faced with a single trestle table down the center of the room. 

Malfoy attempted to stick to the very corner of the table, but to his further dismay, McGonagall forced him to sit with everyone. As he had the years prior, after the feast Dumbledore conjured an assortment of Christmas crackers, which were full of eccentric hats this year. Cedric's hat was adorned by a poised vulture, while your own matched Dumbledore's; a velvet blue top hat that acted as a stylish vase for a bouquet of flowers that bloomed from the top. Fred had charmed Ginny's hat so that the cat that adorned hers meowed merrily, but Percy huffed and uncharmed it. Malfoy's hat sat on the bench beside him. He wore his tight-lipped scowl throughout the majority of dinner, stabbing at his food a tad too viciously, and finally feigned a stomach ache to peel away from the cheery table. You watched him sulk away, wondering why he stayed at Hogwarts if he was determined to have such a terrible time.

Chapter Text

        "Expecto Patronum!" A silvery glow exhaled from the tip of your wand like a moonlit fog but faded just as quickly as it appeared. You let out a disappointed huff, but Lupin smiled sympathetically. "It's an advanced spell that's well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. Even adult wizards struggle with it. If you want to cancel the practices-"

"No! I can do it." You weren't about to give up during your first practice.

"Alright. Are you sure that you're picturing your happiest memory? You can't think of anything that brings you more joy?"

Taking in a cleansing breath, you closed your eyes and exhaled your frustrations in a steady stream of air. The sensation of the Golden Snitch's paper-thin wings wriggling inside your gloved hand, the wind lashing at your face and numbing the exposed tips of your fingers, the exultation that set fire to your veins while engulfed inside the melodious roar of the crowd - the memory of your first victory in Quidditch was exhilarating, but was there one better? Sifting through the sea of bleakness in search of a rare speck of light, a recent picture floated to the surface of your mind, warming your complexion as the recollection washed over your mind; Cedric with your hand-knitted scarf wrapped around his neck. Lupin raised a brow at the sudden flush that colored your face, but knew to keep the amusement to himself, only allowing a knowing smile to pull at his lips. 

Keeping Cedric's smiling face above your scarf at the forefront of your mind, you raised your wand again. "Expecto Patronum!" This time the pale light extended from the tip of your wand like a watery finger, reaching out and swirling into a wispy image, just barely taking shape before it dissipated back into a pearlescent mist. Looking up at Lupin for approval, your smile was extended further by the proud glint that shone in his lined eyes.

He went to the front of the room and stood beside the trunk that housed his recently captured boggart. "Remember, think of the Dementor. Nothing else." You nodded your head and eclipsed every other thought with the image you conjured in your head; its long, spindly fingers that glinted like weeping black icicles, the abyss that inhabited the inside of its hood, the chill that it sowed inside of you, and the blossom of despair that it bloomed as it voraciously leeched out all of the color from your world. 

Lupin opened the wooden lid and took a step back, internally relieved to see that you had succeeded in cloaking the boggart in the black tattered shroud of the Dementor. The candlelight quivered tremulously, and even the lapping flames inside the brazier wavered when the faux Dementor flew by it. The Dementor glided toward you eagerly, the whispering of its shroud across the ground as haunting as the night wind.

Your heart betrayed you as it sunk into the lower chamber of your ribs, cowering from the ghostly creature's approach. The perturbation spread through your torso and into your arm, causing your hand to tremble. "Ex, Expecto-" An artic draft wafted over you, painting your skin in its frigid influence and glossing your skin with a sheen of cold sweat. "Expecto... to..."

Darkness swallowed your consciousness whole, and when your eyes fluttered back open, you found that you had been spat back out on the ground. Lupin was knelt over you, his seamed features furrowed in an apologetic expression. He seemed to have known this would happen, as he had another piece of chocolate in his hand. "You've done well enough, let's end it-"

"No!" You stuffed the chocolate in your mouth and got up, forcing your weakened knees to settle enough to hold you up, and raised your shakey wand upward. "I'm ready."

You were still shivering from the phantom chill that soaked your bones by the time Lupin finally ended the practice. You would have continued, but he had finally put his foot down. Your muscles had turned to pudding and your face was blanched, stained by tears and sweat. You could hardly keep your fingers wrapped around your wand, let alone cast the spell.

"I'm sorry I got you so worked up. We'll try again next week"

The practices continued but hardly helped. On your own, the silvery wisp was taking more and more shape, yet when you were faced with the boggart, the memory that acted as your greatest weapon was siphoned from your brain. No matter how hard you tried, your iron grip was eroded to brittle rust by the faux Dementor, ripping the memory from your fingertips and replacing it with a blinding blizzard. 

Months shifted, but the season hardly followed, still bitterly cold and dreary. Hannah made good on her threat, and did in fact borrow the Gryffindor girl's cat. She had to trade a box of cauldron cakes to keep the fluffy feline for a week, and when the time passed you urged her to barter for more time with the cute company, but the squeaking and scratching were no more, and it seemed like the orange ball of fuzz had done its job. Still, you'd miss cuddling with him at night. 

Inside the common room, the rolls of parchment, inkwell, and stacks of textbooks that incorporated your Magic History project monopolized the table in front of you. As much as you wished that you could focus solely on practicing that singular spell, the professors had made other plans with your time.

Your classmates had already finished the project days ago, and were filling their free time with more lackadaisical activities; Hannah was swapping Chocolate Frog cards with Ernie, and Susan was embroiled in a game of Wizard Chess with Linda Chaddesley, while Justin was already asleep in a particularly plush armchair that cuddled his slumped frame. Cedric and Zacharias were hunched over their own pieces of parchment as they brushed up on their notes, accompanied by the plate of biscuits that Zacharias had nicked from the kitchens.

One by one your housemates abandoned their seats and disappeared into the dormitory. Hannah joined your table after Ernie vanished behind the door, regaling you about the rare cards that she had beguiled him out of. You would bob your head in an attentive nod every now and then, but your focus was solely attached to the paper that your quill glided across.

A breathy yawn encompassed Hannah's mouth, breaking your steely focus from the History textbook you had accidentally become submerged within. "You can go to bed, I'll be right after you when I've copied this passage." With a dozy smile, Hannah slipped through the dormitory door, leaving just you, the snoozing plants, and the dwindling fire.

Stopping your inkwell and shoving it along with the parchment into your bag, you finally joined your housemates, trudging downstairs and into the cajoling embrace of your pajama's. You would have plopped face down onto your bed if you weren't afraid the sound may wake Hannah. 

Tucked beneath the quilted blanket, you were just about to doze off yourself when a gentle knocking rapped against your bedroom door. Fighting against the painful reluctance, you opened your eyes and peered quizzically at Hannah's bed, seeing her bed curtains were still closed tight. The thought that you may have dreamt the noise was cut brief when it softly piqued your ears again. Sliding off your bed, you quietly padded over to the door, but when you opened it, you were greeted by nothing but the gloom that had previously bid you farewell. 

Confusion furrowed your brow as you lingered in the doorway, scanning your vision around the empty space, finding nothing and no one. With a sigh of defeat, you closed the door and redirected your attention back to your alluring bed. You ruffled your fingers through your messy tresses, sure that it must have simply been the wind when the sound rapped again, ever so softly, enticing the image of the culprit's possible identity to appear in your drowsy mind.

"Peeves..." You grumbled hushedly. Going to your trunk, you pulled out the hidden Maurader's Map and unfolded it, sure that you would find the pesky poltergeist stationed right outside your door. 

But what you found on the page was a name you didn't recognize. Peter Pettigrew's footprints were stationed right in front of your door, yet when you opened it, you found the same thing as before. The empty dormitory hallway. Taking a step out, the ink footsteps took two steps forward, and then stood still again.

'He's leading me somewhere...' 

Keeping your lit wand in front of you and your eyes on the map, you traced the steps of the seemingly invisible person through the kitchen corridor and up the marble staircase. When you would lag behind, he would stop and allow you to catch up before continuing. The ink footsteps finally settled in front of the door that you frequently used to get to Magical Creatures class; the door that led to the grounds facing the forbidden forest. When you looked back down at the map, you saw that the disembodied footsteps were suddenly behind the door and outside. He wanted you to step outside of the castle.

"Hello?" you called out quietly, but the only sound that replied was your own voice reverberating softly off the expansive walls around you. The curiosity that had strung you along this far usurped caution, and as you swallowed away the rational trepidation, you placed your hand on the ornate iron doorknob. 

Heavy footsteps pulled you from your own mind with a jarring flinch. Assuming the approaching steps belonged to Filch, you contemplated dashing out the door before he could reach you, but the voice that called out caught you off guard.

"(y/n)!" Lupin appeared out of the consuming darkness, the lantern in his hand momentarily burning your eyes as it had the occupying shadows. "Why are you out of bed again?" A dozen excuses popped into your head, but each sounded less convincing than the last. When you pried open your squinting eyes, you saw that he was holding his hand out expectingly, his eyes plastered to the parchment in your hands. Having no time to mutter the dismissing incantation, you hesitantly yet obediently relinquished the map to him. 

To your bemusement, the traces of anger vanished from his face. Instead, his brow was merely pursed together by puzzlement, the glimmer of nostalgia playing inside his weary eyes as they scanned over the sallow parchment. He inquired in a voice that sounded distant, as if half of his mind was elsewhere, "Where did you find this??" 

"Laying around," you lied poorly, but Lupin's focus was enraptured on the map, the obvious fib gliding over his distracted head. His subdued disposition coaxed your tied tongue to unfurl, allowing you to confide in the professor that you had come to trust. "I didn't mean to break curfew, but I saw something weird. There was a boy in the girl's dorm, but when I looked outside my door, I saw nothing. So I followed him through the castle to this door."

He finally broke his stupor to look back up at you, the wistful tint that painted his features now molting into concern. "Who?" He held the map out for you, but when you glanced back at the door, it was as though his prints had vanished, suddenly as invisible as their owner. "I don't see him anymore, but his name was Peter Pettigrew, though I've never heard that name in the Hufflepuff House before. Maybe he's a first-year I've never met, but that doesn't explain how he got into the-"

Your voice was stifled as you peered back up to Lupin, seeing that his face had become nearly as ashen as a ghost's. You saw the skin above his jaw tighten as he rolled up the map, shoving it into his pocket. "Back to your dorm. Now. And I do not want to see you roaming these halls at night again, or Professor Dumbledore will hear about it."

~~

        The snow turned to sleet before finally melting back to rain, but even as spring hovered on the horizon, only a stray sliver of the concealed sunlight would pierce the veil of clouds. You returned to Divination, finding that Trelawney didn't seem bothered by your skiving off, and nor did she seem surprised by your arrival, only giving you a knowing look when you dragged your body up the latter and into her classroom. You took your seat between Neville and Lavender and did your best to ignore the excited look that she swapped with Padma.

It seemed you chose an auspicious day to return as Trelawney informed the class that they would be starting the last Seer craft of the semester; crystallomancy. While Trelawney explained the usage of the Seer device, Lavender and Padma leaned in their seats as far as they could, all in an effort to catch a glimpse at your crystal ball, watching it as though it displayed the grand finale of their favorite television show. 

"Concentrate, wipe your minds clean... Any stray thoughts will cloud your Inner Eyes and blind your Sight!" That was easier said than done when your neighbors were all but falling out of their seats. You closed your eyes to try and concentrate, but the deluge of tedious thoughts refused to recede. 

Peering around through her thick spectacles, she saw that the rest of the class appeared just as befuddled by the simplistic task as you. "Relax. Blank minds, remember... Breath in...." She took a deep breath in example before unleashing a long string of air, "and out." You followed the advice and found pleasantly that your muscles grew lax as you succeeded in purging the burdensome clouds that cluttered your mind through a few breathy exhales. For a couple of brief blissful moments, your mind was as clear as a summer sky, effusing an equally respiting warmth - until Neville's tremulous voice reinjected your exhaled nerves back into your body.

"What's that??"

His ominous words lured your classmates to crowd around you, abandoning their tables to see what doom would be looming over you today. Initially, you only saw the same swirling fog that inhabited your crystal ball when you sat down before it, but beneath your scrupulous gaze, the churning cloak suddenly began to knot together, casting branches that jutted out like splintering fingers and swayed beneath some hidden breeze. Two yellow dots pierced the veil briefly before a rogue grey wave covered the scene, washing it from the glass ball.

You leaned in your chair, squinting your eyes as you tried to piece the scene back together, but Trelawny's sudden appearance in front of you made you jump in your seat.

"I don't see anything. You need to clear your mind, dear," she informed you, but you didn't think that would be possible now.

        "It's all rubbish," Susan told you over her dinner plate. "But I actually saw something this time! There was the whomping willow and the..." Your voice trailed off, the word suddenly sticking in your throat now that you've seen it with your own eyes. She flicked her gaze up at you, an incredulous look on her face. "The Grim? I thought you agreed that that was nonsense. That professor has been talking about the Grim since the start of the year and now you're beginning to see it because of her." 

What exactly was The Grim? What was this looming embodiment of foreboding that has clung to your heel like a shadow since your first week? The answers lingered just outside the castle. After dinner, you lingered in the common room, pretending to pore over your History project while everyone else filed into the dormitory. 

Cedric was the last to leave, going back into the kitchen corridor instead of the dormitory to assume his prefect rounds. Resting your head on your hand, you used the other to absentmindedly rap your quill tip against the parchment, dotting it with a tiny splattering of ink as you waited patiently for the time in which Cedric would be far enough away. 

Glancing toward the clock, you decided that now would be the right time. Instead of following after your housemates, you dipped back through the barrels and snuck through the kitchen corridor, keeping an eye and ear out for any prefects or professors. Though you've broken curfew plenty of times before, it felt as though you were walking around blind without the Mauraders Map; having a guide that tracked every living - and nonliving - being's location was bloody helpful. 

'Just a glance toward the whomping willow,' you told yourself silently, 'and if nothing's there, then I'll sneak back in. If there is something there...' The thought ended abruptly as you weren't exactly sure of the answer, but Peter Pettigrew was trying to lead you outside - perhaps he wanted to help you face this mystery? Would you meet him out there? You took the same path that he had once treaded on the map, finding the door that led outside toward the forbidden forest. Whispering, "Nox," beneath your breath, you opened the door and took a tentative step outside. 

It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the encompassing darkness, but once they had, the night turned from a hindrance into an ally and became your co-conspirator as it gifted you a cloak of shadows. You were only allowed a few more steps toward the whomping willow until your feet were glued to the ground by the hand that latched onto your upper arm. 

Cedric's face was obscured by the tenebrous night, but you could very clearly discern anger. "What are you doing out here!" he demanded in a rare tone of fiery reproach. A small ounce of relief soothed your frayed nerves in discovering that it was only Cedric who found you - until he said, "25 points from Hufflepuff! And an entire week of detention after I've taken you to Professor Sprout!" 

You fired up at his words, attempting and failing to wrench your arm away from his seemingly iron grip. "I've been locked up in that castle all damn year while you and everybody else got to enjoy Hogsmeade! I just wanted some bloody fresh air!" 

"If you wanted some fresh air you could have gone to the courtyard! I heard you over dinner, you were looking for The Grim!" Your lips parted, the surprise of being caught red-handed wiping every preplanned excuse from your head. Your face reddened with chagrin, and you again tried to pull yourself from Cedric's grip. 

"It's not fair-"

"I know it isn't and I'm sorry, but that doesn't mean you can just-" Cedric's pinched features laxed, his jaw falling and his fixed eyes turning to saucers as he stared over your shoulder. You were about to follow his stupored gaze when his body suddenly sprung back to life, yanking you roughly in an attempt to shelter you behind him - but it was too late. You felt the enormous dog before you saw him; the jagged molars that pressed tight against your skin as his jaw wrapped around your arm. Your sweater was ripped during the brief tug-of-war before you were effortlessly stolen from Cedric's grip.

You heard your name being yelled in a voice twisted by terror, but it was a peripheral sense as your body tumbled painfully against the ground you were dragged across, until your head collided with a rock that was hidden within the sea of grass, and it was all black. 

Chapter Text

        A groan rattled your throat in response to the ache that complained deep inside your muscles as you lifted your cumbersome body upward. Your pulse thundered against your skull, but when you attempted to hold your pounding head, your hand jerked away as it touched an angry welt. The redolent scent of dust saturated the air around you, clinging to the stiff sheets that you felt yourself sitting on. 

Prying your wincing eyes open, the first thing you took in was the slanted appearance of the emaciated room; you wondered if a concussion was the cause of this abnormality. The wallpaper that clad the tipsy walls was peeling and puffy, every corner decorated by a cobweb, and a mantle of dust consumed every surface. Only a thin finger of fettered moonlight peered through the shuttered windows, gilding the dust particles that laden the air. 

By instinct, your hand fell into the pocket in your skirt, but it was empty. Your wand was gone. The throbbing inside your head escalated as your pulse spiked, but the pain was peripheral to the fear that froze your veins as your memories came crashing back over you. You scrambled off of the bed, but before you could stand, your searching eyes finally spotted the ruin of a man that melded so seamlessly with the other shadows. The gaunt face from the wanted poster had already stared at you many times before, except now sound came from his cracked lips.

"I'm sorry..." It was far from the mad bellowing that had encompassed Black's mugshot; his true voice was a hoarse rasp of a whisper, sounding as though he hadn't used it in eons. Breaking your eyes from his own, your gaze dipped low enough to see your wand tucked inside his skeletal hand. In the other was a rather plump rat. Black's adam's apple trembled as he swallowed his nerves, his hollow eyes regarding your frightened mien with an intense sorrow that entwined with a hint of wistfulness. "I never meant-"

His lamentation was interrupted by the door flinging open, and wand first Lupin stepped in, with Cedric clinging to his heels. Cedric immediately found your side, searching you over for any serious injuries before looking back to Black. 

"I've got him, Remus. I've got him!" Black croaked with hollow glee, holding up the rat. Both you and Cedric shared the same incredulous expression that reflected your belief in his diminished sanity, but Lupin was different. He narrowed his eyes as he examined the rat, settling on the four toes that should have been five.

"Is that really-"

"It is! It was him! He betrayed them!" The rat wriggled helplessly inside Black's spindly fingers, loudly squeaking out its protests. To your immense bemusement, Lupin lowered his arm.

"So it's true..."

"Professor..." you said warily, gaining Lupin's attention. His seamed face regarded you with befuddlement as he tried and failed to piece together his own frazzled thoughts. "It's- it's a long story, (y/n). One that you have every right to know, but we must confirm something first." Black's voice strained in his throat, gaining in volume as he spoke, "It is him, Remus, and tonight I will finally commit the murder that sent me to Azkaban!!' 

Lupin lined his wand with the rat in Black's hand, but before he could utter the incantation, his wand was snatched from his hand by a scarlet red blast. Snape held the wand in his off-hand as he pulled the wand from Black's with the same spell, catching it in the air. He tutted his tongue in a sardonic display of disapproval. "I think not, Sirius," he said in a silky voice before looking to Lupin. "I warned dumbledore against hiring you."

"Severus, listen to me, please-' 

"Why should I listen to the words of a werewolf?" Where you had lost your voice, Cedric discovered his own, echoing back, "Werewolf?" Black balled his fists, glaring at Snape with the same rancor that he regarded Lupin with at the start of the year feast. "Watch your mouth, you sniveling-"

"Did you know, Potter, that this is the man that murdered your parents?" Snape said loudly, speaking over him. The same haunting sorrow flickered across Black's gaunt face, while your attention snapped suddenly to Snape. "Black killed James Potter, his own best friend. Tut tut. What a cold betrayal." As you slowly swung your gaze back to Black, anger slowly usurped the fear, scorching your chest. Black averted his vision down to the dust that carpeted the floor and licked his lips nervously before gathering the courage to meet your daggerous gaze. 

"I did, but (y/n), you have to listen to me, the true killer is right here!" He raised his arm into the sky, brandishing the fat rat like a trophy. 

Snape simply sneered. "Have the Dementors kissed your wits away?"

Lupin's words were rushed and panicked, "It's true, (y/n). I always had my doubts, but when you saw his name on the Maurader's Map- it never lies, (y/n)- and with Sirius seen around so suddenly, I couldn't help but wonder. And then I saw it for myself tonight, I saw his name on the map, right beside your own. I never truly thought Sirius killed your parents-"

"ENOUGH!" Snape bellowed. "I won't suffer through the lies and excuses of a skeleton and a werewolf. Though I'm sure the Dementors will love to hear your little story."

"No. I want to hear him," your voice was so small that it was barely heard. "(y/n)-" Cedric started, but you stepped away from him, your eyes never breaking from Black's. Snape stepped in front of you, blocking your approach. "I don't give a damn what you want, Potter. You've endangered yourself enough. Go back to Diggory now," he warned in a particularly dangerous tone, but this time you didn't flinch from his hiss. A dry laugh came from Black.

"Scared of a skeleton, Snivelus?" he taunted. Lupin gave him a reprimanding look, while Snape's face twisted, the taut skin across his knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip around his wand, whispering, "Oh please, I'm begging you, just give me a reason-"

"I want to hear what he has to say," you said louder this time, enticing Snape's gaze to flash dangerously as it snapped back to you. Seething, his obsidian orbs seemed to burrow into your eyes; the green eyes of your father staring back at him. ''Exactly like him. I ran through the castle and across the ground to rescue you, but you're just as arrogant and bullheaded as your father was. Instead of listening to the person that has been working tirelessly to keep you safe from your own wreckless self, you'd rather trust Black and die a pointless death just like he did-' 

You weren't sure when you had grabbed Cedric's wand, and nor did you hear the words that you passed your lips. Only the echo of Snape's venom played deafeningly inside your head, "-die a pointless death just like he did-" thankful that his words were cut off as his body slammed against the wall. Your breaths were ragged, as though you ran a mile, and your heart was the same. Snape had always fixated solely on your eyes when he found an opportunity to chide you mercilessly, but this was different. It was truly as though he was seeing another person. But this was too important. This wasn't a chance for his little revenge. This was for the truth.

You glanced at Cedric, who appeared as bewildered as you expected, but his wilful silence toward the action spoke louder than his expression. That he didn't judge you for it. That he understood, as best he possibly could. You reclaimed your wand just before Black's pained yelp filled the room.

The freed rat skittered across the floor, but Lupin lunged for his fallen wand, hurling a torrent of spells at the rodent. It was close to a small gap in the wall when the spell finally struck, ripping the shroud off of the portly man. He slammed headfirst into the wall, shaking a few particles of dust from the forlorn curtains that bordered the shuttered window above him. 

Twisting around, he clung to the wall, terrified, his eye darting around as fearfully as a trapped rat before settling on you. He suddenly lunged forward, crawling on his hands and knees toward you, his chipped yellow nails scratching at the hardwood floor. It sounded exactly like the irritating skittering noise that had kept you and Hannah up at night.

Cedric's, Lupin's, and Snape's wands pointed at the man, but he ignored their mute threats, sitting on his knees as he desperately clutched the hem of your skirt, staring up at you with puffy black eyes. "Sweet girl- Kind girl- I was your father's best friend!" Sirius held Snape's wand against his neck, digging it into the fatty flesh as he pried the pathetic man off of you. "Don't you dare touch her!" he snarled, suddenly a wildfire of life. He then turned his head and looked at you, and his dark eyes softened greatly. His words spilled from his cracked lips in a deluge now that they were allowed to finally come out of him.

"I only broke out of Azkaban so I could hunt down Pettigrew, but before that, I wanted to see you. I came to that muggle town- no muggles ever look twice at a stray dog- just to see what you might look like," the gentle cadence was stripped from his voice, and a baleful shadow darkened his black eyes further as the skin across his bristling jaw tensed, "and then I smelled him. I don't know how long he was following you, (y/n), but I smelled him, just before the Knight Bus appeared. So I followed you to Diagon Alley, but I couldn't get into the damn inn, so I had to follow you to Hogwarts. I tried to sneak into the dorm to find him, but the Fat Lady wouldn't let me in without the password." He then looked to your dirtied tie, and a strange smile pulled at the corner of his lips. "I assumed you'd be in Gryffindor. We were all in Gryffindor, me, your parents, and Moony. I suppose I didn't even think twice about it," finishing awkwardly with, "my mistake."

He then directed his attention to the small man, his black eyes lit by a blazing fire. "What did you want with her?!" he interrogated. The man flinched pitifully at the mere question. "Nothing! Please! Just like you, I-I just wanted to see her! To see Lily and James's daugh-' 

"DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK THEIR NAME!" he bellowed suddenly. You whipped your head back to Pettigrew, your austere gaze enough to make him wince. 

"It was you. In my room."

"I-I-I just wanted to make sure you were safe! To make sure that Black didn't harm you! You look just like your mother, you know, she was so kind and merciful-" the tip of your wand sparked dangerously by your side, luring a piteous squeak from his thick throat. His twitchy eyes darted toward the door before returning to you. 

"Black wants to kill you, like he did your parents- your sweet parents- I was hidden by your side to protect you! You don't know the kind of spells He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named has taught him!" 

"The cat drove you from my room," you said flatly, making Black chortle out a cold, joyless laugh.

"You were always by her side to protect her, but were scared away by a cat? No, I don't think so. Did Voldemort tell you to follow her? Or was it one of his other followers?" The name caused him to flinch as if it was a closed fist. It was Lupin that warily spoke this time. "He's dead. In Godric Hollow-"

"Oh, I've heard things, Remus. Azkaban was full of his lot," he made a curt jester toward Pettigrew, "and they all wail the same song. That he's not dead. Only biding his time. Regaining his strength." Lupin paled. "Surely those are just hollow hopes," he said, though his own uncertainty leaked into his tone, betraying him.

"There is no hope in that place," he retorted quietly and bitterly, his voice a shadow.

"What happened. How did they- how did my parents die?" you asked, still unsure. Your choices were to believe either a rat or a madman. Pettigrew's pleading lapsed all of a sudden, and it was Sirius who told you it all; of Voldemort's sudden interest in your family, of the powerful, ancient counter-charm that saved your life and briefly ended Voldemort's, and that the Secret Keeper had been changed to Pettigrew. Once that detail was shared, he flew at your feet, groveling.

"Lies! Every word! Poison in your ears! Please, sweet girl, you have to trust me! I've only been protecting you, like I protected your parents-" When he grabbed the hem of your torn sweater, Cedric's wand jabbed between his eyes. He simply turned his beady black gaze up to Cedric, as though he didn't have a wand to his head. "Dear boy, surely your smart enough to know lies when you hear them??" But Pettigrew only found a rare tint of hatred poisoning Cedric's eyes.

Lupin and Sirius lunged forward, ripping him off you and throwing him back to the ground, but Pettigrew sprung onto his knees instantly, his hands wringing together tremulously.

"You were luring her out of the castle that night, weren't you?" Lupin interrogated.

"And I found him tucked inside her pocket. What would you have done if that boy there didn't show up, Pettigrew? What exactly did Voldemort order you to do?"

Everywhere Pettigrew's flighty gaze searched, he only saw vitriol. The small man shrank further beneath them, withering like wax beneath the heat of their glares.

"I-I didn't want to do it... You have no idea... The powers that the Dark Lord possesses- I feared for my life. You said it yourself, I'm so weak a cat scared me off!"

"So you admit it," you spoke in a deceivingly soft voice.

"He, He was everywhere! His supporters outnumbered us and were only growing! What were we to gain by refusing him!" Tears began to run down his cheeks, joining the sheen of nervous sweat, and his voice turned to a pitched squeak as it fought to escape his tightening throat. "He would have killed me." 

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" Black raised his wand. Lupin joined him until you stepped in front of them. "Stop!" They both lowered their wands instantly and gave you a puzzling look. 

"I don't think my parents would want you two to be killers."

"I knew it! Just like your mother, so kind, so sweet, so merciful." He tried to grasp the hem of your skirt again, but you pulled away before he could. "You can't be free without his confession, after all. He should pay for his crimes like everyone else, in Azkaban with the rest of his ilk." Pettigrew shivered and swallowed hard, more tears trickling down his plump face.

Pettigrew left the room first at wand point, followed by Black and Lupin and a puppeteered Snape. You and Cedric trailed behind them. Cedric was unsure what to say, what to do. If his own head felt leaden after what just happened, what could you be feeling? You appeared oddly reposed, almost alarmingly so, though an edge still dwelled within your weary gaze. He opened his mouth, trying to think of something that might take even an ounce of pressure off your shoulders, but Black broke the silence first. "Do you mind if I have a word?" Cedric was extremely reluctant to peel himself from your side, but after a few words of reassurance and a placating smile, he went ahead with Lupin and Snape. 

Black's eyes locked with your own, and for the first time, a warm smile glided across his cavernous cheeks. "Your eyes are so much like his. It's like I'm looking at James again." His smile wavered slightly when his own words hit his ears, and his vision instead found the ground. "Um, I just wanted you to know- thought you should know- that, well, James made me your godfather." He couldn't manage to take his gaze off the patch of grass that they were plastered to, afraid of what your reaction must be to finding out that your godfather was a husk of a man like him. It would be like his best mate was rejecting him. "I understand it's strange, we've met under some, well, strained circumstances, and I'm still a wanted criminal- I'm sure no one wants an Azkaban escapee for a godfather, but when we turn in Pettigrew and I'm a freed man, if you ever wanted to live with me-" 

"Live with you? Really? When can I move in? Is this summer alright?" He lifted his head, seeing your emerald orbs shimmering in the moonlight as the clouds parted. A smile cracked his face and a hearty chuckle drifted past his lips. It felt good to laugh again. He appeared so much younger as he laughed to himself, his face reflecting a shade of its past handsomeness. Though the humor was lost on you, his laughter became contagious, enticing a few titters to bubble past your own lips - until the piercing howl and Cedric's terrified scream sickeningly entangled, shaking the night air.

A creature, tall and thin, with fur wrapped tightly around rigid jutting bones looming beneath the gaze of the full moon; the large black dog that barreled into the monster when it set its amber orbs onto you; tufts of brown and black fur peppering the air, spray of blood, flashing teeth, wrathful snarling and piteous whimpering; Cedric's arms bound tightly around your struggling form, attempting and ultimately failing to keep you away from the fray; hearing his voice and pursuing footsteps grow more distant as you followed the trail of blood that glistened in the moonlight through the forbidden forest; your godfather's lifeless body surrounded by an innumerable flock of Dementors that hovered over him like starved vultures over carrion, and the luminous pearlescent glow of the corporeal Patronus that sprouted from your wand, dispersing them like roaches beneath the exposing light. 

It was ultimately the feeling of finding a piece of your shattered family that finally summoned the silvery guardian. Meeting someone that was willing to give you shelter from the Dursleys. The fondness that softened his haggard features and the sentimental smile that danced across his face whenever he regarded you. What was once frightening now seemed endearing, the madness dulled to a rare spark of life that would appear when his weary eyes connected with your own glinting emerald orbs. 

But just as suddenly as he had dragged you off toward the whomping willow, he was gone again. The single semblance of family that had been dangled in front of you mere hours ago was retracted once Pettigrew escaped, and with the rat also went Sirius's exoneration. Sirius had disappeared not long after with the assistance of Buckbeak. You were sure Hagrid would understand once you had time to give him the explanation. 

You pulled the blanket around your shoulders tighter, deaf to the heated conversation that took place just beyond the infirmary doors. Snape's voice was gripped by rancor, which amplified his usual hissing tone into a near shout. Dumbledore's own voice could be heard between Snape's, though remained its usual docile cadence. Even the Minister of Magic himself could be heard every now and then, but even when you heard your name being mentioned, you didn't bother listening. You weren't sure that you could even if you wanted to. The despondency was blanketed so thick over your mind that you struggled to focus on anything. 

You hadn't even noticed that the voices had disappeared until you heard the infirmary door creak open, and you didn't bother lifting your sightless gaze off of the marble floor until you felt the mattress beside you sag. Looking up dozily, you saw Cedric. Wordlessly, he gently pulled your hand from beneath the sheet and weaved his fingers through your own. The soothing warmth that now blanketed your hand leaked up your arm and through your body. 

"He got away, he's safe," he reminded you in a clandestine whisper. You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. He placed his head against your own, finally allowing the weariness from the chaotic string of events to enter his own body. 

"You'll see him again. I swear." His voice was distant as the fatigue finally began to affect him. 

"I'm sorry that you were dragged into this," you murmured, but you felt his head shake against your own. 

"I'm just glad you didn't have to go through this alone. Like last year." All anyone besides Dumbledore knew was the Basilisk. Nothing about the diary or Riddle had escaped this very room. Sirius's words flashed through your head again like a winter wind, causing a shiver to climb up your spine.

"--they all wail the same song. That he's not dead. Only biding his time. Regaining his strength."

~~

        "You can't leave, everyone loves you! Isn't there something I could do- I could talk to Professor Dumbledore-" 

"I could have harmed a student. I could have harmed you. This business with Pettigrew caused me to become complacent, and I will not risk such a thing happening again. Besides, my little secret is out now." Lupin clicked shut the rusted buckles on his ramshackle trunk and lifted it off his desk. A few threads on the worn strap snapped beneath the weight.

"I'll tell everyone that Snape's a dirty liar!" He couldn't help but smile at your stubbornness. 

"I'm sure he'll appreciate that when he finds out. It's, unfortunately, the truth, however, and the parents won't be too pleased with Professor Dumbledore when they find out that their children are being taught by a werewolf. And I can't quite blame them after last night."

Your fists coiled at your sides, and you made no attempt to hide the anger that suffused your expression. "First Sirius and now you." A sympathetic sigh effused from his nose, but his smile never wavered as he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I'm positive that we'll meet again. Here, to remember me by." Lifting his hand from your shoulder and dipping it into his trouser pocket, he pulled out the Maurader's Map and held it out for you.

"Padfoot, Moony, Prongs, and Wormtail were nicknames we called each other. We all created the map together, and now that I'm no longer your teacher, I feel that it's more than appropriate for Prongs' daughter to inherit it."

"Dad created it?" you asked, wonderment dancing in your eyes as you glanced back down toward the seemingly innocuous, sallow parchment. Endearment stretched his smile further and he nodded his head, but when you reached for the map, he suddenly retracted it from your grasp.

"Just no more late-night strolls, aye?" he said with a sly wink. 

"With or without the map?" you retorted cheekily, earning a hearty chuckle. 

"You're James' daughter alright." You took the offered map, but he kept his hold on it for a moment. A somber air fell between you as you each held an end of the map. 

"Be careful from now on. Sirius's belief about..." That name stuck in his throat like hot tar, but you, however, found no such aversion. "About Voldemort." He winced subtly at the mere sound of that name but nodded his head regardless. "I hope that he is wrong, but... Just in case, please use this map for more than kitchen raids and nighttime adventures. Use it to protect yourself." 

"I will," you promised. Finally satisfied, Lupin relinquished the map, allowing his hand to fall to his side. He paused for a moment, taking the time to properly take you in, as though he was trying to imprint your appearance into his memory before finally breaking his gaze, traveling toward the door. "Well, farewell then."

"I'll see you later," you corrected, enticing another chuckle.

"You will."

(A/N) - I found it a tad bit difficult coming up with an alternative ending ( ´ᴗ`;;;) (though not for a lack of trying, I promise.) Hopefully, the little details distinguish it enough from the original. I decided to keep the Patronus ambiguous in the end, as this is a reader-insert after all. I wish that there was a way for people to input their own information, so (y/n) fills in for your name, and (y/p) could be your Patronus.

(Personally, I took the Pottermore quiz and got stag [though I wanted fox or magpie (｡ﹷ ‸ ﹷ )])

As always, thank you so much for reading! <(_ _)>

Chapter Text

Book Four

        You had never seen so many wizards in a single place before; the array of tents that speckled the flat grassy lands stretched farther than your eyes could see, comparing the tides that flowed through the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley to a mere trickle. The air was alive with the hoots of mirthful laughter and smoke that drifted in thin grey fingers from the cloth chimneys that stuck out from every other tent like a miniature spire. 

Animated chatter buzzed all around you - some in languages that were lost on your ears - with a few heated arguments regarding team loyalty simmered throughout the amalgamation of voices. A forest of rippling flags sprouted from nearly every tent, proudly boasting the colors of each witch and wizard's native homeland, but two overshadowed the rest in number and size; the black stacked on top of scarlet of Bulgaria, and the splice of green and orange with the strip of white wedged between that heralded Ireland. The Irish adornments outnumbered the Bulgarian, but that fact only stoked their own patriotic flames.  

You yourself had acquiesced to the festivities that engulfed your frame, donning a velvet green hat that stood as sharp as a spearhead, adorned by an animated shamrock that popped out of the glittering band.

You had to read the letter that Susan had sent you multiple times to be sure that your melancholic mind had not been simply seeing what it wanted to; her aunt had acquired tickets for the World Quidditch Cup. Hannah had no interest in the wizarding sport, and her family was vacationing in France for the summer, so it was just the three of you camping out on the grounds encircling the grand stadium. Despite the perplexingly vast amount of space that incorporated the Bones' tent, you had become antsy, giving in to your wanderlust desires and exploring the strange surroundings you currently found yourself within. 

Blithely, you wandered through the lane that was carved between the sprawling tents, absorbing each of their unique signatures; stripes and checkered prints decorated the magical fabric, which were all varied shades and colors, some bearing weather veins while others had bubbling purple cookfires sitting outside. Sat in front of a beige tent that was speckled with sewn patches, you spotted the Weasley twins huddled together, wands in hand and pointed toward an object that was held clandestinely between them. You paused your exploration and strolled over to them, crouching down to join in whatever conspiracy they were currently embroiled in. Fred's first instinct at the sudden arrival was to hide the treasure behind his back, but when he saw it was only you, he cleansed his startled disposition through a breathy exhale.

"Blimey, (y/n), nearly popped my heart," he breathed through a toothy smile. "Fancy seeing you here, (y/n)," George greeted before taking the object from Fred; you briefly saw the sleek surface glitter beneath the sun before it once again became cloaked inside a hand. Leaning toward you, he unfurled his fingers, opening his palm and holding it out for you to see. It was a silver badge that was engraved BHead Boy.

"Percy's been picked as Headboy this year-"

"-And won't give anyone the chance to think about anything besides that-"

"-So we're fixing his badge for him. We're trying to make it read BigHead Boy, but so far we've only got one letter to stick." 

"Want to help brainstorm enchantments?"

You thoughtfully touched your hand to your chin before standing back up. "Noble work, to be sure, but transfiguration isn't exactly my area of expertise." They clicked their tongues with disappointment in unison, giving you a halfhearted farewell while they reimmersed themselves in deep concentration, trading whispered theories as they continued to pore over the semi-enchanted Headboy badge.

The sun began to hit its peak in the sky, making you grateful for the generous rim of the festive hat. The humble housing grew in size and grandeur with every one you passed, as though in competition to be bedecked with the most pointless luxuries. One, in particular, stood tall and lean, casting a supercilious shadow over its unfortunate neighbors. An entanglement of ivy crawled up the somber grey fabric, while two manicured lines of hedges marched across the expansive length of the makeshift garden, a path of carved stone slabs creating a path between them. Peculiar still, an albino peacock strutted across the stone steps. Questions fluttered around your head at the intimidating tent, leaving you to wonder if the Minister of Magic himself resided within. Your mounting questions were answered promptly by the face that emerged through the flaps.

Malfoy hadn't noticed you at first, his listless leer first regarding the flamboyantly feathered bird that was prancing with a swagger reminiscent of his own stride. He was almost comically overdressed for a sporting event, the soot grey collar of a button-up popping out of the black sweater vest that hugged his slender chest, along with the matching pair of tailored slacks. 

When he finally lifted up his gaze, a healthy rouge colored his pale complexion before a mocking laugh cracked his lips as they landed on your hat. Lacing his fingers casually behind his back, he strode across the stone path toward you.

"I like the hat, Potter, it truly suits you. Really accents your ridiculous personality." The leaves on the shamrock closed together like an angry fist, likely sharing the same vexation that simmered inside your chest.

"Rich coming from you. Tell me, do you bring a peacock to every Quidditch match you attend?" His arms fell to his sides, and his face flushed further. He glanced toward the bird much more icily than he had prior before flicking those grey chips of ice back to you.

"How'd you ever get here, anyways, Potter? I doubt your filthy muggle family knows lick all about Quidditch."

In truth, you hadn't asked your relatives for permission to attend the game. After Susan's handsome tawny owl had arrived at your window sill, you simply fetched the floo powder that you had hidden two years prior and took the floo network to Susan's house, leaving only a letter that gave a brief explanation about your absence - though you doubted they read past the first sentence. If only you could have used those same lapping green flames to get to the Quidditch grounds as well - the portkey had left you collapsed in a disheveled heap on the ground, dry heaving last night's dinner.

But, of course, you were not about to disclose any of that to Malfoy. When you opened your lips to unleash the sharp witticism that brewed on the tip of your tongue, Malfoy pulled his wand out from behind his back, shouting, "Accio ugly hat!"

As if an invisible hook had been flung from his wand, your hat was plucked from your head and flew into Malfoy's hand. Amusement painted Malfoy's face as he twirled the rim around his wand. "Give that back!" you demanded, stomping over to him. His enthralled grin expanded further as you reached your hand up, trying and failing to retrieve your hat. 

"You'll need to ask nicer than that if you want your ugly hat back," he taunted, always keeping it tantalizingly within your reach before yanking it away again. "What on earth are you doing, Draco," a sharp voice spoke from behind you both. All of the mirthful life that once played across Malfoy's face had drained at the arrival of his father. Lucius wore the same formal attire as his son, though was draped in even more black. He bore down on Malfoy with scathing distaste molding his sharp features, then turned his gaze to you. His eyes dipped from head to toe before a greasy smile lifted his lips. "Miss Potter," he said as a way of greeting, and yet again you noticed how his amiable smile never reached his guileful eyes. The way the man looked at you always left you feeling unease, as though he was appraising the value of an object he was planning to purchase. 

"Where are your manners, Draco. I apologize for my son's impudent behavior," he punctuated the word impudent by flashing his son an artic glare before bringing his focus back to you, retreating back beneath his courteous cloak of pleasantries, "Mayhaps you would like to come inside for a cup of tea?"

"She was just leaving," Malfoy informed his father, looking to you as though it was more of a command than a statement. Taking back the hat he now offered you, you gladly obliged his mute exchange, dipping your head in the basest of pleasantries before tearing yourself away from the haughty tent and the foul family that resided within it.

The sun was hung at its peak above you, but you were still wandering. Every attempt to find your way was thwarted by surroundings that only seemed to grow in unfamiliarity. Perspiration dotted your forehead as you traversed the makeshift path, trying futilely to find some semblance of a recognizable landmark that may help you navigate the sea of tents and point you toward home. 

"I like the hat." Turning around, you were even more pleased than usual to find Cedric. He was dressed in the same muggle attire as everyone else, wearing a simple plain white t-shirt over a pair of jeans. On top of his head was the same hat you wore, the two shamrocks waving to each other. His tent would be considered modest - if one could ignore the strips of green, white, and orange that painted the roof and the blanketing Irish flag that jutted from the point. 

"Guess there's no questioning which team your rooting for," you commented as you took in the eye-catching display. 

"My dad's a big fan. Though I worry about their Seeker going against Viktor Krum. That guy is like a Snitch himself with his speed. Hard to believe he's only my age." As though summoned by Cedric's words, a man emerged from the flaps of the tent. A straggly brown beard covered half of his face, while a pair of glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. 

"Ced! Did you hang up the-" Amos's sentence was cut short when he saw you standing beside his son, his mouth instead quirking into a smirking grin, the lines that adorned the corners of his kind eyes crinkling endearingly. "Well, who's this, Ced?" he asked, throwing his arm affectionately around his son's shoulders. 

"A lady friend of yours?" Cedric flushed and his lips parted, but the inclination of his father's words tied his tongue into a bashful knot. You, on the other hand, were able to bite back your fluster, rescuing your floundering friend. "We share the same House. My name's (y/n) Potter." Amos dropped his arm from his son and clasped his hands around yours, giving it an enthusiastic shake that made your arm wiggle. As always whenever someone heard that infamous name, his eyes went straight to the scar hidden behind the curtain of (h/c) fringe.

"Merlin's beard, Potter you say? The Potter? Well, it's great to meet you! Why didn't you say anything before Ced, you should have told me that you were dating the (y/n) Potter!" Cedric's burning complexion combusted, but this time he found his voice. "It's not like that, dad. We aren't dating." The last few words seemed to sap some of the color from his face, and his voice held a clandestine wistfulness that his father picked up on. A knowing smirk pulled at Amos's lips as he gave his son a reassuring pat on the back. 

"Right, of course, Ced. Well, I've heard all about you, (y/n), just never knew you were that (y/n). No wonder my son would have the eye to recruit you to his Quidditch team. He's told me all about your prowess on the field. I'm sure you're thankful to have him as a captain, showing you how it's done! He use to play Seeker, you know, in his second year, but chose to switch to Chaser when he became captain! Not many players can just switch positions, but they aren't our Ced, of course!" Cedric looked exceedingly uncomfortable beneath the generous boasting, every compliment making him shrink lower and lower, as though he were rendered to weaping wax beneath the arduous flame of his doting father's praise.

Eyeing your hat, his smile expanded further as he added to Cedric, "I see your friend here has good taste in teams. Where will you be sitting, (y/n)? Maybe our seats are close!" You told him, and he flicked his tongue in disappointment before telling Cedric with a sly wink, "Well, if you want to visit Potter's tent, I won't hold you back." With a final hearty farewell, his father delved back into the tent, finally allowing Cedric to take a breath. 

"I'm really sorry about him-" 

"Don't be, I think it's cute," you reassured, though the placation only fueled the internal fire that suffused across his face. An impish spark that he knew all too well glimmered in your eyes as you couldn't help but continue, "After all, who doesn't adore our beloved Ced, hm?" You reached up to punctuate your teasing statement with an affectionate pinch to his flushed cheek, but Cedric showed off his past Seeker skills by grabbing your hand. His fingers wrapped around your own, blanketing them inside his larger hand. The playful air became denser when he didn't immediately let go, and nor did you pull it away, simply standing together, conjoined by the tether of your arms. Your rosy complexion burned brighter as you silently appreciated the warmth and rough texture of his lightly callused hand, while he soaked in the alluring silky touch of your (s/c) skin.

Swallowing the growing boulder in his throat, he finally - with painful reluctance - unfurled his fingers, relinquishing your hand. Neither of you seemed pleased by this action, but Cedric brought up the first thing that popped into his mind, and soon the bewitching tension that effused from your connected hands was lightened back to the same breezy atmosphere as it had been only minutes ago.

When the sun loomed across the horizon, embuing the sky with its lazy apricot glow as it prepared to retire, you finally bid each other farewell to prepare for the coming World Cup match, but as you turned to retreat back to your own temporary abode, you were forced to recall your earlier predicament

Cedric went to follow after his father, but he was stopped by the hand that wrapped around the back of his shirt. He looked over his shoulder at you curiously. 

"I forgot, I'm kinda lost..." you confessed. He couldn't help but perk an amused brow at the curious fact that you had forgotten that you were lost before turning around and straightening his back. Reaching into his back pocket, he retrieved his wand. 

"I know a nifty spell that might help." He loosened his coiled fingers around the hilt and spoke the incantation. The wand shifted in his laxed grip, pointing toward the tent behind him. "It's a guiding Charm; a more advanced version of the Point Me Charm. The tip will point toward whatever destination you think of, you just have to focus on the location."

~~

        Even as you rested your head onto your pillow, the muscles in your neck still panged from the whiplash that you had given it in an effort to keep track of the game. The players were smears of green and red inside the stadium, and if it wasn't for your omnioculars, you weren't sure you would have seen a single thing. You had never seen such moves on the Quidditch field before; as Cedric had predicted, Viktor Krum was the stand-out, playing the conductor to an orchestra of cheers and jeers. Your boisterous voice was a drop within a sea of thousands, whereas Susan was more a curious observer, inquiring occasionally about some of the tactics, not having the same luster for the wizarding sport as you had. 

Sleep was no simple task when the visage of Leprechauns and Vela danced tirelessly behind your eyelids, but as the tide of lethargy finally swept over your consciousness, it was caught in a riptide, plunged deeper and deeper into the consuming abyss.

The opaque darkness that encompassed your vision dispersed, revealing the shift in the room around you. No fear or trepidation was born from this, however, and instead, you simply appreciated the hearth that suddenly stood before you, wafting a generous warmth that blanketed your skin, which felt paper-thin. The ancient chair you lounged within was an elegant oak, enriched by silky velvet upholstery, though it was quizzically large, swallowing your body as if you were a child again. Even this fact, however, gave you none of the unease that it should. As you stared unflinchingly into the fire, which feasted gluttonously on the freshly supplied wood, you regarded your kneeling servant from the corner of your listless eyes.

"She is in good health...?" your voice hissed in a laborious wheeze. Your lungs stressed under each word, refilling them afterward with a breath of smokey air. The tremulous figure wrung his hands together nervously. His quivering gaze drifted everywhere except your direction. 

"Yes, my Lord. She is at the Quidditch Cup at the moment, but come the end of September, she will return to Hogwarts."

"Her fourth year, correct...?" His leal servant nodded his head, though it seemed more like a tremor. "And everything is... Prepared...?"  

"Oh yes, my Lord. I've seen to it personally." Your lipless mouth curled in a toothy attempt of a smile, yet you felt no true happiness. "You mean he's seen to it... As if I would entrust such an important task with you after your... latest blunder..." The mere recollection of your useless servant's abysmal failure birthed embers that crackled dangerously inside your chest, but as always, you beat the flames back into the grate that kept those violent flames secured. 

"And you know what will come of you if anything were to go... Awry... Again... Yes, Wormtail?" A shudder shook the man at the mere mention of consequences, a thick, cold sweat painting his pallor as a past experience flashed before his eyes. "Y-y-yes, m-my Lord. Everything will go perfectly. Exactly as you specified. You will have her exactly where you want her."

This time his words lit a flicker of joy inside your hollow chest, but that sensation only sparked hungry flames to greedily fill the otherwise empty cavity. "Good..." As you had many times before, you silently dipped your toes inside his mind, swimming through the sea of worthless fragments until you found that particular memory. The memory you had frequently revisited, observing intensely through his beady, tear-stained eyes the sight you were denied; a young girl stood before you, her (s/c) complexion blemished by a streak of dirt, her unruly (h/c), (h/l) tresses strewn around her frame, bordering her alluring features. Her sweater was also stained by dirt and grass, the torn sleeve hovering limply down her arm, while her black stockings bore holes, exposing the smooth, pristine skin beneath. It was the eldest Black, you recalled, that was responsible for the dishevelment, dragging her across the Hogwarts grounds.

Her brilliant green eyes stared down at you with bridled anger tincturing inside her uncertain gaze. The organ in your chest quickened to life, throbbing with a fervid longing that flooded through your veins, heating your body with an invigorating warmth that delved far deeper than the roaring fire before you. This sensation was still so foreign. In your many years of life, experiencing innumerable events, traveling across vast swaths of the world, mastering spells that lesser wizards believe to only be myth; this alone was a stray peculiarity. This excitement was born from the prospect of regaining your body and power, you rationalized. And that silly little girl was the key. That was why you felt so elated when you saw her through his eyes.

But the surge of felicity the mere memory of her presence conjured within you soon bled into greed; the torturous thirst of a man trapped in the desert, teased by the tantalizing mirage of the reprieving oasis. There was a gnawing starvation inside your chest, a vacancy that demanded to be filled - an unfinished puzzle that despite whatever picture it had constructed, all your eye could see was the single missing piece. 'I've waited 14 years,' you reassured yourself, 'I can wait a few more months...' Receding from the man's memories, he appeared completely ignorant to the fact that his mind had been pried open and explored. You knew that he never had any inkling when you strolled around that empty head of his, and that gave you a sick amusement. That memory was the primary reason for keeping him around, after all.

You tightened your limp grip on the wand, your skeletal fingers hardly long enough to wrap around the hilt. You would have had her sooner if he had only succeeded. You'd have her now - your body now, your power now - if not for his continued incompetence. Anger once again percolated through your body, this itching irritation that wished to be purged into someone else. Someone who deserved it. "Yes, she is as good as mine... But just to be certain... I believe you need a taste of what will await you should you fail me again..." 

An emaciated arm the color of curdled milk entered your vision, pointing the bone-white wand at the man, and for the first time, you saw him. Pettigrew was gone from your sight as soon as he entered it, falling to the ground in a writhing, twitching puddle, a twisted screaming unleashing from his stretched jaw. The smile on your lipless face grew at the display, your chest filling with sadistic amusement that spilled out of your mouth in a dry, high-pitched cackling that shared the cadence of splitting ice. 

Crash.

A desperate gasp replaced the laugh that had parted your lips. The blanket on top of your chest rose and fell as you filled your parched lungs with the sweet air they suddenly craved. Tears quickly joined the beads of sweat that had accumulated across your ashen complexion, building on your long lashes before tumbling down your cheek. What... What was that? Lifting your torso up, you hadn't even realized that you were clutching your forehead. A headache addled your forehead, but the singing pain was relegated to the side that was marred by the scar.

The slight movement that was caught in your peripheral vision gave you a second start, but when you locked eyes with the tiny guest, you found that it was far more fearful of you than you were of it. The Bones' house elf stood in the middle of the room, the shattered glass of the cup that you had brought to bed strewn across the floor in front of their feet, with a small bundle of your clothes in their short, thin arms. Their owlish eyes stared up at you in silent horror, rueful for waking you up and being seen. You weren't sure if you should apologize to the house elf for scaring them, or thank them for cleaning up after you, but before you could do either, they disappeared with the snap of their boney fingers, along with the broken glass, leaving behind only a single sock. 

You blinked, staring at the spot they once stood, absentmindedly smoothing your fingertips across your moist forehead. You gave a fleeting glance toward your wand but reminded yourself that there was no real danger. It was just a dream. A very, very bad dream. Padding across the cool wooden floor, you crept down the stairs and out of the tent. The crisp night breeze kissed your slick skin, conjuring a shiver to rattle your muscles, invigorating them with newfound energy.

The details of the nightmare escaped your head like smoke, becoming more and more impossible to grasp as the seconds ticked by. That was for the better, you decided, instead redirecting your attention toward the radiant moon above you. The sight made you wistful for Sirius. Would he have had fun during the game? Which team would he have rooted for? Where was he? Was he safe? You had gotten letters from him, but each was vaguer than the last. Sitting down in front of the tent, you hugged your knees to your chest and closed your eyes, replaying your brief memories of him across the front of your mind, gaining a small amount of solace from the meager remembrance. 

(A/N) - Sorry that this was so damn long, but I suppose this arc is going to be lengthy in general (´-⌄ּ-`;;)ゞ. The draft alone was originally 14 pages, so I removed the Death Eater's little get-together to try and make the chapter a readable length.

Chapter Text

        Dashing side by side, you and Susan raced across King's Cross station and through the brick wall of Platform 9 3/4. A tepid breeze glided across the platform, cascading through the warm summer air and momentarily encasing your frame, caressing you with its reprieving touch. The sky above was a crystalline blue, the sole cloud that existed within the picturesque atmosphere hanging above your head. You had written to Sirius about your dream - though the details that you could recall were frustratingly scant - and had yet to see head or tails of Hedwig with the reply. A lengthy yawn encompassed your lips, rattling out an ounce of the fatigue that laden your muscles. You hadn't gotten a proper night's sleep since you had that dream, the terrifying prospect of possibly slipping back into that engulfing chair plaguing your head the moment you placed it on your pillow.

Even as you tried to recall it now, the scene appeared in your head like plumes of smoke, colored in and constructed, yet unable to hold any real shape. It was the feeling, however, that imprinted on your mind. You weren't sure what was worse, the hollow sensation that addled your chest, or having the empty cavity filled with the greedy, sadistic emotions that sprouted like gnarled brambles. Feeling nothing at all was horrible, but deriving such pleasure from watching that man writhe helplessly... The mere recollection of his piercing screams twisted your stomach. And then there was that girl. You couldn't recall her face, only the fact that the thorns that armored those miserable brambles bloomed into beautiful flowers beneath the light of her presence. Yet even within this rare sensation of joy, there was a shade of perverse malignance, leaving you worried for the poor girl's safety. 

You wanted Sirius's opinion on this, to imagine his voice in your ears as you read his reassurances. "(y/n)! Susan!" You were pulled from the cavernous recesses of your muddled mind by Hannah's voice, looking up to see that she had abandoned her trunk on the platform as she raced over to you. One arm flung around Susan's shoulder while the other wrapped around your own, nearly toppling you both over. 

In place of a proper greeting, she instantly began to regale you about her venture in France. You followed her back to her trunk, which she unlocked and pulled out souvenirs; a neatly wrapped box of chocolate birds for Susan, and a miniature figure of the Eiffel tower that waltzed across your hand on its four tiny legs. You reached into your back pocket and handed her the green rosette you had gotten her from the Quidditch Cup, though by now the magic had worn off of it, so it no longer merrily waved its pedals. She happily clipped it onto her shirt regardless, though, as she continued to chirp about the various sights she saw. You did your best to listen, though you couldn't help your mind from wandering.

"- and my mom said it was a nogtail! It was so creepy, just remembering it gives me the chills!" you heard her saying, unsure when the conversation veered to that. 

"That wasn't a nogtail," a light voice called from behind your group. The first thing you noticed when you turned your head was the pair of peculiar pink paper spectacles that jutted out at the sides like fingers resting on the top of her head, gathering her straight flaxen hair like a headband. Pale eyes that were as wide and blue as the sky above stared unblinkingly into Hannah's. No hint of an expression played across her face as she continued in the same spacey cadence, "That was more likely a Blibbering Humdinger. They're often confused."

Hannah only replied to the peculiar response with a lapse of silence. The girl didn't seem perturbed by the quizzical stares she received, and simply raised the magazine in her hand, offering it to her. "There's a very interesting article on them in the newest edition. I'd recommend reading up on them. It's quite inauspicious to cross one's path." Hannah took the offered magazine with a polite but quiet, "Thanks..."

The girl simply replied by turning back toward the Hogwarts Express, disappearing inside. Hannah gave the two of you questioning looks, so Susan informed her, "Loony Lovegood. The other Ravenclaws have been giggling about her since her first year." Hannah looked over the cover of the Quibbler, which was decorated colorfully with a blurred photo and big headlines about a Crunkle Horn sighting. She scrunched up the bridge of her nose and held it up for you and Susan. "Do either of you want it...?"

Susan shared Hannah's skeptical expression, so with a casual shrug, you took it. You weren't sure what had left them so adverse to the magazine, it didn't appear too different from anything else in this world. The daily prophet wasn't as... colorful, but it was also no stranger to flashy headlines. 

The toll of the train's horn finally pried you three from the platform. Inside the train corridor, you found Cedric loitering in the doorway of a compartment. When his gaze found your own, his face brightened, greeting you with a perfect smile. "Hey. I saved a carriage for us," he told your group, though he solely saw you.

"Don't you have to sit with the other prefects?" Hannah asked. 

"I spoke with Percy, and he agreed that he and the other prefects could handle the monitor duties for the first hour." Your friends passed Cedric and filed inside, but his beaming smile dimmed slightly when he saw the frown that sat on your lips as you remained in the corridor.

"I was actually thinking that I'd sit by myself this trip. I was planning on taking a nap before the train arrived at Hogwarts." Cedric built his smile back up, but it seemed stiffer than before. "Oh, yeah of course. I hope you sleep well," he said kindly, exasperating your guilt. 

Slipping into an empty compartment, you waved your wand at your trunk, murmuring "Wingardium Leviosa," before picking up the featherweight case and placing it in the baggage compartment above you. Slumping down into the seat, you placed the magazine on your lap and soaked in the silence that encased you, resting your head against the windowsill before closing your eyes.

        Pulling his trunk along behind him, Malfoy walked alone through the corridor. He had instructed his friends to find their own carriage, preferring to be alone, yet as he looked through the windows of the full carriages around him, he huffed an annoyed sigh. He couldn't help the scowl that dragged down the corners of his lips, the news from his father still muddying his mood. He should have been bustling with excitement to watch a perilous competition from the safety of the stands, yet all he derived from the information was worriment. Where pernicious happenings occurred, you always found yourself in the heart of it. Venturing into a monster-filled chamber, attracting that Dementor, mounting that beastly hippogriff, hunting after Black. He really couldn't take his eyes off you for a second without you stumbling into trouble.

He wished that he didn't have to trouble himself with your precarious wellbeing, but he couldn't help the voice in the back of his head that whispered your name and injected that twinging solicitude into his veins. That same voice had been troubling him since the third year, (or was it before then?) always redirecting his thoughts, pulling them back to you, flashing your smiling face into his mind, replaying your laughter into his ears. Each time pain was sprouted by that sweet medley, as each time he knew that he was never the archetype of it. It was always that pretty prefect that consumed your attention, his brush that painted your cheeks that lovely shade of red, his hand that sprinkled that sparkle into your eyes. It was always Diggory, but it should be him. 

He knew you first. He had helped you when you were lost that day, allowed you to sit with him when you were friendless, led you hand and hand through the castle. But you had to be sorted into Hufflepuff of all Houses. Ravenclaw, even Gryffindor would have been acceptable. His father chided all of the Houses beside Slytherin, but he had the worst to say about the badger's House. The voice of his father had haunted his ears when he heard the dusty old hat bellowed that House name; "Gryffindor may be full of filthy blood traitors, but Hufflepuff consists of nothing but a talentless parade of mudbloods." 

Malfoy's trek finally stopped when he saw an empty seat. Pulling open the door, he took a few steps inside before seeing the very person he was just thinking about napping on the adjacent seat. It was so strange, to be so close to you and not see your brow crease at the sight of him. Your soft lips weren't pursed in a frown of distaste, they were lax... His eyes lingered there, his imagination smothering his senses.  The afternoon sun shone through the window you had your head propped against, illuminating your (h/c) locks, and your long, thick lashes blanketed your closed eyes.

You appeared so peaceful, your chest subtly rising and falling with every soft breath you took. His eyes clung to that location for a moment, but the jerk of the train as it sprung to life disrupted those burgeoning thoughts, bringing him back down to earth. Shaken awake by the train, you dozily lifted your torso back up. Tired tears dotted the corners of your pressed eyes as you unleashed a lengthy yawn. 

Fluttering your eyes open, you nearly jumped from your seat when you saw Malfoy sitting in front of you. That familiar crease formed between your brow, and your eyes narrowed the same way they had since your first year. Indignation laced with insecurity bubbled into his throat as it always had, envenoming his tongue. 

"What are you doing here?" Malfoy rolled his eyes at your interrogation. "Well, there clearly weren't any other carriages. Why else would I suffer through your snoring." He had of course lied about that last part, but seeing your face redden with embarrassment caused a smirk to return to his lips. 

"What's with the magazine? Find a snarkling under your bed you want to get rid of?" Your face grew redder, but you scoffed, trying to play it off. "Lovegood let me borrow it." 

"Loony Lovegood? Did she also recommend some literature for getting rid of a mumble bumble infestation?" His smirk stretched further, finding your blushed face intoxicating. The fiery ire that lit your eyes was almost as good as the sparkling affection. In retaliation, you opened up the magazine and raised it over your eyes, purposefully blocking him out and forcing your focus on the random article.

A hand appeared in your vision, latching onto the magazine before yanking it from your hand. "Hey!" you griped, standing up. Holding it above his head, he opened his hand. Instead of falling to the floor, it floated to the top of the carriage like a forlorn balloon. His wand was in his other hand, pointing toward the magazine. "Go ahead, Potter, get it," Malfoy teased. You obliged, except instead of hopping on your feet like a dolt, you snatched the wand from his hand. The Quibbler fell once the spell was broken, landing on top of your head before falling back on the ground.

"Give that back!" You lithely stepped to the side, dodging his greedy hand. 

"Go ahead, Malfoy, get it," you retorted mockingly, a teasing smile now on your own lips. He lunged for it, but your Quidditch-trained muscles reacted faster, effortlessly evading his reach. His lips pressed tight, his own face beginning to suffuse with a similar shade of chagrin as he glowered down at you, and you began to understand why he enjoyed this. 

The two of you danced around the carriage, avoiding his grabby hand and nimbly ducking beneath his arm, stepping behind him. The game was only halted when the train hit a bump, rattling the floor beneath your feet and causing your balance to falter. Malfoy's reached out toward your tilting frame on instinct, securing an arm around your lower back and wrapping a hand between your shoulder blades. 

The shaking stopped as soon as it had happened, leaving you to blink up at him, unsure whether to thank him or slap him, as he had yet to remove his hands. You thought for a split second that you noticed Malfoy's face draw closer toward your own until the compartment door was yanked open with a jarring thud.

Both of your heads whipped toward the door, seeing Cedric standing in the doorway. "You're awake," was all he said through his tensed jaw. You shoved Malfoy away, causing him to stumble back. "He woke me up. We were fighting over his wand," you held it up as if it was some key evidence, "and the train hit a bump, and I fell and he caught me." You weren't sure why you felt guilty - you had done nothing wrong, after all, yet the look of mingling anger and hurt that stiffened Cedric's face left you feeling as though you had.

"May I have that back, Potter?" Malfoy asked amiably, holding his hand out. He never broke his gaze from Cedric, a haughty smile stretched wide across his face as he drank in the jealousy that littered the prefect's disposition. It had been sweet sorrow to peel his hands off of you, but the tables finally being turned was the perfect balm to soothe that sting. 

"Yes, well- no roughhousing in the compartments. You're meant to be seated at all times."

"Sorry, we'll behave." Malfoy's reply dripped with saccharine, causing Cedric's scowl to exasperate. He shut the door a little too roughly, rattling the glass inside its pane.

Malfoy stood behind you as you traveled slowly through the stationary train while the current of students spilled onto the Hogsmeade station at a painfully tepid pace. To pass the time, Malfoy leaned down over your shoulder, chiding, "I suppose you'll be trying to add your name this year. Merlin forbid a year goes by where you aren't the center of attention."

Tentatively, you peered over your shoulder, your eyes narrowing with suspicion at the vague accusation. "What are you talking about."

Malfoy quirked a brow in interest, his smile reappeared as the corners of his pale lips curled upwards ever so slightly. "He didn't tell you?"

"Who? Tell me what?"

His smile expanded as he leaned down toward you again, lowering his tone to a clandestine whisper. "Diggory. His father works at the ministry, surely he's heard from him. My father speaks with Cornelius Fudge often, and I've known for awhile now. Far before the Quidditch Cup." Amusement danced around his eyes as they watched the confusion that only continued to stew on your features. "So the perfect pretty prefect really didn't tell you?" 

Malfoy lustily drank up your discomfort, watering the seed of doubt that he had successfully sowed inside you by adding, "Well, he is old enough to throw his own name into the competition, it's no wonder he doesn't want you pulling any tricks and adding against his chances of being picked. Understandable, but sad nonetheless. You're friends, aren't you? In my opinion, friends shouldn't keep secrets, but I guess Diggory has another point of view on that."

"What are you talking about, what competition."

He simply batted his pale lashes innocently, straightening his back. "I'd love to tell you, but if Cedric doesn't want you to know, I shouldn't interfere with his plans." 

Your hands were raw by the time the last first-year was seated at their House table. You had missed the lunch cart, so you were half starved by the time you sat down at the Hufflepuff table, but the empty golden platters and goblets remained barren after the Sorting Ceremony. You realized what the delay was when you looked at the dais, spotting the new and peculiar body sat behind the staff table. His hair fell across his head in limp, straggly strands, and a thick overcoat hung on his rigid shoulders, which twitched ever so slightly as he stared at the professors around him with a volume of scrutiny that bordered on suspicion. As though his general appearance wasn't strange enough, the eyepiece that was strapped across his mangled face was even more flighty than his natural eye, whizzing tirelessly in every direction. 

With his long, lithe fingers laced behind his back, Dumbledore walked to the front of the dais. A smile was hidden behind his trailing cotton beard as he scanned over the faces that lined the four tables through his half-moon spectacles.

"Before we all tuck in, I must first beg your attention as I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Moody." Moody didn't bother standing, simply pulling a flask from his pocket before taking a swig. A tepid applause trickled from the tables, though the man seemed indifferent, turning his searching eye to the students. That twitchy blue pupil finally stilled once it landed on your frame.

"They keep getting stranger every year," Hannah sighed dolorously. Even after this announcement, however, the feast was still withheld as Dumbledore stood static on the dais.

"I regret to inform you that for a second year, Quidditch has been canceled," he paused for the students to purge their outrage, which was even more boisterous than the year prior, but his smile never faltered. 

"Instead, we will be having the dutiful honor of hosting the Triwizard Tournament." The Hall burst to life again, the jeers and groans molted into lavish cheers and exclamations of excitement. You immediately looked down the table at Cedric, who was clapping with the rest, yet didn't share even an ounce of the surprise around him. 

"So the perfect pretty prefect really didn't tell you?"

"Tomarrow, the students of Beauxbaton and Durmstrang will be joining us. I don't believe I need to ask you to make them feel welcomed as best you can, as they have traveled a very, very far distance. They will already have been informed of this, but please take caution, all that are of age to compete. This tournament was discontinued due to the lofty death toll that mounted as a result of the dangerous challenges." The bubbling chatter subsided, and the Hall fell silent. Dumbledore was glad that the levity of the statement had the intended effect.

"That being said, the department of International Magic Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have pored through each challenge to ensure the perfect balance of risk and safety. I, myself, will be personally taking meticulous care to ensure that the deadly tradition of this game does not reoccur this year. Now, with that out of the way, let the feast finally commence!"

All throughout dinner, the Triwizard Tournament was etched on the tips of everyone's tongues. After the feast, Hufflepuff traveled through the entrance hall alongside Gryffindor. Fred and George popped up behind you, inquiring, "Gonna join? We are!" You weren't surprised in the slightest - until you heard Cedric reply, "So am I."

The two groups of students parted, the Gryffindors ascending the marble staircase while the Hufflepuffs filed down the kitchen corridor. 

"You can't! You heard Dumbledore, It's a death wish!" Hannah protested. 

"She's right, you'd have to be as mad as the Weasley twins to willingly join in a competition like that," Susan piped in.

"The professors will be there, and besides, the likelihood that I'm even chosen-" 

"There's still a likelihood." Cedric glanced over to his side, locking with your concern-leaden stare. Those green oceans that stared up at him piqued the miff that had stubbornly clung to his frame after seeing you inside Malfoy's arms. Flicking his gaze away, he instead watched the bodies dip through the barrels into the common room.

"Alright, I won't compete if you don't." Your lashes fluttered up at him incredulously. "Even if I could, why would I want to?"

He crossed his arms and shrugged. "Why did you leave the castle at night last year? Why did you go exploring the Chamber of Secrets?" Unable to retort to the accurate statement, you simply puffed your cheeks in a stubborn pout.

"Fine. Not that I was going to try in the first place, but I promise not to enter as well." 

"Me neither," he finally relented. It was just the two of you remaining in front of the barrels, and when he looked back to you to see why you hadn't moved to go to the common room, he saw your hand was held out, your pinky finger extended toward him. He tilted his head quizzically but mimicked you, assuming this to be some muggle gesture. Closing the gap between your hands, your pinky finger wrapped securely around his own.

"I promise."

A smile finally softened his expression. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't stay mad at you. "I promise too."

Chapter Text

       The simmering goblet was boasted at the front of the dais, tongues of blue flames licked lustily at the air around its smooth, carved wooden abode, but your attention was held by the owls that streamed across the sky. You caught no sight of Hedwig, and every day that crept by without sign of her exasperated your worry toward Sirus's safety. 'If anything happened, it would be on the front page of the Daily Prophet', you reassured yourself, forcing your eyes back on the magazine in your hands.

"You're really reading that?" Hannah asked, truly curious about your interest in the peculiar tabloid. "It's all half-mad conspiracy theories and blurry photos of imaginary creatures."

"But that's the fun, isn't it?" you retorted. Susan and Hannah exchanged a look.

"Looney Lovegood's gotten to her."

"Soon they'll be calling you Hatter Potter," Hannah teased.

"Or Puzzling Potter," Susan offered with a lighthearted simper.

"Peculiar Potter has a ring to it," Hannah continued.

Indignation toward their good-natured japes narrowed your eyes as it pulled at the corner of your lips, but the list of nicknames and your simmering rebuke were cut short when the hall doors were pushed open by two impossibly long arms, followed by an enormous heeled foot that matched them. A woman of an impressive height strutted through the hall, with a trail of boys and girls clinging tightly to her heels like a neat line of ducklings. Their flowing robes were made with supple powder blue silk that rippled like water around their arms and legs. 

"Madame Maxime!" Dumbledore greeted, standing up from his seat at the staff table. Her long face cracked into a warm smile as she effortlessly stepped one long leg onto the dais and wrapped those lengthy arms around him, momentarily vanishing him against her before giving him a dainty kiss on each cheek. "It's been too long," she affectionately told him. She took her seat at the staff table while her girls assimilated onto the Ravenclaw table, receiving and exchanging shy greetings. Shifting your owlish gaze, you noticed Hagrid sitting beside her, appearing as though he had been struck by a rogue Stupefy Charm

As soon as the woman had seated herself, another strange group entered the Great Hall; a man that would be considered tall if he hadn't arrived after Madame Maxime, with a shrewd, tightly cropped goatee stomped through the hall, leading a group of equally stocky, bulky bodies dressed in ruddy furs that lined their faces protectively and made you want to sweat sympathetically. 

"It's him- It's Krum!" you heard Zacharias whisper excitedly from down the table. You found him as well, remembering his stern face from the posters that clad nearly every Bulgarian tent, though only his austere eyes showed from above the shroud of the silver furs that were far more luxurious than his other classmates. He appeared much less graceful now that his feet were on the ground, though he retained his solemn disposition as he strode through the hall. 

"Dumbledore!" the man shouted boisterously, throwing his arms into the air as he revealed two rows of stained teeth. You watched the fur-clad students mesh into the Slytherin table to a plethora of polite greetings and handshakes, before having to twist back around when Malfoy's haughty simper found you across the hall as Krum sat down right beside him. Zacharias swore beneath his breath, still craning in his seat to get a better look at the professional Seeker. 

"Professor Karkaroff, it's good to see you," Dumbledore returned warmly as Karkaroff waltzed up the steps onto the dais. They exchanged a bear hug before tearing apart. He too strode over to the empty seat - which was dwarfed by Maxime's, appearing like a child's chair in comparison - while Dumbledore remained in front of the podium, looking over the drooping candles. 

"Good evening, ladies and gentleman, ghosts and guests," his pale eyes swept over the hall, "I have the great pleasure of welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be a home away from home." Some of the Beauxbaton girls exchanged sardonic looks, offering only a few brittle, poorly stifling titters.

"We will be announcing our competitors of the Triwizard Tournament at the end of tonight's dinner feast, so please take the morning and afternoon to offer your name." Throwing his hands up, the yawning sleeves of his robe fluttered as he announced merrily through a wide smile, "Now, eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

With no Quidditch this year either, you returned to spending your free periods inside the greenhouse, caring for your plant. The stem finally emerged from the pool of rocks and water, boasting a handful of thick leaves. Neville's was bustling as well, though it didn't exactly appear to be, sprouting sickly grey boils instead of leaves. Professor Sprout ensured that this was natural, however, and Neville was simply enthralled by his peculiar plant, finding the pustules fascinating. 

Hooking a finger behind the knot, you loosened your tie, pleased to be back inside the cool air of the castle. The residents of the greenhouse enjoyed the balmy summer temperature that was incubated inside their home, but you found it difficult to breathe inside the thick atmosphere, never able to roll your sleeves up high enough.

In retrospect, however, it was a bad idea to spend the break in the greenhouse when the next class took place inside the tip-top of a tower. Before the lament could sink in, a reprieving memory popped into your head; Cedric's advice from last year. You abandoned the grand staircase and took a hallway through the middle of the castle. After a few turns you saw it; the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He was currently being held upside down by his ankle by the troll he was attempting to tutor in the art of ballet, desperately waving his hands for the fallen wand beneath his head. And standing just opposite of the jostled wizard was a door you had no recollection of existing, and yet now it did.

Opening the door, you were met with the painting of Norvel Twonk. He blinked at your sudden appearance, perking a painted brow. "Well, I haven't seen this passage used in quite some time." Flashing him a simpering smirk, you leisurely sauntered through the stairs and up the latter into the Divination attic. 

You were the first to arrive, leaving the varied array of seating at your fingertips. You bid farewell to the pouf and strolled across the room to the chair that had caught your fancy last year, but was previously occupied by Dean Thomas; a handsome armchair that stood on the carved wooden talons of a bird and was accompanied by a petite lacquered oak table. Plopping into it, you bounced slightly before pulling the little table back in front of you.

The comfortable mien you were finally able to enjoy inside this inauspicious classroom was stripped away by Trewlawey's shadowy visage stepping into your eye line. She took a few stumbling steps toward you, reaching a trembling hand. Her thick glasses sank to the bridge of her nose, exposing the glazed-over eyes that pierced your flesh and saw only your soul. Her strained voice sounded painful inside the throat that groaned it out, croaking;

"With the sacrificial blood of the sun, the shattered moon shall be remade whole, eclipsing the light and casting a shadow of sorrow and fear that will swallow the world once again - COUGH COUGH COUGH," the hand that was once outstretched instead found her chest, the other covering her mouth. Clearing her throat, she pushed her glasses back over her eyes before looking up at you again. "Oh, hello dear, I didn't see you come in. You're early."

Your jaw hung slightly ajar, your lips twitching subtly, unsure how to respond to the professor's jarring arrival. "What, what did you just say?" She tilted her head quizzically, "I said hello. Feeling alright, my dear? You're looking a tad peaky, do you need to go to the infirmary?"

The tail end of a conversation drifted into the room, "Do you think Viktor Krum will sign my bag if I ask??" before Padma and Lavender climbed into the classroom. Trelawney welcomed them warmly and they returned the greeting with glinting reverence.

Looking over the empty chairs, their faces simultaneously lifted with excitement when they found you. "Potter's here!" Padma whispered poorly to Lavender. "(y/n), what season were you born in?" Lavender asked, striding over to you. The answer drifted past your lips in a distant voice, but the perturbation that sculpted your disposition was lost on the girl as she squealed excitedly, looking to Padma, who appeared equally delighted.

"You were right!" 

To your further distress, the girls took the chairs directly behind you - stadium seating for the spectacle that would surely entertain as well as it had last year. Once the rest of the students trickled in one by one, each appearing more disheveled than the last, the lesson on star signs and the patterns that coincide with them commenced, but you hardly absorbed a thing, only Trelawney's strange word haunting your ears. 

"Dear... Dear." You tore your gaze from the planetary chart on your table, seeing Trelawney standing in front of you. The sympathetic hue that you had become accustomed to painted her expansive eyes. "Class has been dismissed, dear."

"Oh," you simply said before standing up. You began putting your belongings back into your bag, but Trelawny continued to linger at your table, her fingers wringing together. "I thought I should warn you, but my Inner Eye has been pounding since you first walked in." Swinging your face back to her, you were only peripherally aware of your parchment slipping from your hand and splattering across the floor. 

"I fear that the thing you're worried most about is near on the horizon." Sirius. Something happened to Sirius. "What's going to happen!?" The sudden surge of energy and urgency that enveloped you caught her off guard. "Well, The Sight does not work quite so literally, I'm afraid. I can only unfog the far distance, not the road that leads to it, dear." Gnawing anxiously on the inside of your cheek, you didn't bother to suppress the frustration that suffused your features. Wordlessly you bent down, grabbing a handful of the parchment, and shoving it haphazardly into your bag.

Striding down the stairs, you went to the door that you had arrived by, but when you opened it you weren't met with the tapestry of a bruised and battered Barnabas, but an empty storage room. 

"Do you mind, Potter? I'd rather not stare at a dingy room all day, thank you," Norvel Twonk griped. You threw him an icy glare before shutting the door and beginning the taxing odyssey back down the castle.

Despite sprinting through the halls and nearly tumbling down the marble staircase, you still arrived late to Defense class. Moody's magic blue eye found you before his dark one. He didn't seem bothered by the late arrival, simply grunting at you in acknowledgment. You slid into the seat beside Hannah and took out your ink well and a piece of parchment, but Moody's voice stopped you. "Put those up, Potter, won't be needin' them. It's a visual lesson, today."

He swung a marred hand over the three jarred spiders, and you saw Hannah squirm in her seat nervously from the corner of your eye. "I got a letter from Professor Lupin all about your lessons last year, and while you've studied all of the basic Dark creatures - boggarts, grindylows, kappas, werewolves - you're very far behind on dealing with curses." Malfoy shredded his stale disposition and lifted his head from his hand, suddenly piqued with interest. 

"Curses come in all strengths and forms. According to the Ministry, I'm not supposed to teach you about illegal Dark curses until your sixth year. They want me to stick with counter curses, but I spoke with Professor Dumbledore, and he agrees that the sooner you know what you're up against, the better you are for it. Teach you why you need to be prepared, watchful, and alert. 

"Any of you know about the three unforgivable curses?" A few hands raised, and he pointed a finger at Susan. "The Imperius Curse." The corner of his scarred lip curled. "That one gave the Ministry quite a lot of trouble, miss Bones." With the tap of his wand, the lid of the first jar unscrewed. He dipped his hand inside, allowing the spider to climb up his finger. It crawled around his hand, exploring its new surroundings inquisitively, unbeknownst to what was about to happen as he raised his wand precariously over it.

''Imperio!" The spider froze suddenly, a single thin, pointed appendage still lifted in the air. Then it sprung back to life with a luster, jumping into the air before sliding lazily from a thread onto the desk below, where it broke into a stylish jig. Everyone in the class began to laugh at the odd display, Moody himself bearing a hearty grin. Laughter turned to startled shrieks as he flew the spider over desks, making it leap onto each one, but the laughs only increased when it would scamper onto someone else's. Hannah unleashed an ear splitting shriek when it landed in front of you. The smile died on Moody's face as his grip on the wand tightened. The spider shook for a second until its legs began to bend backward, cracking the exoskeleton as it coiled like broken fingers toward its back. 

"Not so funny anymore, aye...?" With the flick of his wand, he retrieved the broken insect, placing it back in its jar beside the other. "Anyone know the next one?" Dipping into the well of knowledge that still resided in your head from the pernicious books that inhabited Tom's secret room, your hand tentatively lifted into the air.

"The Cruciatus Curse." The grin returned to his face, and he gave a curt nod. With this spider he skipped the grand theatrics and simply hovered his wand over it, murmuring the incantation. An invisible force enveloped it, causing it to twitch unnaturally, its legs frantically working to cling to something - anything - that would save it, but to no avail. The silent writhing summoned the memory of the dream to the forefront of your mind, that man's tortured screams ringing inside your ears to the beat of the suffering spider's stifled thrashing.

"A right nasty curse." With the twitch of his wrist, the force was lifted from the spider, yet it still continued to shake uncontrollably. He placed it back into the jar.

He reached into the last jar and plucked the final spider out, which futilely tried to evade his reach. He didn't bother surveying the class for the answer to what the final unforgivable curse was, merely hissing out the incantation, "Adava Kadavra!" A shot of vibrant green light shot from the tip of his wand, enveloping the small creature for a moment. The spider instantly folded, collapsing to the table, its legs slowly curling into itself; no mark, no blemish, and no life left inside it. The haunting phantom of the only recollection that you bore from that terrible night replayed before your eyes, unable to stop the contextualization that the scene crafted inside your head. An artic current deluged the pit of your leaden stomach and leaked into your veins, cramping your heart. 

"The Killing Curse. There is no counter charm. No blocking it. Only one person has ever survived it." Both of his eyes settled on you, along with everyone else's. You shrank in your chair in a futile attempt at hiding from their collective gaze. "Those are the unforgivable curses, and those are what you are up against."

The throng of students was chatting heartily as they filed out of the room; everyone except you. Hannah placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, but you subconsciously flinched from the reassuring touch. Standing up, you lifted the corners of your mouth and murmured some placating words to soothe her concern. Before you could leave, the sound of Moody's clawed foot against the stone floor grabbed your attention. 

"Mind if I have a word, Potter?" You told your friends you'd meet them at Charms. He waited till they left to look back to you, his other eye still staring through the wall they strolled behind. An oddly soft expression molded his scar blemished face.

"I'm sorry that you had to see that, but it's important you know what you're up against. The Dark Lord still has many, many allies, and every one of their eyes are on you." He patted your shoulder surprisingly gently, yet wasn't as placating as he may have intended it to be. You thought instantly to Lucius Malfoy, that smarmy calculated look in his eyes and the pleasantries he always hid behind. Moody seemed to recognize this recognition of his words, adding, "Constant vigilance, Potter." With one last squeeze, he released you, hobbling back to his desk.

Instead of heading to Charms, you slipped into the library, hoping to drown your burdened consciousness with ink. Coming to the herbology section, you ghosted the tip of your finger along the row of spines, pausing on a title that caught your eye. Plucking it from the shelf, you continued down the aisle and rounded the corner, finding Neville.

He was sat on the floor inside a small nook between the rows of bookcases, his knees tucked in his arms. His usual pale complexion was ashen, his eyes staring blankly ahead of him. You walked over, kneeling down in front of him, meeting his eye line. "Neville, what's wrong?" He slowly blinked with recognition, as though he only just noticed your presence - then those dolorous orbs became glossy with tears as your question was finally processed by his lagged brain. "Nothing's wrong... I just wanted some quiet after... Defense class..." 

Though the specifics were lost on you, you understood his plight all too well. After standing back up, you slid down next to him, resting your head against his shoulder. He turned toward you and blinked in bemusement, but slowly acquiesced to the action, placing his own head tentatively on yours as fresh tears now glided down his cheeks. 

When the bell rang, you both traveled hand in hand to the Great Hall, finding comfort in your mutual affliction. You were pleased to see the color had finally returned to his face as he rattled off all of his guesses toward what his plant could be, listing off potential species with the fingers of his free hand. You held up the herbology book, offering it to him, "The answer might be in here." 

"N-no, you need it. Your plant might be in there too," he rebutted chivalrously, but you simply pressed the book to his chest and let go, forcing him to grab it. "Your plant's so strange, I'm dying of curiosity. So tell me right when you find out, got it?" His healthy complexion burned brighter, and all he could do was nod his head shyly. 

You parted ways inside the Great Hall, each going to your respective tables. "There you are," Ernie said, causing Hannah and Susan to twist in their seats. "Feeling any better?" Hannah asked in a small voice of concern.

"Yeah, just needed to visit the library."

"Find what you were looking for?" Susan asked. You thought to Neville and smiled, "Yeah." 

Once the plates that laced the tables only bore scraps and picked over tidbits, every platter, dish, and goblet disappeared, causing a knowing hush to follow across the hall, the once warm air chilling into a rare stillness that hung with an edge of anticipation. 

Dumbledore solemnly stood up from the staff table and traveled to the goblet, effortlessly gathering everyone's attention. A gust whisked across the hall sky, extinguishing the floating candles, allowing the starry sky above and the bubbling blue flames of the goblet to illuminate the room in a soft glow that enticed the shadows to dance merrily together against the expansive wall. Dumbledore took a moment to silently look over the intermingling student body, the Hogwarts, Dumstrang, and Beauxbaton students peppered across the long trestle tables. With a content sigh, a smile lifted his engraved features. 

"Any moment now, the goblet will be ready to announce the competitors it has chosen," he announced to the anxious rows of bodies.

"Pick me, pick me, pick me," you heard George and Fred chanted in unison from the neighboring table, their fingers crossed for luck as they hoped to see their names fly out from the fire, willing their wishes onto it. As though to answer their audible prayers, the fire burst into orange tongues of flame, exhaling a thin strip of paper, charred at the ends. Dumbledore lifted his hand out, letting it flutter into his open palm. Everyone sat on the edges of their seats as he held it beneath his half-moon spectacles.

"The champion of Drumstrang - Viktor Krum!" he announced in a clear, booming voice. Although this came to no one's surprise, the entire hall released the pent-up tension through a storm of applause. Viktor himself shared none of their excitement, remaining solemn as he stood up from the Slytherin table and followed Dumbledore's gesturing hand into the chamber beside the dais. 

A hush returned over the hall just as suddenly as it had broken, all eyes latched onto each lapping flame for another piece of paper - until it finally emerged in the same fashion, a flurry of orange embers accompanying its arrival. 

"The champion of Beauxbaton - Fleur Delacour!" A second eruption shook the hall, the hands of every Beauxbaton student slapping together with delight as a girl with hair as silken as her robes stood up from the Ravenclaw table. She held her head up high as she strode across the hall and into the chamber. The deafening silence that blanketed the hall was tenser than the last, every Hogwarts student on tenterhooks as they waited for their own champion to be announced. You were one within that tension, hoping despite yourself for a champion from your own house to represent your school. After a handful of seconds that felt elongated into minutes, the paper finally glided into Dumbledore's hands.

"And the champion of Hogwarts - Cedric Diggory!" Like tightly coiled springs, Hogwarts students sprung up from their seats, hooting and hollering, slapping their hands together and stomping their feet. None cheer cheered as loud as your own table, yet you remained just as still as before, your jaw hanging slightly ajar. You swung your head toward Cedric, who looked just as surprised as you. He automatically met your dumbfounded gaze before averting his eyes, guilt littering his face. Your confusion molted to anger as you watched him stand, his gaze safely on the ground as he quickly began to travel through the hall, his shoulders shrugged beneath the weight of your glare. 

Hannah reflected a shadow of the anger and betrayal you felt, spitting, "He lied to us!" Susan was speechless, unsure what to say to placate either of you. 

"Excellent!" Dumbledore sang once the deluge of cheers finally settled down, "Now that we have our three competitors, I expect every one of you to give every bit of support that you can to-" his speech was cut off when the goblet burst into a vibrant orange again before spitting out a final piece of paper. It fluttered through the sky, Dumbledore simply watching it, stupified as it landed delicately on the ground. The rare shade of bewilderment colored Dumbledore's expression, contagiously effusing concern and confusion across the hall as he knelt down and picked it up with a hand that was tense to a near tremble. 

"(y/n) potter," he spoke so softly that your name hardly hit your own ears. Cedric stopped, having just reached the entrance of the chamber, looking over his shoulder at you, his expression a mirror of your own only a few seconds prior.

Surely this was a joke, the twins must have added your name as a jape. But when you glanced over at them, they stared back at you with wide eyes, not a smile shared on their freckled faces. Unlike the announcement of the other names, yours was greeted with no applause. No smiling faces, no clapping hands, no beaming pride; or even weeps of disappointment. The hall was frozen by shocked silence

You looked back to Dumbledore, unsure you had heard right. You were blind to the exasperated looks that surrounded you as Dumbledore repeated in a louder, yet equally gentle voice, "Miss Potter, come up here if you'd please."

You obeyed, walking to the dais on the shaky legs of a newborn fawn. The journey through the hall was an odyssey, as every table now buzzed around you like an angry hive.

"How did she get in?!"

"She's only a fourth-year!"

"Two Hufflepuffs?? How the hell is that fair!"

When you reached Dumbledore, your words tumbled desperately from your lips, "Professor, I swear I didn't enter my name-"

"Through the door with the others, (y/n)." You floundered helplessly in front of him, his gentle eyes not helping your bemusement. "Go on," he pressed firmly but not unkindly, and you finally tore your rooted feet from the ground and walked into the chamber. 

Chapter Text

        The hinges on the chamber door creaked open with a clamorous groan that diffused the brewing pensive atmosphere as it loudly announced your arrival. Fleur stood in the center of the room, her silvery, silken hair rippling across her back as she turned to you. Viktor was leaning against the mantle of the hearth, his arms crossed against his broad chest, only dimly inclining his chin toward the doorway you still stood in. The weaving flow of the fire bathed their frames in a wash of fitful light, their towering, restless shadows accentuating their intimidating appearances.

Your lagged brain had yet to begin to process the extent of the treacherous road you had stumbled upon when Cedric immediately ambushed you as you closed the door. He had been waiting by the door, brooding over what had just happened. 

"Why did you enter!" he began. Fleur tilted her head curiously, her eyes flickering back and forth between the two of you.

"Enter? What do you mean?" she inquired, a slight edge to her accented voice, while Viktor's dark eyes expended subtly as he watched you much more intently than before. Your mouth opened, but your lips simply twitched for a moment, unsure where to begin as you yourself didn't know.

"My name came out of the fire," was all you could say, but that was enough to inflame her. Her jaw dropped before clenching tightly. She raced across the room in a huff, her fist coiled at her side as she wrenched the door open, exposing the fretting knot of teachers behind it, "If it wasn't her then who put her name-" was all you heard before the door closed again, muffling their tumultuous chatter. 

"I can't believe you would do this, do you have any idea how dangerous this is going to be?" he interrogated, regathering your attention. The lock on your tongue finally broke as the hypocrisy of his words reignited your chest, the scorching fire of ire that the betrayal sparked and kindled leaving painful wounds that wished to be vented. 

"I do, and so should you!" you snapped back, the firey rebuke catching him off guard. He found it difficult swallowing the boulder of guilt that had made its home in his throat. The fire shared between you was as arduous as the one residing in the hearth. Balling his hands, he rebuilt his resolve.

"You promised-"

"I didn't enter!" you shouted. You wanted to shout it across the Great Hall - to shout it through the entire castle. The mountain of words that had compiled on his tongue as he waited for you to enter the chamber was swept away by your statement. Your pinched features softened subtly, furrowed now by pain instead of anger. Your voice trailed as you said, "I have no idea why my name came out of the fire, but I didn't put it in there. I didn't break my promise... but you did..."

The anger in Cedric's chest was doused, replaced by a pang of contrition that constricted his heart inside a fist of rue. His hands slowly unfurled as he took in the tenebrous that contoured your features and exasperated the despondency that veiled your frame. His open hands raised slightly as the urge to wrap them around you and console you crashed over him like a rogue wave, yet the gesture faltered. Dropping them back to his sides, his voice was a forlorn ghost as it drifted past his lips, "(y/n), I-I'm-" The door was abruptly shoved open, and Karkaroff swept through the chamber, his vision locked purely onto Viktor, who still had his own eyes plastered onto you. Dumbledore followed after him, looking to you, "You two can go to your dorms now."

Malfoy was loitering in the kitchen corridor with his back resting against the wall and his arms crossed tight around his thin chest. When he heard your footsteps, he lifted his daggerous scowl and immediately started in on you, "You have to be the most idiotic - moronic - imbecilic-" Cedric positioned himself between you, hiding you as you rapped the password against the barrels, but Malfoy simply stared straight through him. "- stupidic -" You slid inside the common room, glad to be rid of him. 

The second you straightened your back, the room exploded; arms were thrown around you, pulling you in multiple directions as everyone clambered for your attention. "TWO FROM OUR HOUSE! TWO! HOW CAN WE LOSE!" Fanged Frizbee's stashed from last year soared through the air, a flurry of colorful sparks and confetti shot from the tips of raised wands, and even the plants were swinging their green limps merrily, influenced by the energetic atmosphere.

From between the small gaps in the cluster of bodies, you saw Hannah slip into the dormitory. Ducking beneath the arms that were affectionately slung around your shoulders, you followed her.

"Hannah, I didn't put my name in," you told her, but she was willfully deaf to your words, simply closing her bed curtains tightly shut. 

~~

        The shunning continued into the next day. She was already gone by the time you woke up, and when you finally saw her, she was sitting alone at the very end of the table, sulking. You absentmindedly poked the spoon at your porridge, your head propped against a hand. You glanced toward Cedric, who was uncharacteristically quiet while the rest of his friend group chatted away. He peered up from his breakfast and met your gaze, which you quickly tore away. 

"You believe me, right?" You asked Susan. She was quiet for a moment, mulling over the question before replying, "Well, on one hand, how the hell did you get past the age barrier? I saw multiple people lined outside the infirmary with bushy white beards. On the other, how else could it have picked if your name wasn't thrown in?" 

"Don't forget, she does have a proclivity toward danger," Ernie added unasked. 

"More like danger has a proclivity toward me," you argued back, taking an angry bite of your porridge.

"But I don't think you'd lie, so I believe you," she concluded, taking some weight off your shoulders.

"So do I," Ernie contributed stoically, once again without request. You thanked them sullenly, looking back to the forlorn Hannah, all by herself.

Malfoy's fury was pried off of your frame and encapsulated by the Blast-ended Skrewt that simultaneously attempted to sting, bite, and burn him as he attempted to wrangle it. Despite being littered with burns and scorch marks that marred your robe, it was a welcome reprieve from the endless fountain of rancor you had no idea resided inside his willowy body. 

Luckily, Hagrid had learned from the mistakes of the year prior, having procured plenty of vials of Burn-Healing Paste from Madam Pomfrey. You were still applying the thick orange potion on your scorched hands even after the class ended, pleased to feel the irritation alleviate as the agitated blemishes become saturated by your natural skin tone. 

Hagrid hovered around you, his cheeks as red and plump as apples, his fingers laced coyly behind his back. He had been extremely energetic throughout the class - initially you assumed it was because of his burgeoning crush on the Beauxbaton Headmistress, but he lacked the usual floundering clumsiness that usually coincided with her presence. 

"What's got you in such a good mood, Hagrid?" His bristling beard rose as his smile expanded further. "Yer first task fer the tournament has been given' ter me ter manage. And oh! Yer just gonna love it!" Your curiosity piqued, you tried to ask a few more prying questions, but he stubbornly struck each one down. 

"10 points from Hufflepuff," Snape snarled. "I just sneezed!" you argued. Hannah sat on the opposite side of the room, still encapsulating herself in her self-imposed isolation. "10 points for sneezing, and another 20 for backtalk. Keep going, Potter, let's see how high we can get before you learn to shut your mouth and stop disrupting my class." You all but ran out of Potions once it ended, entering a starkly contrasting environment in the hallways. Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were clapping your shoulder and giving you congratulations and wishing you luck. Even a Slytherin, who you recognized as their Quidditch Seeker, congratulated you as well. "Good luck, Potter. Can't wait to see what you can do." You inspected him for any hint of sarcasm in his tone or face, but found only authenticity.

It was on your way to Charms that Fred and George appeared beside you.

"How did you do it!"

"Teach us your ways, Master!"

"I didn't enter!" you hissed back, but they remained undemurred.

"Come on, you can tell us. We'd never tell another soul, we just want to know how you did it for research purposes." Raising your wand, you murmured the incantation and gave it a lithe wag. Each of the twin's feet got caught on the ground as if suddenly glued, causing them to fall behind you, quickly becoming lost in the tide of bodies.

"Depulso!" Swearing beneath your breath, you ran across the classroom to catch the textbook you had accidentally banished instead of the pillow you were given. Neville distracted the class from your embarrassing mishap, flinging Flitwick into his own desk. 

In Transfiguration, you couldn't manage to vanish the feather in front of you no matter how many times you flicked your wand and said "Evanesco!" It wasn't until a Ravenclaw kindly corrected your pronunciation that you successfully vanished your target. The achievement hardly granted you much solace, however. How could you compete in the tournament when you needed help to vanish a feather.

When you slipped into your bedroom that night, you found Hannah already in bed, her bed curtains shut tightly again. You sat down on the edge of your bed and let out an exhausted sigh. "I didn't enter," was all you could say, not expecting a reply. But one came. "I know," the curtains replied. You lifted your head, surprised. "Then why are you ignoring me?" The curtains were whipped across the post, exposing Hannah's puffy, red, glistening face, still in her uniform. "Because not only is Cedric entering a dangerous competition, but so is my best friend!" she choked out, her lip quivering. She wiped away the fresh trail of tears with both hands, embarrassed. "I-If anything happens to e-either of you, I won't-" Your arms flung around her, surprising her, but she reciprocated the hug, dampening your shoulder. "Always in danger! Just like second year, going off to fight that monster alone, and now...!!"

You pulled back, keeping your arms around her. "It won't be like then, I swear." A smile softened your face. "If we're going to survive this, we'll need the best potions master in our grade." She chuckled, "I hope you're not referring to me."

"Well, you get better marks than I do." 

"Half the school gets better marks than you."

"Exactly." She laughed again, and you felt better to see her smile. "Team Hogwarts?" you asked, holding out your hand. She took it.

"Team Hogwarts."

~~

        "Evanesco!" you murmured as you walked down the final step of the spiral staircase, and the crumpled ball of parchment in your hand vanished. Smiling, you were glad to be getting the hang of it, knowing next class you would be banishing something bigger than paper balls. Pulling another piece of parchment from your bag, you crumpled it up, holding your wand over it. "Evan-"

"How do you expect to survive the tournament when you need to practice a simple vanishing spell??" Turning around, you met with Malfoy's miffed face. "You should be happy that I can't vanish worms yet, or I'd never have to listen to you again."

He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, you threw the ball at him. It bounced off his nose, and you couldn't hold the titters that bubbled in your stomach in response. His face was red with chagrin, and he pulled out his wand, causing you to do the same. The stand off was broken up by the mismatched sound of Moody's footsteps. He paused and simply watched you. "Go on. Don't mind me."

Malfoy's sneer curled further and he dropped his arm, stomping through the corridor and vanishing behind a corner. "Hrmph. Coward." He looked back to you. "You're excused from class, Potter. You're needed upstairs on tournament business." He turned to walk back to class, his magic eye attached to your back.

Viktor's vision followed you as you stepped into the room and assimilated into the line for the Wand Weighing Ceremony. You dodged Cedric's eyes as he peered over his shoulder at you, instead leaning to the side, watching as each wand spat out something different; a flock of songbirds flew from Viktor's, a beautiful bouquet from Fleur's, and neat rings of smoke marched from Cedric's. Your amusement died when it was you who stood before Ollivander, his hauntingly pale eyes bringing forth the fact that your wand was kin to Voldemort's. You suddenly feared what Dark monstrosity might pop out of the tip of your's - but you were pleasantly surprised when your own wand merely coughed out a flurry of red maple leaves and a few stray acorns.

"Um, (y/n)," Cedric spoke from behind you as you put your wand back in your pocket. You reluctantly looked up at him, meeting his penitent gaze. Before he could continue, a taloned hand had latched onto your elbow.

"(y/n) Potter, right? I'm Rita Skeeta, a journalist for the Daily Prophet, and I know that my readers will be salivating for an interview with the young Potter herself. Could you come with me for just a moment?" You parted your lips to reply, but before you could make a sound she was already dragging you off. 

Inside the cramped broom closet you had been pulled into, she sat in front of you, looking down at you from her horn-rimmed glasses while an enchanted quill hovered over a pad of paper. You were immediately bombarded with questions regarding that night fourteen years ago, only able to offer the same vague answers that you had many times before to many other rudely curious people. You looked wearily to the quill that soared across the papers, far faster than any answer you had given.

"So, this Cedric Diggory. Quite the eye candy." Your complexion betrayed your steely resolve, giving her the reaction she was hoping for. "I'm sure my readers will be curious about your relationship. The handsome, kind, perfect boy and the sad, lonely, orphaned misfit." You flared. "I am not sad or lonely!" you fought back, forgetting to combat the 'misfit' label. She nodded with cloying sympathy, "Yes, you're very brave, dear. The readers love a strong sob story. I hear that the two of you are quite close, can you tell me more about that?" The quill paused expectingly.

"We're- Who told you that!"

She tutted her tongue. "I never reveal my sources, dear. So, do you find it difficult competing against your boyfriend?" Your cheeks burned brightly, your brain short-circuiting. "We are not dating!" The quill came alive again, and you peered up at the paper, seeing it jot down unrequited love.

Your face was the same scarlet shade of a polished Quaffle by the time you exited that growingly claustrophobic room. Rita grabbed your arm again, pulling you toward the others. "Let's get a picture of you all for the front page!" She placed you purposefully in the middle, between Fleur and Cedric. Viktor wasn't as easily corralled, staying to the side. She poised the camera in her hands, and just before the flash, you felt an invisible force press you against Cedric's arm.

~~

        The next morning, a cloud of owls obscured the grey sky above the hall, raining Daily Prophets onto students below. Malfoy plucked his own from the air before it could ruin his plate of eggs, but when he examined at the cover, he spat his pumpkin juice across the table, splashing the people that sat across from him. 

The entire hall erupted with murmurs as every hand flicked through the pages of the Daily Prophets tucked inside them. Looking curiously across the table, you saw one in Susan's hands, and nearly choked on your toast when you read the huge bold letter; Rival Lovers. Beneath the headline was a picture of you and Cedric, along with the shoulder of Fleur and an arm of Viktor, huddled together, your arms pressed tightly together, your faces looking at each other equally bashful, your complexions thoroughly flushed. Your lashes were fluttering (in confusion), and his lips were slightly ajar (in surprise), played on loop on the paper - conveniently leaving out the context of the magic force that stuck your arms together. Cedric had stood up, his face a similar beat shape of red as your own, and with the wave of his wand, the Daily Prophets around him were pulled from people's hands. 

A ripple was cast over the school; you were subjected to silent glares from girls of every House, while Cedric was bombarded with pats on the back, thumbs up, or the occasional glower of his own. 

You escaped this torrent of malice that sprouted up around you, worried that one might even just hex you when your back was turned, by slipping into the library. The date for the first task was approaching faster than you'd like, and you needed your wits about you. Wandering the shelves, you pondered the only clue you had, Hagrid's declaration; "Yer just gonna love it!" What did you love? Cauldron cakes? Herbology? You turned the corner and found Viktor leaned over a table, intently poring over a book. Half a dozen other books had flooded the table, nearly burying his broad frame inside them. 

You searched over the book's covers and spines, wondering what subject could have enraptured the Seeker, when your eyes widened at the realization as you noticed the theme of the literature before him. "Yer just gonna love it!" 

'Dragons.'

Chapter Text

"It's dragons!" 

Hannah's brow rose in a mixture of surprise and incredulousness. "How do you know?" She listened intentively to the foundation of your theory, (the hoard of books that nearly buried Viktor and Hagrid's spirited statement regarding the first task) nodding thoughtfully along. "It's the best idea we've got. Something to do with dragons..." She got up from the bed and began to pace a small circle as she chewed the information with the molars of her mind, pondering beneath her breath, "Dragons... Riding dragons... Subduing dragons..."

While she paced, you're smile dipped as your excitement dwindled. Rubbing the side of your arm, you said in an offhanded, throw-away manner, "You should probably tell Cedric this too..." Her pensive frame halted suddenly before returning back to life as she now stepped toward you, grabbing your hand and leading you toward the door.

"What're you doing?" 

She looked over her shoulder. "We should tell Cedric."

You begrudgingly followed her into the common room, where she lackadaisically entered the boy's dorm. You hadn't spoken a word to Cedric since your names were pulled, so you stubbornly kept your gaze to the ground, despite the fact that the fire in your chest had dwindled down to a match stick. You heard the door open, and Cedric's socked feet entered your vision as he stepped in front of you. 

"You know what the first task will be? How?" You tentatively lifted your head but refused to meet his eyes (his dark hair was slightly tousled, likely having been pulled from bed, his pajamas a comfortable muggle ensemble of a wrinkled and worn t-shirt and baggy lounge pants), and repeated the same explanation you gave Hannah. He looked to the same spot on the ground you once had as he mulled over the information, touching his hand to his chin in thought. He then looked back to you. "We're competitors, you shouldn't have told me this."

"Here I thought we were friends," your brittle, sardonic tone wafted over him like an arctic gust, causing a shudder of guilt to ripple through his muscles. 

"I didn't mean-"

"It'll be safer if we all work together," Hannah told him, attempting to defuse the building tension that formed between you and Cedric. "We'll all look into this and pool our findings." A satisfied Hannah quickly slipped back into the girl's dormitory, purposefully leaving you two alone. You turned to follow after her, but Cedric took advantage of this opportunity, taking your wrist and anchoring your retreat. "Thank you for telling me. I hope you know that if I had found out, I would have told you too."

"I know," you murmured softly, knowing in your heart that his words were true; but he still didn't let go, instead his gentle grasp tightening ever so slightly. "And... I'm sorry for breaking our promise." You turned back to him, finally meeting Cedric's gaze. The sanguine glow that always illuminated his hazel eyes was snuffed out by a sullen shadow of contrition. "My dad wrote me a letter. He was so excited about me entering the tournament... I just didn't want to disappoint him... I didn't even think I would be picked, so I could at least tell my dad I tried, but..." He took in a cleansing lung full of air before repeating, "I'm sorry."

"I understand." A small smile built on your lips as the memory of his doting father played inside the forefront of your mind. Your smile contagiously spread to his own face as the respiting sight washed over his rigid frame; the perfect panacea to the restlessness that had plagued his muscles since those two pieces of charred paper had been spat from the goblet of fire. 

"But, I'm glad I did enter. I might be able to protect you." You placed your hands on your hips and puffed out your chest, but your rosied cheeks betrayed your indignant display.

"Worry about yourself first. Just because you're on track to becoming Headboy doesn't mean your indestructible, Ced," you cheekily chided him, using his father's nickname for him. His face reddened with embarrassment, but despite his pinched brow, he was unable to suppress the smile that dug into his cheeks. Your smile lowered alongside your hands, deciding to address one final question.

"Why didn't you tell me about the competition before? Malfoy knew," you informed him. The name caused his smile to shrivel into a grimace of distaste at the bitter recollection associated with the Slytherin. "Because I shouldn't have even known. My dad got overly excited and told me in confidence. I didn't think it was my place to pass on confidential Ministry information." You blinked at him, momentarily stunned by the crystal clear rationale, chastising yourself for falling so effortlessly for Malfoy's obvious attempts at sowing antagonism between you. 

Your question gave him the confidence to ask his own - one that had been relentlessly gnawing on his nerves - "If you didn't put your name into the fire... who did?"

"I don't know."

~~

        The majority of the books on dragons were still within Viktor's possession, so you parcelled out a few from your own personal collection to Hannah and Cedric. By morning, your necks were sore from being inclined all night as you pored over every page. Solutions were traded here and there, but most were dismissed for entailing a higher school of magic than either of you were taught or required more manpower than you possessed. Each day that passed felt like a creeping step that the daunting first task took toward you.

The pale white light from your wand lit the small area of your curtained bed, and one of the many books you were rereading was laying on your lap. You finally acquiesced to the complaints of the muscles in your back, falling backward onto the cruelly cajoling pillow. Rubbing your tired, stressed eyes, you allowed yourself a moment to wonder how Sirius was. He had eluded the Dementors all of third year, so you were sure he was still safe. He had to be. The thought of how he would have handled this enigmatic situation fluttered across your mind, but it only reminded you how little you knew your godfather.

Like a buoy across chopping water, your raw eyes slowly lulled before finally sinking. You hadn't even realized that you had fallen asleep until you were jarringly awoken by an animated - yet exhausted looking - Hannah, who smiled brightly over you. 

"I have an idea!"

~~

        Your thoughts were stuck on a treadmill as the plan looped endlessly in your head. Knowing that your stomach would reject any food you tried to eat, you spent the breakfast period in the courtyard, either trying to pace away your piqued nerves or practicing the spell. Broomstick in hand, you turned in your pacing and saw Neville standing silently at the courtyard entrance.

"Oh, hey," you said, the steadiness of your voice surprising yourself. Silence met your greeting, and he seemed stuck in a daze. When he finally blinked those wide dark eyes, he simply told you in a distant voice, "I know you're really busy now, so I've been taking care of your plant..." You were taken aback, the mountainous worriment regarding the tournament having buried your memory of the project Professor Sprout had assigned you last year. "Thanks, Neville, I totally forgot." He nodded slowly, but his lip began to quiver as he said, "I thought you might have... I... Um... I really wish you weren't doing this..." Tears began to build across his eyelashes until a blink dislodged the welling water, sending warm rivers tumbling down his pale face.

"I didn't put my na-"

"I know," he said meekly, "and that makes me even more nervous... You were always really nice to me, and if anything happened to you..." His lips continued to work, but the words were no more than ghosts as his voice died inside his tightening throat. 

The task of shoving away your own anxieties suddenly became effortless, dawning an armored plate of courage as you strode confidently over to him, taking his hand. "Don't worry. I've got a plan." His tear-stained cheeks flushed at your touch. Unable to dislodge the tangled knot of fret that had built inside his throat, he simply nodded his head. 

~~

        Cedric had his fingers laced behind his back as his feet traced across the minimal length of the champion's tent. He would stop every now and then only to throw a glance your way - the expression on his face frustratingly unreadable - before continuing his pacing. You and Cedric matched in the yellow and black champion uniforms you were provided, but you would have been much more comfortable in your Quidditch robes. The aroma of the dragon hide gloves might have calmed your electrified nerves, as it always had before matches. You had heard the strategy that he had come up with for himself and was encouraged, but now you can't help deconstructing it, fixating on every possible flaw and unpredictable circumstance that could unravel it.

Fleur sat beside you, anxiously threading her fingers through her silvery tresses while you wrung your hands around your wand, hoping to derive some confidence from it. Dragons, but what to do with dragons? Will his plan be enough? Will Hannah's plan even work?

Viktor stood by the tent wall, as stoic and taciturn as usual, though a brooding aura now effused from his broad, rigid shoulders. You spared him a fleeting look, remembering to thank him later. Without his accidental help, you'd be coming into this completely empty-handed and empty-headed. 

Bagman strode into the tent with a boisterous entrance that shattered the pensive atmosphere, causing all four of you to flinch. You observed intensely as each competitor dug their hand into the brown tweed bag, pulling out different dragons; when Cedric peeled his fingers back, to your relief he revealed a Swedish Short-Snout. Your draw was not so fortunate, feeling the prick of its brambled back before you could even open your hand; a Hungarian Horntail. Your mounting dread was only exasperated when you caught sight of the tiny, round object that laid beneath its clawed feet, causing your heart to flee to the pit of your stomach. An egg.

A mother dragon. 

Shifting your wand in your clenched hand, you failed to swallow down the consternation that lodged in your throat, threatening to choke you. Closing your eyes, you took a deep, unsteady breath. When you reopened them, you found Cedric was in front of you.

He took your hands in his own, and you could feel his own were a tad shaky, though his face was a perfect mask of confidence. "Teach that dragon how to really fly." A tremulous chuckle escaped your lips, and his smile settled more naturally at the sound of your laughter. Outside the noise from the stands was growing, letting you know that the time was coming soon. An ounce of his own tension leaked through as Cedric's grip on your hands tightened.

Then, Bagman's thundering voice called his name.

You didn't want him to let go, you wanted that second that you were connected - that you were safe - to last forever, but, with equal reluctance, he unfurled his hands from yours and released you. Reconstructing his reassuring facade, he gave you one last smile before exiting the tent. 

As he was ripped from your sight, he entered the view of the stands, igniting the crowd with lavish applause. A slew of screams and gasps filled the stands, and you weren't sure if you would vomit up your dinner. Fleur had taken to pacing the spot Cedric once had, and Viktor's crossed arms pressed further against his chest. You hadn't even noticed that your fingernails were digging into your palm until you heard, "SPECTACULAR! HE DID IT! CEDRIC DIGGORY'S GOT THE EGG!"

Your knees felt like they had become hexed as they dissolved to the tremulous density of jelly at the solace of the announcement. A loud exhale burst from your lips, attracting Viktor and Fleur's attention. Immediately, you stood up and strode toward the tent entrance, only stopping when you remembered that you weren't allowed to leave until your name was called.

Your wishes to escape this boiling cauldron of foreboding were ignored as Fleur's name rung out instead. The same chorus of cheers and anxious gasps were repeated, along with the ruckus shouts when her victory was announced. Some of the same anxiety was lessened to know that she was safe as well, until you heard Viktor's name being called. 

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you went over the plan again. Over and over, your lips articulating the incantation, your imagination going over the expected events, walking in the mental footsteps toward the aggressive mother dragon. Why did it have to be a mother dragon?

Once the roar of the crowd had settled, your own name was finally called. Digging your hand into your pocket, you retrieved the dragon scale hairclip that Hannah had gotten you your first Christmas at Hogwarts and secured it against your fringe to keep it from your eyes. Rubbing your thumb across the sleek surface of your wand, you took in a string of air until your lungs cramped from the strain before letting it back out. Lifting your head high, you threw back your shoulders as you pushed past the tent curtains. The excited cry of the crowd eclipsed even the deafening cries of your heart as it slammed relentlessly against your ribcage. 

~~

        Stationed on the stool inside the nursing tent, Madam Pomfrey was placing ointment on your burned shoulder. The pain subsided nearly instantly, replacing the stinging irritation with a winter breeze that caused goosebumps to trace down that arm. The Hufflepuff champion shirt you wore was charred all the way from the shoulder to halfway down the sleeve, leaving the cloth hanging limply down your arm. A chunk of your hair that was unluckily resting near that shoulder at the time was singed as well, but according to Madam Pomfrey, you were lucky to have gotten away with only that much.

The trepidation that had infected every inch of your body bloomed into exuberance once your broom handle obediently found your hand, finishing with an applause that dwarfed any that you had heard from the Quidditch stands. The opulent golden egg that rested against the leg of the stool was accented beautifully by the fact that you had tied with Viktor for first place.

You were examining your singed locks, wondering if you could find a spell to repair them or if a potion would be the best route, when Cedric flew through the curtain flaps and engulfed you in his arms, nearly knocking you off the stool you sat on. Madam Pomfrey was on him in an instant, shooing at him, but her protests landed on deaf ears. All of his past confidence had melted away, his anxieties showing plainly in the desperation of his voice as he exhaled into your hair, washing your scalp in his hot breath, "Thank Merlin. You did it. Your safe."

To Madam Pomfrey's further exasperation, Hannah ran in a few seconds after, flinging her arms around the both of you. With a resigned huff, Madam Pomfrey finally gave in to the wholesome scene in front of her, muttering about needing to check on Fleur before slipping out of the tent.

"You were amazing! Both of you!" Hannah cried, "The plan worked perfectly! I was worried for a moment that the broom wouldn't come, that you forgot to leave it in the courtyard or it hit a wall, but you did it!" You twisted in their arms so you could reciprocate their love, but as you looked toward Cedric, you saw that half of his face was smothered in the orange ointment. "Cedric-"

"I'm fine," he said, still smiling ear to ear. He dropped his arms from your torso, instead tenderly cupping your face. Throwing away the trivial embarrassment of the intimate touch, he took the moment to simply soak in the fact that you were alive and whole. His own heart had taken up residency in his throat when he heard your name called, the occasional screams and periods of tense silence tearing him apart, but when he heard you had succeeded in grabbing the egg, tears of relief sprung to his eyes, and his pent up breath was finally released.

As you strode through the castle with Cedric and Hannah attached to your hip, you assumed that everyone was simply gawking at you because of your performance in the tournament; that was until you ran a hand through your hair and touched the dragon scale clip. Shifting the egg in your arms, you suddenly stopped and hurriedly took the clip out, allowing the fringe to fall back across your forehead and once again cloak your scar. Cedric stopped as soon as you had, watching your actions with a questioning look. His scorched skin had healed, returning to its pristine, unblemished, frustratingly handsome state. "I thought the clip looked nice. Rather fit the moment," he said with a teasing smile pulling at his lips. 

You subconsciously covered the hidden scar with your hand, abashed that he had seen the grotesque signature that Voldemort had permanently etched into your flesh. Aunt Verna's chiding voice was conjured by your flustered chagrin, "- that ugly thing."

Taking the clip from your hand, he placed it on the opposite side, and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. Your face was as singed as your shoulder had been at the tender touch - and made worse by Hannah's tittering. 

The common room was already bustling by the time you stepped inside. Fireworks, Fanged Frizbees, and music playing from an unseen sauce melded with the buzz of lively chatter that simmered the air. You were grabbed the moment you entered and pulled to the heart of the party.  The trailing plants that you passed reached over and tickled your head in a warm welcome, almost as though they too were glad you came back.

"What's inside the egg?" a voice shouted over the others.

You forgot you were even holding it still.

Lifting it for everyone to see, you shifted it around in your hand, inspecting every inch of its sleek, intricate surface. Your fingers explored the engravings, tracing over the lines. Your thumb found the top of the egg, pressing against the portrait of an owl, and to everyone's collective amazement, the golden shell peeled back - unleashing a piercing cry. Instinctively you retracted your hand, and the smooth panels clasped back into place, quelching the painful sound, which was replaced by a thick blanket of silence. All eyes turned to Cedric, who answered their mute question by repeating your actions, cautiously pressing his thumb over the top, just to release the same sound. 

"A banshee wail?" Ernie offered.

"A dragon shriek?" Lianne added. Cedric stared down at his own egg, deep in contemplation as the gears in his head twirled.

The curiosity over the clue was quickly forgotten as the allure of the party was much more enticing than the mystery. Having ditched your seared and sweat-stained champion attire, you quickly threw on your Quidditch jersey - which was adorned by the same canary-yellow and ink-black color scheme - and a pair of matching black lounge shorts before reimmersing yourself inside the bustling atmosphere.

You grabbed another butterbeer as soon as your current bottle ran empty, coasting on the lingering adrenalin rush that still churned your heart and raised your courage to an audacious level. The butterbeer that was currently clad in your hand was your sixth, and you were beginning to feel the effects of the latter namesake, finding pleasantly that the tedious task of idle chatter with faces you were only vaguely familiar with was made much easier with the liquid social lubricant. You had only become aware of the hunger that gnawed at your stomach when you noticed that all of the pumpkin pasties had disappeared, reminded that you had skipped both breakfast and lunch that day. Peeling away from the noisy tangle of schoolmates, you slipped out of the common room in search of more food. 

You knew the entrance to the kitchens was somewhere within the kitchen corridor, but that was the extent of your knowledge; Zacharias nor the Weasley twins ever relinquished this heavily coveted, prized information. Continuing down the corridor, the slate grey stone bricks melded into a single picture in your hazy peripheral vision, striding right past the very painting that would have unlocked your desired destination.

Malfoy's slippered feet glided across the cold ground as he strode up the last steps of the narrow spiral staircase and into the entrance hall. His stress addled body hadn't permitted him more than a few morsels that entire day, and even then, his stomach wished to purge the few bites he managed when he watched the dragon honing in on your air-born figure, unleashing a lance of fire that fortunately only sizzled the tail of your broom. Now that you were back within the safety of the castle, his stomach had settled enough to gripe at him about its neglected state.

Thankfully, with enough badgering, he had gotten the secret to entering the kitchens from one of the seventh years. It felt good to have an excuse to steal away from the Slytherin common room as well, which, after that performance, had become a hotbed for Triwizard buzz - the most irritating being Adrian Pucey's continuous spewing of saccharine compliments and praise toward you. He had heard the way he spoke of you after the Quidditch match during second-year, how he admired your flying, and even challenged Flint's aggressive tactics for the first time after he had directed them toward you. The more your name escaped Pucey's mouth, the more disdain built inside of him.

Pulling open door to the kitchen corridor, he was taken aback to see you behind the door, being yanked into the entrance hall along with it. You stumbled forward, caught off balance by the door that was opened in your own hand. Malfoy recovered from the surprise fast enough to catch you by the shoulders, steadying you. Your hands wrapped around his shirt for security. 

"Thanks," you said before looking up, as surprised to see Malfoy as he was to see you. But instead of the miff that usually followed, a loose, lopsided smile instead spread across your face.

"Did you watch the task?? I tied with Viktor Krum!" you bragged. You were leaning into him more now, your hands still coiled around his shirt while he kept his hands on your shoulder, worried you may topple over again. He had never seen you so lackadaisical, taken aback by your unusual disposition until the sweet scent on your breath piqued his senses.

"You're drunk," he stated matter of factly, speaking the realization as it came to him. You furrowed your brows at the statement, but then nodded your head thoughtfully, "Suppose I might be."

Still accustomed to the back and forth banter you shared, Malfoy had opened his mouth to begin in on you until your heavy head rested against his shoulder, gagging his chiding words in his throat. Malfoy was utterly nonplussed as you drowned in his surprisingly redolent scent; the rich, lemony aroma of his soap. The rest of your torso acceded to the warmth of his own, the weight of your eyelids growing more burdensome as the sensation of swimming in your own head was only encouraged by the comfort of his body. 

He was painfully aware of the pillowy soft pressure of your chest against his own, the dazzling sensation smothering his judgment with the seething wanton impulse that he had always stubbornly fought (and failed) to suppress. He released your shoulders, extending his arms across your body, hugging you to him. Dipping his face to the crown of your head, he allowed himself a clandestine breath of your hair; an intoxicating medley of sweat, smoke, and sweet shampoo that only exasperated his dwindling self-control. 

"It all happened so fast, I hardly remember what I even did," you continued, though Malfoy was only peripherally aware that you were even speaking, too immersed in the lavish garden of your body to process the words that lazily dipped from your lips.

A deep sigh bathed his neck in your warm breath, causing a painfully pleasant shiver to crawl up his spine. "I was so sure one of us would die," your small voice reverberated against his shoulder, finally hitting his ears. He opened his eyes, leaning back up. Your face was still tucked against him, but he saw your disheveled frame through a different lens, one that reaped the needy ache that had been sowed deeply inside him from the roots. His long, slender fingers flowed through your hair gently in a consoling gesture. "You did well," he told you, having enjoyed enough butterbeer during House Cup celebrations to know that it was unlikely you would remember his words, let alone this general encounter. 

He hooked his arm around your back, tucked beneath your own, and lead you back to the barrels he had seen you disappear into at the start of all this trouble. "Go back into your dorm and sleep it off," the tender cadence in his voice surprised even himself. Leaving you with some privacy to enter the password, he left the kitchen corridor, but lingered behind the door, guarding it with the ardor of the mother dragon that you had confronted only hours ago. The phantom of your touch still haunted his body, kindling the torch that he helplessly bore for you into a wildfire of forlorn longing that ached inside him. Though he planned to release this tightly coiled tension once he returned to his dorm, he knew that the relief wouldn't last - it never had. 

Before you could rap your fist against the barrels, a body emerged from them. Cedric's worried mien dissolved when he saw you, your fist still raised in the air. "There you are. Why'd you leave the party?"

"I'm hungry," you remembered aloud. He sighed, telling you, "Get back in and I'll grab you some food from the kitchens." You hummed happily as you took his place in the barrels, suddenly craving something lemony.

Chapter Text

(C/W - Allusions to sex at the very end, and I will likely tread more into the lemon genre, though I do plan to tag the story appropriately when I'm comfortable enough to write it（˶′◡‵˶）)

        By the time that you had emerged from the still bustling party, you collapsed onto the bed, lying motionless as the bed bounced a few times beneath you while Hannah, a tad tipsy herself, got into her pajamas. With a low grumble, you rolled onto your back once your lungs began to complain about the lack of air that the smothering pillow provided. 

You allowed your limbs to sprawl around you. Your head was mantled by a dense fog, cladding all of your thoughts with a misty, translucent sheen, drifting through like clouds. Tears budded the corner of your eyes as they stared blindly at the ceiling above you, swelling til they trickled down the side of your face.

Why now of all times did Sirius pop into your watery head?

Sirius.

Where was he? 

How was he?

When was the last time you had gotten a letter from him? Since before coming to Hogwarts, you hadn't seen any sign of Hedwig. Sitting up in bed, you roughly wiped the tears from your eyes before digging into your bag. He must have seen your participation in the Triwizard Tournament. Was he worried? Proud? With parchment resting on your lap and quill in hand, you began to pour out a deluge of ink; beginning with the nightmare you had had at the Quidditch World Cup, you penned out all of the events that had occurred since you had last written him; to the mundane details like your newest, most peculiar defense teacher, to the riveting adventure of the first task. 

Once you had covered both sides of the parchment, you squeezed I really, really hope to hear from you soon, into the footer and set out on the arduous journey through the night to the owlery. 

~~

        "Urrgghh..." Fleeing from the aching light, you disappeared beneath the safety of the covers. The only thought that you could form inside the ragged mess of your body was the hindsight of regret toward your indulgence during the party. The side of your mattress sagged down, and you heard Hannah's muffled voice say, "Here, drink this. One of the boys brewed it last night." Only willing to extend your hand from the protection of the blanket, you sat up beneath the covers, appearing like a turtle that refused to leave the sanctuary of its shell, and took the cup from Hannah, disappearing it beneath the blanket.

The potion tasted bitter, piquing your already wretched stomach, but to your surprise the nausea quickly subsided, allowing you to tip it back and drink the rest. Emerging from your shell of blankets, the first thing that popped into your reprieved head was the massive ink stain that soaked across your bed, and the empty ink well that had laid alongside you last night. Cleaning in the mess ended up only piqued your aggrevation as you accidentally vanished the entire blanket and sheets along with the ink - the Vanishing Charm was clearly a spell you still needed to practice. 

At least the earthquake in your head and the stormy sea that was your stomach were merely a memory by the time you reached the Great Hall - its boisterous noise and smells would have had you running to the bathroom otherwise. 

Stifling a yawn, you slid onto the table and grabbed a piece of toast, nibbling on the corner as you reach for a goblet of coffee. "Where'z Cedric?" you lazily asked through a turret of crumbs. Susan dodged the fire, and Hannah replied, "I haven't seen him since the party."

You shifted your tired gaze around, seeing the new Daily Prophet, nearly spitting your coffee at Ernie's face. It was a candid picture of Cedric running into the tent and scooping you into his arms, playing on repeat. "Triwizard Champion's Conquer Dragons and Love." 

"Good for you," Susan quipped, a smile on her lips. "That was- We aren't- we," you sputtered helplessly, unable to organize the compiling words, only incriminating yourself further. 

After breakfast, you were still boiling over the newest Daily Prophet headline. Where the hell did they get that photo?! No one but professors and champions were allowed near that tent! If only you had used Rita Skeeter as bait against that dragon, you could have gotten the egg and lost that pest in a single act. 

Unable to resist the temptation to poke the brooding bear, twins jogged after your stomping frame. Appearing at your side, they matched your steps, George quipping, "What was hotter, that dragon's fire, or Ceddy's lips??"

"Thought of children's name's yet? I always thought Fred had a lovely ring to it myself."

With the assistance of the Muffliato Charm that you had picked up earlier that year from a group of sixth years, the rest of their irritating teasing were nothing but a blissful tide of white noise.

You hadn't even noticed that the Weasley's had vanished from your side until you saw a different face bent down to catch your attention. With the wag of your wand, the muting effect of the spell was canceled. "Hello," you said meekly to the vaguely familiar face. He smiled, clearly worried that you were simply ignoring him. 

"Hey, Potter," he said amiably, contrasting the usual chilly attitude you received from other students that dawned that green tie. Then you finally recognized him; the Slytherin Seeker. 

"Can I walk you to your class?" The question struck you as odd. "Why?" you blurted out. His cheeks rosied at the blunt question, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "I figured we could talk on the way. About Quidditch. We're both Seekers, after all." 

"I'm going to the dungeons, won't you be late to your own class?" 

"It's nearby, don't worry," he told you, flashing you a confident smile. With a shrug, you went on down the corridor with him close by your side. You learned his name was Adrian Pucey, and he did most of the talking in the beginning. But once you warmed up to his presence, you traded a few stories on the field, lamenting about the Quidditch cancelation last year, both of you avoiding the topic of how the last game between Slytherin and Hufflepuff ended; with you plummetting from your broom thanks to a foul from his team. But you recalled that he hadn't engaged in such ruthless tactics that game, focusing purely on the same objective as you - being the first to grab Golden Snitch.

When you finally arrived at the Potions classroom, you warmly bid him farewell and watched him dash off, seeing that his own classroom was not indeed "nearby."

You were pleasantly surprised to see Malfoy's absence, assuming that he had succumbed to the same morning wake up that you had, with no potion to purge the chaotically buzzing static from his body. Snape's monotone drone slipped out one ear as soon as it entered the other, so you mostly consoled yourself with the fact that you could just copy Susan and Hannah's notes on antidotes after class. 

The bell didn't toll your freedom, however, as Snape called your name just as you reached the door. Letting go of the door handle, you wondered what you had done wrong this time as he stalked over to you. The lucky rest who poured through the doorframe gave you fleeting looks of pity and relief that it wasn't their name that was called. 

Snape waited til the room was empty to lean in toward you, using one hand to shut the door while never breaking his stony eye contact as he whispered in his perpetually venomous murmur, "I saw that a few choice ingredients were missing from the student cabinet, and I feel the need to remind you that Love Potions are banned in this school." 

You blinked in genuine surprise. "What?"

His beetle black eyes narrowed further with impatience. "You may take me for a fool, but I know the ingredients for a Love Potion better than you do, I assure you. And as you have a - let's say, proclivity - for thievery and improper potion brewing, I hardly feel remise in questioning your facade of stupidity." You were tempted to tell him that your stupidity was real this time. Instead, you simply responded to the accusation by saying, "It was not me."

"It happened during your class period yesterday," he bit back, the short fuse of his temper burning shorter by the second. 

"And I wasn't the only one there that day as I recall," you snipped back, taking a wary pleasure in how his nostrils flared with indignation. 

"But it is very much like you to mess up a recipe." He straightened his back, no longer glowering over you, as he glided back to the front of the class. "Well, whoever pilfered those ingredients missed a few pinches, meaning their potion won't be strong enough to last more than a week. So I would recommend that they don't even bother wasting the time to brew it."

You found your friends waiting by the door. "What was that about? Susan asked. 

"He thinks I stole potion ingredients," you informed them, meeting a pause of silence. "Which I didn't do!" 

~~

       Impulsively tackling problems with your own two hands and wand was more your forte - solving puzzles was not. You had slept with the egg overnight, wondering if your body heat might crack whatever riddle that this egg contained. Uncoiling your body from around the egg, you sat up and picked it up, inspecting every crevice, tracing your eyes over the subtle beveling. The pad of your thumb ghosted over the lines, wondering will happen when you open it, if you had solved the mystery. Yet when your thumb pressed against the top, the same ear-splitting sound erupted. With a sigh of defeat, you peeled yourself out of bed, putting your egg back into the trunk. 

Pucey found your side again on the way to lunch. "Mind If I pull you aside?" You told your friends you'd meet them in the Great Hall and went with him. He lead you to the courtyard, which was currently covered in the first signs of the approaching winter; wilted flowers and other dying foliage clung stubbornly to every surface of the white stone. 

He lead you to a moss-painted pillar, where he finally stood, looking back to you. "Are you and Diggory... dating?" he inquired tentatively, his entwined fingers fiddling nervously in front of him. He was tall, almost the same height as Cedric, though possessed a slimmer frame; the ideal body of a Seeker. His shoulders were still considered broad despite his more willowy frame, as everyone on the Slytherin team possessed an intimidating silhouette, though his eyes were kind, and his defined face was not unattractive. 

The timid expression he now wore seemed misplaced on him. You had gotten very used to hearing this question by now, but it was still difficult to control the color that suffused your face every time. 

"We aren't, no."

A relieved smile split his face, washing away the trepidation. "Great! So, would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me then?" The Yule Ball had been announced that morning, leaving you stunned, flustered, and frustrated. What did a ball have to do with a tournament!? Like an unwanted magnet, your eyes flung to where Cedric always sat, but with a mixture of relief and curiosity, you saw he was absent yet again today. 

You hadn't expected to be asked so soon - at all, truthfully - so all that escaped the traffic jam in your head was, "Oh..." He continued to fiddle with his fingers, his nervous disposition reencroaching with every second of silence that passed. You couldn't help your bemusement, this was the first time you had been asked out. You automatically thought of Cedric, then to the prospect of going to the ball alone. You momentarily wondered if this was some sick joke that Flint or Malfoy had set up, but the genuinity of his nervousness was enough to wash away the thought. 

"Can I think about it?"

On your way back to the Great Hall, a first-year tentatively grabbed you by the sleeve of your robe. Looking back, you saw that her cheeks were flushed, and her head was facing at the floor, purposefully missing your gaze. She held out a box of chocolates, "From a secret admirer," she simply said, and once you took the box, she dashed off before you could ask a single question. 

It seemed you were not short on sudden admirers, as Dean Thomas and Terry Boot had asked you to the Yule Ball as well that day. You gave them the same answer as you had Adrian. Draped across the plush armchair, you were eating some of the chocolates you had been given by your "secret admirer."

"Must be difficult being so popular," Susan said in a tone of slight miff, while Hannah smirked teasingly. "But she only wants to be asked to the ball by one person."

You chucked a piece of chocolate at her head, but she ducked beneath it. "Have you given any thought to the egg yet?" Susan inquired, causing you to pause mid-mouthful, realizing you haven't. She nodded, expecting this, going back to her Transfiguration homework. 

It had been the first time you had seen Cedric all day when he entered the common room, bringing a very pleasant scent in with him. "I found out how to open it!" You sprung up from the chair, not giving a single thought to the chocolates that scattered across the floor, matching his energy, "How!"

He paused at that question. His cheeks suddenly growing a bit red, he looked at the floor bashfully. "You, you have to take a bath with it." You raised a questioning brow. "I'll let you use the prefect bathroom. Just... Take a bath with it."

The prefect bathroom was even more brilliant than you had imagined; the bath was the length of a swimming pool, and at the very end was an ornate fountain, spilling fruity soaps into the water, creating a mountain of bubbles. You slipped into the fragrant water - which was the perfect temperature, melting your muscles - and let out a sigh of bliss that reverberated off the expensive walls. You had always badgered him about letting you use the bathroom and now you were finally embedded in its outlandish opulence. 

"Oh, I was hoping it was that handsome boy again." Your exhaled breath was sucked back in by the voice, instinctively wrapping your arms around yourself, only to see an apathetic Moaning Myrtle sulking in the air above you. She saw the egg that rested at the edge of the bath and tilted her head. "He had an egg like that too." You had completely forgotten about the task that brought you here, too wrapped up in the sights and smells that enveloped you the moment you set foot inside.

"What did he do with it?" you asked coyly, not wanting to provoke the moody ghost. "He held it under the water and disappeared beneath with it. Seemed stupid, but the pretty ones usually are." You willfully ignored that last bit, taking the egg and plunging below. Holding your breath, you blindly felt around until your finger hit the top -

Come seek us where our voices sound

We can not sing about the ground

And while searching, ponder this;

We've taken what you'll sorely miss

An hour long you'll have to look

And to recover what we took.

But past an hour, prospects black

Too late - it's gone - it won't come back...

Splashing back up, you were about to thank Myrtle, but found she was already gone. Escaping the soothing bath was a monumental task in and of itself. The warm enchanted towels made you pine even harder for this place, being sure to remember the password. Throwing on your pajamas and sliding on your slippers, you unraveled the Mauraders Map and dipped down the corridors that Mrs. Norris was absent from.

You sat together in the common room, telling Hannah what you -and Cedric - heard. He listened quietly as the two of you traded theories, finally smiling when he heard you solve the melodious riddle, coming to the same conclusion he had come to an hour earlier, "It must be merfolk, right?"

"So the next task will make you go underwater?"

"We have to think of a way we can breathe underwater then..." You placed a hand to your chin, but Cedric's voice pulled you from your thoughts, "Don't worry about me, I already have a way." 

"You figured it out already?!" Hannah exasperatedly asked. 

"I can still help-" he offered, but you spoke over him.

"It's ok, me and Hannah can think of a way on our own." It was a competition after all, and it would be unfair for you to expect him to help you.

That night you were plunged into a dream that was far removed from your current situation - absent of merfolks or water. You were standing in the courtyard again, finding that the once dying foliage had sprung back to life around you, tiny flowers dotting even the moss. Where Adrian once stood instead was Cedric, though when you called out to him, your lips spoke, "Draco!" In the blink of an eye, his thick dark brown hair had blanched, becoming silvery, fine tresses, and his hazel eyes had shifted to a steel grey, shining like polished metal.

His voice was different as well as he replied in a tone that still held Cedric's gentle cadence, "(y/n)." Shorter now, his masculine frame shrunk ever so slightly to a more refined, lithe figure in an instant, yet you still hadn't batted an eye. Nothing seemed amiss in the current world you were encapsulated in, Cedric Draco always looked like this for as long as you could remember.

Crossing the minimal distance between you, you unabashedly fell into his outstretched arms, pressing against his chest. The clothing disappeared - or were you ever even wearing any to begin with? - allowing your bodies to break the scant barrier that dared to separate you. Comfortable warmth grew to passionate heat, flames of desire erupting as flesh rubbed against flesh. Everything entangled; your lips, tongues, arms, and legs, until you and Cedric Draco were one, finally bursting like a spring and surging into the sky before combusting into a torrent of fireworks. 

Chapter Text

        You all but lept out of bed that morning, leaving your blanket in a crumpled pile on the floor as you threw on your uniform. Hannah was still snoring softly into her pillow by the time you exited the barrels, filling the kitchen corridor with a spontaneous tune. There was a slight skip to every step you took, and the smile that you had woken up with was still embedded in your cheeks, though the source of this enigmatic energy and good mood was lost on yourself. Perhaps it was because the first Hogsmeade weekend was only a few days away?

Looking out the yawning window that marched across the grand entrance hall, you determined by the sheet of white that stole away the sun that snow was close on the horizon. The prospect summoned recollections of the cozy Hogwarts winters to dance merrily around your head, brightening your already illuminating smile; radiating warmth and rich perfume of smoke that effused from the well-fed hearth of the common room, protective piles of blankets that the house elves would thoughtfully leave at the foot of your bed, the lavish decorations that Flitwick would bedeck the castle with, and the sheltering embrace of plush sweaters and scarves that were adorned in House colors. You hoped the colorless sky was an auspicious omen; your first trip to Hogsmeade might be a particularly snowy, picturesque one.

Swinging your head to your destination, you continued your peart pace until your eyes met with Draco's. Draco had been waiting beside the Great Hall's double doors, his arms crossed against his chest, his shoulders raised rigidly toward his lowered head, causing you to wonder just how long he had been standing there. The raucous noise that usually flooded from the Great Hall was absent, as the two of you were a part of the few handfuls of students that bothered getting up this early, so Draco heard your footsteps as soon as they appeared, yanking his face back up from the floor. 

It was strange - positively peculiarly - the moment your eyes connected, your heart skipped a beat and was left beating desperately against your chest like a trapped bird. His face looked as though it was sculpted by flawless porcelain instead of skin - you were suddenly aware of the way that the rosy hue dusted his wintery complexion, finding the healthy, bashful color endearing. His eyes were like shimmering pools of liquid silver that threatened to pull you within and drown you. He unfolded his arms, and as he straightened his back you appreciated how tall he was, how lithe his slender limbs were, an air of unparalleled elegance about his every movement.

"I need to ask you something Potter, do you mind?" he asked tepidly, as though testing the waters.

"Of course, anything you want," you answered breathlessly, relishing in how his voice graced your ears like a long-forgotten, long-cherished melody. 

Despite the fact that you had left early that morning, Hannah and Susan were already seated at the Hufflepuff table by the time you entered the Great Hall. Settling down in front of them, you immediately reached across the table for a strawberry lemon muffin. You had acquired a rather nagging sweet tooth overnight, especially for citrus. 

"Morning."

"Mornin'. Finish the Transfiguration homework?" you asked Susan between bites. "Yup, what about- You forgot your tie." Looking down, you noticed that she was right, seeing the splash of color that usually poked out of your grey vest missing. "You were already gone when I woke up. In a hurry for something?" Hannah inquired.

"Not particularly, no. The day just felt too lovely to sleep away," you admitted, hoping in the back of your mind that you had time to run back to your dorm room to grab your tie before a prefect spotted you. Susan and Hannah exchanged a glance of equal parts concern and confusion before turning their conjoined attention toward you, lifting upwards to meet with the face of the tall figure behind you. Following their surprised looks, you twist around and then inclined your own head to see Viktor. "Could I talk to you for a moment?" he asked quietly, though his voice was dimmed in shyness instead of solemnness this time.

You left through the doors with him, and a few minutes later, only you reemerged. "What was that about??" Hannah asked the second you were within earshot. "He asked me to the ball," you informed them as you sat back down, taking the finishing bite of your muffin. Cedric, who had been listening in, couldn't help but lose his inconspicuous eavesdropping to look down the table at you. Your friends stared at you, waiting for more information, watching you casually grab another confection, this time a lemon tart, before finally asking, "Well, what did you say??"

"No, of course." Cedric let out his pent-up breath through a clandestine sigh that was immediately sucked back in when you finished, "I already have a date." Both Susan and Hannah immediately shot a look to Cedric, who was now blatantly staring at you, though you didn't notice, paying more mind to the breakfast.

"Who," Hannah finally asked, breaking her shocked stupor.

"Draco," you told them, enticing a plethora of laughter. You finally tore your attention away from your breakfast, inclining a brow quizically. "What's so funny?"

"You had us going there, but there's no way you're going to trick us into thinking that you're going with Malfoy."

"Might as well tell us that Merlin's ghost was your date."

They waited for a smile to split your crumb-covered lips, but to their further bewilderment, your face flushed bashfully instead. "I know me and Draco have had a tumultuous relationship..." The details of which were fuzzy, like a pink cotton candy haze had covered those memories, and instead the few good memories came swimming to the front of your mind. "But he was my first friend. He wears a hard shell, but he's really a good person deep down."

"A good person? He jinxed your legs and then conjured a snake to attack you two years ago!"

"To be fair, I accidentally flung him across the Defense classroom. It's reasonable that he would be angry after that," you argued back, the memory suddenly charitably recontextualized.

"You can't be in the same space without fighting," Susan rebutted, but their puzzlement only built as they watched your complexion only burn brighter. "Sometimes people bicker when they like each other..." you tried to explain. Hannah and Susan looked at each other, and slowly it began to sink in that you were being completely serious.

They found out how serious you were when you jogged out of the Great Hall and met with Draco, who had been waiting for you. The smile that was locked on his face salivated a mixture of self-satisfaction and pure contentment as your hands entwined. This confusing display continued In Potions and Defense class, where Draco boldly broke the color lines and sat beside you, claiming Hannah's usual spot, the lone Slytherin in a sea of Hufflepuff's. Even Snape was caught off guard by the change in attitude, with words that were usually sharpened and thrown like daggers instead honeyed with syrup of affection and traded between you like beloved posessions. By the end of class, however, the confusion molted to wariness as the recollection of those stolen potion ingredients resurfaced in his mind. 

Draco lustily soaked in the befuddled looks that clung to your conjoined bodies as you waltzed down the hallway, enjoying their attention almost as much as he enjoyed yours. When he spotted Adrian Pucey among the throng of rubberneckers, he made sure to flash him a specifically smug simper, earning a sneering glower in return.

You lined up for Hogsmeade hand in hand with Draco, earning a skip to your already merry steps when Filch had to begrudgingly step aside and allow you to waltz past. When you finally arrived in Hogsmeade, you practically dragged Draco through the snow-covered cobblestone street, becoming a picture of your enraptured younger self when you first stepped into Diagon Alley.

Mismatched scarves wrapped around your necks; your canary yellow and black and his silver and python green, playing together in the nippy gusts. Fat snowflakes were already piling up on your frames by the time you ducked into the Threebroomsticks, the white speckles especially standing out on his woolen black overcoat. Before they could turn back to drops of water and dampen your hair, Draco dusted your head with a few gentle pats, and then did the same with his coat. "They serve warm butterbeer if you ask," he informed you through a smile as warm and comfortable as the fire that danced within the hearth a meter away.

As though your tongue was already bathed in the tantalizing drink, a satisfied sigh escaped your lips. "That sounds divine. C'mon, the seat by the fireplace is open." Hooking your arm around the nook of his own, you dragged him over. Whispers were shared between the other students inside the pub, but you couldn't hear a single word, fully entranced by Draco's mere presence. 

When the drinks came, you took a sip from the heavy tankard and let out a euphoric sigh, melting in the chair. The wafting heat from the fire thawed your skin while the warm drink bathed your insides. "It's so much better than the bottle!" you breathed blissfully. Draco reached across the table and wiped some foam from the corner of your lips with his thumb, which to your surprise, was then brought to his tongue. "It's delicious," he agreed unabashedly with a disarmingly smirk. Your eyes immediately fell to the table, the comfortable warmth suddenly turning into an unseasonable heat.

Once your tankards were drained, you and Draco dashed through the torrent of snow, scampering inside Zonko's. With Fred and George in mind, you bought a fist full of fireworks and Hiccough Sweets while Draco eyed a set of Nose-Biting Teacups. You were nearly six Galleon lighter by the time you left Honeydukes. Draco watched you greedily stuff your pockets full of the seemingly endless variety of sweets - that were as tasty as they were curious - with a perked brow and amused smile, while he only bought a bag of crystalized pineapples and a pumpkin pasty, which he split in two, handing you the other half.

Standing outside beneath the minimal protection of the scant ridge off the roof of Honeydukes, you huddled close together, arm to arm. The warm pastry frosted the air around your hands as you watched cheerful bodies stroll by. Looking up at him, you admired how the snowflakes vanish in his silver-blonde locks as soon as they drifted onto it.

"Do you have a dress for the ball?" he asked, licking a few crumbles from his lips.

"I'll... transfigure something up."

He snorted out a shockingly uncouth chuckle, starling himself. His pale lashes fluttered as he glanced worriedly toward you, and was relieved to see that you seemingly hadn't noticed. It was you that had done that to him, you who relaxed him enough to allow him such a slip. What if one of the Gryffindors had heard that? Marcus Flint or Pucey? Yet he couldn't help appreciating the soothing effects of your sunny nature on his anxieties. Just as powerful as your tongue was in tearing holes in his carefully crafted fortress of self-confidence, your kind disposition coaxed him from those fortified walls. 

"Well then, I hope your marks in Transfiguration are better than Potions." His laughter grew louder when he watched you playfully jab your elbow into his side. The simple fact that the poorly stifled smile on your pouty lips was solely his creation was simultaneously his most fulfilling accomplishment and greatest ambition. 

While you and Draco lingered outside of Honeyduke, your friends huddled around each other in the privacy of the library. A sullen Viktor sat a few tables away from them in the corner, his head propped on a hand and his eyes staring blankly at the book in front of him. Neville looked a shade of Cedric's listless despondency, while Susan and Hannah were on pins and needles, making up for their lost energy. 

"Do you think he bewitched her?" Susan speculated.

"Or Imperiused her!" Hannah suggested wildly.

"Maybe a Confundus Charm, or some sort of memory spell..." Neville thought aloud.

"She's happy. That's all that matters," Cedric told himself more so than he did them, through a hollow smile that never reached his eyes. The picture of the two of you inside the train compartment played like a broken projector in his mind's eye. Malfoy's hand on the small of your back while the other was wrapped beneath your shoulders, leaning over you. And you hadn't pushed him away until he opened the door. You simply stared up at him, your beautiful emerald eyes staring up at him, as wide as the moon. Was it bewilderment or excited anticipation that had stunned you? He wasn't sure anymore.

Cedric smoothed his fingers across his forehead in a futile attempt to disperse the image. 

"She's being forced to be happy! No one falls in love overnight!"

Cedric's hand fell from his face and his jaw fell ajar. He finally pried his eyes off of the table as he sat straight up. "A Love Potion?" Susan slapped her hands on the table and stood up, her eyes glittering at the obvious realization. "That's it! Those chocolates! It must have been in the chocolates!" 

Neville paled. "B-but why would he give her a Love Potion?" The question churned Cedric's stomach.

~~

        The tournament had vanished from everyone's minds, replaced by the quickly approaching Yule Ball. "I'm sorry," had become practically branded on Cedric's tongue, forged there by every girl that had pulled him aside in the courtyard, entrance hall, and nearly every hallway and corridor. Despite his continuous rejections toward invitations to the ball, he was determined to attend, but only to keep an eye on you.

Though his attempts at sticking to longer routes around the castle in an attempt to avoid you and Draco, who were very rarely ever apart (even in the Great Hall you two would send enchanted paper birds bearing clandestine conversations across the hall - that was until McGonagall turned one to ash midflight, raining the unread remains down across the Ravenclaw table) yet even then he would catch glimpses of your conjoined forms, almost as though Malfoy was going out of his way to rub Cedric's nose in his fraudulent victory. 

Cedric left for class early that morning, but his hopes of peace and quiet were dashed by the twins that trailed after him, stealing into the Charms classroom they shared and claiming the seats beside him.

The Weasley twins were afflicted by a rare serious disposition, and George got immediately to business by stating, "We're planning to slip a Canary Cream into Malfoy food before the ball."

"I don't imagine (y/n) will be too keen on getting feathers all over her dress," Fred added.

"No," Cedric bluntly replied, wishing to think of anything else. 

"Now, now, don't be too hasty. That was only one of our plans. Just picture this; (y/n) and Malfoy on the dance floor," while Fred explained the plan, George filed his fingers through his flame of hair, slicking it to the side, and rose from his seat, raising his nose into the air as high as he could manage before snaking an arm under an invisible dance partner. "All eyes will be on the unlikely duo. They dance across the floor," Geroge took a few steps to the side in a less than graceful sway in the limited space between the desks, "And the music slows, they lean into each other- AND THEN BAM!" Georges's tongue flops out from his puckered lips in his dedicated demonstration, "His tongue falls to the dirty floor like a rope! Malfoy runs from the hall crying and (y/n) runs into your arms."

"All with the help of Ton-Tongue Toffee. One word and it'll mysteriously appear in his drink."

"No," he repeated with exasperation, but the Weasley twins simply knitted their brows with equal annoyance. "You're really going to let that ferret-faced git take her to the ball?"

"It's been hard enough watching her hover around him like an unpaid post owl. And there's no way magic wasn't involved in this."

"Looks just like a Love Potion, though knowing Malfoy, we can't rule out the Imperius Curse."

Lee Jordan alongside Angelina Johnson trickle into the classroom, so Cedric put an end to this secret meeting by informing Fred and George, "I won't do anything that's going to create a spectacle and ruin her night." When they threw him a less than satisfied grimace, he finished by adding in a hushed whisper, "But that doesn't mean I won't be doing anything to help her out of this... situation. Snape has been keeping the student cupboard under close watch now, but not close enough." He flashed them a reassuring smile that succeeded in earning their trust and reining in their wild plans.

        With a wag of your wand, you tidied up Hannah's hair, scooping it into an elegent bun similar to your own, though without the few (h/c) strands that dangled lackadaisical from it. "So, Ernie huh?" She rolled her eyes at the coy smile you flashed her, replying in an equally cool tone, "Is a friend that's kind enough to take me to the ball, yes." 

Hannah's parents had sent her a beautiful gown of silken ruffles and dignified lace, whereas your own was a dress transfigured from one of your school robes. It took some trial and error and half the night, but you finally figured out the ideal shape and color, settling on a youthful yet tasteful length and a few accenting flourishing.

Cedric and Susan were waiting outside in the common room. Her dress was a powder blue pond of tule that engulfed her feet and an inch of the floor around her. The dress robes he wore were akin to a tuxedo; a fitted coal-black suit and bowtie with a pale grey vest nearly hidden beneath the tailcoat. They both shed their bored miens once the two of you stepped through the doorway. His eyes lit up when they fell on you, while Susan hiked up her dress and jogged clumsily over to you both, taking your hands in hers. 

"You both look so amazing! Your mother has such good taste in clothing, Hannah. My aunt sent me this," she made a general gesture toward the blue mountain of tule that now was her midsection. She then made a longing look to your dress, nibbling anxiously on her lip. "And your's came out so beautiful, (y/n). Do you think I have time to alter this fabric monstrosity before we go?" After several assurances, Susan ran downstairs, her dress taking one last vengeful act and tripping her as she dashed away.

"You look breathtaking," he said wistfully, unable to help his smile, his eyes seeing only you. "Thanks," you said casually, your eyes barely meeting his own, your mind solely on your own date. You paid more attention to your fiddling fingers, your heart clamoring against your chest in anticipation at the prospect of finally being back in Draco's arms. The second that passed without him near you was another frayed nerve that irritated your chest. Every blissful minute with him caused the seconds you were away to tick by miserably.

Once eternity finally ended, and Susan reemerged from the dormitory in a trimmed and primmed dress that must have felt a stone lighter, you all but dashed through the castle, leaving Hannah and Susan stunned by your speed in the wedge that you had transfigured onto your loafers. 

Malfoy waited outside, straightening his bowtie and fussing with the mother of pearl cufflinks. He ripped his head upwards when he heard the slapping of your shoes against the marble floor, and his face quickly molted from a nervous pink to disarmed red. He was forced to swallow his blossoming nerves as he watched you striding over to him, your dress rippling around your legs. His eyes lingered at the legs that were usually hidden behind black stockings before snapping up to your face, absorbing the exposed features that usually hid behind hair; he never even noticed the scar that was allowed full display, too enamored on the whole of your polished beauty to notice a single blemish. 

"You- you look, um, good," he choked out, momentarily taken aback. His poor assumptions of muggles and those raised by them had tapered his expectations quite low, so when your lovely visage entered his vision, he was left choking on his preplanned statement. 

In contrast to Cedric's black ensemble, Draco wore a more reserved, classical dress tails set of cream with an ivory bowtie, while the vest was a dark velvet green with intricate black embroidering. "You too," you said, shyly tucking a stray lock behind your ear. He gained confidence from your own bashful figure, squaring his shoulders and holding his head high, he politely offered his hand.

He took the lead on the dancefloor, placing a hand on your hip and gently guiding your steps, clearly having experience dancing. Your figures glided across the dance floor with the grace of a passing breeze, your eyes that once flickered around nervously at the other couples that circuited around you now trustingly locked with his. Under the influence of the rhythm, as the music perked up speed, so did your feet, and when the songs slowed, you acquiesced. His hand had snaked across your back, now resting against your lower back as he tenderly held your gently swaying body against his own. Resting your head against his chest, hand in hand you drifted across the hall. Dream-like, you moved in perfect harmony, two hearts beating as one; two separate halves finally made whole. 

"I love you," you heard him murmur as faintly as a sigh, more melodious than the music around you.

"I love you too," you spoke back, speaking the words that had been on the tip of your tongue since... since...

Draco uncoiling his arms from around you brought you out of your head, but before you could pine for his touch, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you from the hall.

Cedric's head was propped up solely by his hand as he stared sightlessly at his own listless face reflecting in his drink. You and Malfoy had dominated the center of the hall, rotating around dreamily like figures inside a music box. Susan sat beside him, watching the dancing bodies wistfully, wishing she could get up and join them, but when she looked to the dolorous Cedric, she swallowed her desires and stayed by his side.

Cedric kept reminding himself over and over that this was the affections of a Love Potion, and that with Snape now guarding the student cabnit like a hound, his supply would dry up sooner or later. But that counted as well to Cedric's slow gathering of the ingredients for his Hate Potion. 

Forcing his vision onto the hall, Cedric's brow slowly furrowed in time with the dread that began to drip into his chest as he scanned around the dancing couples. Of all the times that he had been forced to see the two of you, he now wished for it. Standing up, he swiveled his head around, trying to see to the very back of the Great Hall. He finally pulled Susan's attention from the dancefloor she longed to be on. "What's wrong?" 

"She's gone."

The dried and dying flowers were replaced by blue everlasting-enchanted roses that had sprouted all around the courtyard overnight, branching and climbing across every stone surface. Draco was blind to the beautiful surroundings, focused entirely on a single thing as he pushed you against a pillar.

"Say it again."

"I love you," you said, entranced by his steely eyes that stared so intently down at you, as if they wished to swallow you whole.

"Again," he breathed, his hand sliding tenderly up your face.

"I love you." Every time you spoke that phrase, it felt less natural on your tongue. Like a weird jumble of words. But why? You loved him more than you had ever loved anything else. Right? But the string of introspective thoughts was shoved aside as his lips crashed into your own. His fingers found your hair, weaving through it in a clingy, desperate manner. You leaned into him, pressing your chest against his own, and he eagerly reciprocated the action by pressing his hips against your own. His deep, hot breaths wafted against your complexion, heating it further as his hands began to explore this newly gifted lush land. 

The physical contact reinvigorated the fire in your chest, but this sudden roar of lapping flames began to diminish as well, slowly snuffed out by a lack of kindling. The cottony fog that was exhaled by this fire began to die with it. What was once a passionate interlocking of lips and teasing tongue was now just flesh pressing against your own, and no longer blinded you against the winter breeze that bit into your legs. Your lashes fluttered, and suddenly you saw the boy that's been trying to make your life hell for 3 years pressed against you, feeling his hands feel you.

You placed your hands against Malfoy's chest and roughly shoved him away. Closing your eyes, your hands found your head, which was growing heavier as dulled memories were beginning to sharpen again.

"What, what am I doing...?"

Malfoy's heart fell, the lips that were once smothered by blissful warmth now quivering. "W-what's wrong?" he asked in a small voice, dreading the answer he already knew he would receive.

Lowering your hands, you looked around, the memories trickling back into your brain, everything up until you woke up that morning. Then, you looked back to Malfoy with an angry glower that intimidated all other looks you had ever thrown at him. "What did you do to me," you asked in a quiet voice shaken with rage. His lips pressed thin and his hands coiled tightly, attempting to steady the tremor that his bleeding heart suddenly afflicted his muscles with. 

"I made you look like a fool in front of everyone," he lied, trying to don his well-worn simpering mask, but only coming up with a strained expression that appeared more like a grimace than a smile. You abandoned the use of your wand, smacking him across the face with all your strength. He froze in that position you left him in, afraid that you may see the tears that you had shaken loose. The sound of your trailing footsteps reverberated quietly like ghosts, haunting him. Once they too abandoned him, he collapsed on the bench beside the pillar, his head falling into his hands.

All alone.

Chapter Text

        Ignoring the cramps that complained inside your arms, you slid a finger against the page, turning it. You must have read this book cover to cover half a hundred times, drained all the information from its ink, yet you continued to explore each page that you were already painfully familiar with. After all, what other book on merpeople resided within these walls? 

You gave your arms a break - lest your tired hands accidentally drop the book on your face - resting them against your stomach, and closed the book. Turning it in your hands, you took a moment to admire the cover, which was handsomely embroidered in golden thread; Merpeople: A Comprehensive Guide to Their Language and Customs. It was the book that Cedric had given you for Christmas, your first year at Hogwarts. 

'Cedric... I should have gone to the ball with him...'

Honeydukes wrappers littered the floor around your bed and body. The only opportunity that the Hogwarts house elves had to clean your dorm room was at night when you were asleep, but you made such work Sisyphean. You felt guilty every time you woke up to a cleaned, glittering room, but it wasn't as though you could just stroll into the Great Hall and forfeit the protection that solitude offered you. 

The idea that someone may see you - may laugh at you - was enough to banish the notion in an instant. That horrible, foul git - that skrewt with skin - is the reason for your humiliation, he should be the one imprisoned by embarrassment, not you! 

The memories were too much to bear; the exchanged laughter, the security you felt with your hand tucked within his, looking up at him with doe eyes and feeling your heart flutter excitedly when he would return the glance- lies, every last one. All of it was merely a saccharine coating meant to disguise the poison within. Behind the amiable smile that was nestled so comfortably on those pale lips was a stifled laugh at your expense.

It was Riddle all over again. Fooled once by a talking journal and now a box of chocolates. Stupid! How could you be so stupid as to be tricked twice! Like a blot of ink soaking into the pure fibers of a piece of paper, the sensation of his lips smashed against your own stained your mind. Your first kiss, stolen in some prank.

No, you wouldn't give Malfoy the satisfaction of drowning in your own despair. The second task was frighteningly close now, and the entire time that you spent stupid and starry-eyed should have been time spent scouring spell books. At least Cedric had a solution to breathing under water.

'Cedric... It should have been him...'

You pushed those intrusive thoughts back into the shadowy peripheral of your mind; though you knew they would soon drift back in like a toxic fog.

Closing your eyes, you refocused your thoughts and murmured in a lilted voice, 

"Come seek us where our voices sound, we can not sing about the ground, 

You had heard rumors about merpeople living in the Black Lake, and assumed that that was your best guess. Though your wand was much more powerful than their tridents, they still have the environmental advantage; and you had never even learned to swim. The only time you had stepped a toe into a body of water larger than a puddle was being pushed into a lake by Dusley. 

Exhaling an irritated sigh, you pinched your temple. Focus.

"But past an hour, prospects black, too late... it's gone... it won't come back..."

The foreboding verse summoned swirling black clouds of disquiet to hover in your head, spitting out tremulous thoughts like lightning bolts. Though you had read this book cover to cover and could recite each word by memory, you still knew nothing regarding water-breathing charms or transfigurations. Rolling onto your stomach, you rested your face against your pillow and heaved a lengthy sigh. A low grumbling was muffled by the blanket, but the feeling of hunger that gnawed at your stomach was much louder. Sitting up, you gave one look at your Honeydukes stash before your stomach cringed in disagreement, chastising the very idea of putting one more crumb of pure sugar inside it.

The kitchens it was. 

You dragged your body into the common room, but stopped almost as soon as you stepped through the dormitory door. Hedwig was standing on the ground, pecking tirelessly at the round window. Meeting your puzzled gaze, the exhausted bird perked up, her piqued plumage laxing slightly in relief. 

You jogged across the room and unclipped the latch on the window, allowing Hedwig to finally enter. She soared lithely inside, circling around your head momentarily to stretch her wings before landing on your shoulder, holding out her leg. After watching to make sure you opened the letter that she painstakingly had to hand-deliver, Hedwig abandoned your shoulder and glided out the window again, ready to get some much-deserved rest. 

Untying the twine from around the coiled parchment, you were elated to recognize Siruis's signature pad print on the outside of the letter, but the excitement was quickly chased away by dread when you noticed how rushed his handwriting appeared, scrawled halfharzardly across the parchment. That sinking feeling only dragged deeper as you read the scratchy lines of ink;

Dear (y/n)

        Firstly, I read about your victory in the Daily Prophet, and I couldn't be prouder. That being said, your participation is not good, not at all. Even if you were fool-hearty enough to throw your name into the Goblet of Fire, there's no way that Dumbledore hadn't placed protection wards on it to prevent this very situation. So the question is; who would want to put you in the middle of a place as deadly as the Triwizard Tournament?

That dream of yours is just one of many, many strange things that keep happening. Though my suspicions are plentiful, I have no real idea what is going on, but I've come north to find out. Hedwig is an impressive owl to have found me. I'm sorry I haven't been writing, but I'll be in touch again soon.

Until then, be careful.

Sincerely, Padfoot

He had underlined those last two words twice, emphasizing their importance. "Me be careful!?" you spat incredulously. He was the Azkaban escapee, strolling back into a country that wanted to send him right back there! Fear rose in your body like bile. No, no. He can't come here. You can't - won't - be the reason he's caught and thrown back into Azkaban! In the rush to pen your anxious reassurances and pleas of common sense onto the parchment, you scattered a flurry of black droplets across the page. You disregarded the accidental stain, as it was still legible, and quickly rolled it back up before sliding your shoes on and rushing out of the common room.

Your legs were burning by the time you finished running up the spiral staircase that hugged the Owlery tower. Owls peppered the ceiling, but one stood out, a bright flake of snow against the dark stone wall. She had just nodded off judging by how she was blinking the sleep from her eyes, but she instantly narrowed them upon spotting the letter in your hand.

"I'm really sorry, Hedwig. I know you're tired, but I can't trust the school owls. I wouldn't ask you to do this if it wasn't so important." She stayed static on her perch, clearly very comfortable where she was, but with a hoot that sounded faintly like a sigh, she loyally obliged your desperate plea, gliding down onto your arm. 

"I promise a whole bucket full of treats when you come back. Thank you, Hedwig."

In your panic to send the message to Sirius, you had completely forgotten about your self-imposed isolation. The once empty halls were full of faces by the time you slipped back into the castle. As if your mere existence didn't already bring enough attention, your unkempt attire of well-worn pajamas was enough to draw every eye you passed. What you wouldn't do to have your wand on you right now; an invisibility charm would be bloody useful right about now.

"Oi, Potter!" The voice alone was enough to send a shiver up your spine; Percy. "Where on earth are your robes?!" In a tactical retreat, you delved into the sea of bodies, ignoring the exasperated looks you received as you slipped into the gaps between them, running in the opposite direction of the voice. "Don't you run from me!" you heard him respond, and soon after, the irritated protests of the people he must have been pushing aside in pursuit. 

A hand found your shoulder, anchoring your flighty frame. "What's wrong?" Cedric asked anxiously. You both looked back when Percy shouted your name, and instantly it clicked in his head. In a single swift, fluid motion, Cedric shrugged off his robe, and swept it through the air behind you, draping it over your shoulders, hiding your attire. Without another word, he turned around, his body now like a shield, momentarily hiding you from Percy's vision. 

"Fancy seeing you, Percy!"

"Move aside, I need to-"

"Why don't you tell me more about your summer job at the Ministry? You said before that Barty Crouch's favorite kind of tea was Earl Grey? Fascinating!" Not wasting a moment of the opportunity he had given you, you quickly snaked your arms into the baggy armholes, which devoured your hands. "Not now, Diggory! Potter!!" Percy tried to step to the side to get past Cedric's broad frame, but he simply matched his steps, feigning as though he was simply trying to move out of his way instead of impeding him. 

Nearly tripping over the excess fabric, you wrung your hands around the robe and held the hem off the ground, exposing only your polished loafers. You had safely made it to the entrance hall until you heard your name being called out once more, "(y/n)!" This might have caused your already piqued heart to panic further, if the voice wasn't so familiar. Turning around, you saw Neville running clumsily down the marble staircase, his usual pouty face lifted with rare exhilaration.

He looked as though he wanted to speak a million words at once. Realizing that this was the first time he had seen you since the Yule Ball, he cleared his throat and reorganized his bustling thoughts, instead asking, "Um, are you, uh, feeling... better?"

"Loads," you told him distantly. He licked his lips nervously, internally chastising himself for accidentally making you uncomfortable, "That's, um, good to hear-"

"I really should be going back to the dorm, lots of tournament research to be doing, the second task is coming up-"

"Thisisaboutthesecondtask!" he said all at once, the words spilling from his lips like an avalanche as his excitement roused again. He threw his bag from his shoulder, digging around the messy contents, shuffling his hand around countless wrinkled pieces of loose parchment, forlorn homework assignments, and abysmal exam results. Finally, he pulled out a thick herbology book - the one you had let him borrow earlier in the year. 

He flipped through the pages with his thumb, stopping on one in particular before holding it up to show you. "It's your herbology project, I found it! It's gillyweed, (y/n)!" You leaned closer to the page, recognizing the thick tangle of roots and long thin leaves of the diagram. "Neville, you shouldn't have shown me this, the project was-"

"To identify it ourselves, I know, but read the properties passage!" He handed you the thick textbook, and your eyes scanned across the lines, growing wider with every word they took in. 

"Consumption of the raw weed results in gills appearing in the person's neck..." Your owlish gaze shot back to him, and instantly you dropped the book and sprung forward, instead wrapping your arms around his neck. "You are bloody brilliant, Neville! Thank you!" He froze in your arms, his arms raised slightly, unsure what exactly to do with them. 

You restlessly paced the length of the common room, waiting for Cedric. When he finally came in, he was entangled by his usual entourage. Without a word you bolted towards him, ripping him from his friends and pulling him into the privacy of the boy's dorm, where you finally turned to him, bursting out, "gillyweed, Cedric! It's gillyweed!" 

"What's gillyweed...?" he asked slowly. He had hardly caught a glimpse of you since the Yule Ball, and now you suddenly appear, bouncing on the balls of your feet, bursting at the seams with delight.

"My herbology project, Neville found out it's gillyweed! And gillyweed lets you breathe underwater! I found the solution for the second task!" 

"That, that's great." A smile had come back to his face, glad to see you happy again. Your joy still boiling over, you put your hands on the sides of his face and stood on your tip toes.

"It's more than great, Cedric! I have enough for both of us, we'll share it-" He placed his hands over yours, wrapping them around your own before lowering them. 

"I already have a spell in mind, remember? I've been practicing it in the bath and it's been working." Slowly, your smile shrank down along with your excitement. "Oh yeah, that's right..." He kept your hands within his own, giving them a reassuring squeeze. 

"It's better this way, we both have our own solutions, so you don't need to share your gillyweed." You forced the smile to remain on your lips and nodded your head, before gently pulling your hands away from his. 

"Your right, It's better we do this on our own," you said, trying your best not to allow your disappointment to leak into your voice. You were never given a choice in competing in this dangerous game, so you at least wanted to do it with Cedric, not against him. But he felt differently.

"If you ever need help, you know I'll always be there." His reassuring words were kind, and you knew them to be true, but they failed their job.

"Yeah. Thanks. Ah, I forgot about your robe, it's in the common room."

"I'll find it, don't worry. Percy's really something, huh? Chasing people down in the halls now. He's only gotten worse since being named Headboy. He's really trying to make the most of his last year, I suppose." You gave a preformative laugh, but before he could say anything about it, you excused yourself, leaving the boy's dormitory and going into the girl's. After grabbing your own robe and swiping the Merpeople: A Comprehensive Guide to Their Language and Customs book from your bed, you traveled to the library.

Peering inside, you found Viktor at his usual table, his fingers threading over his forehead as though he was trying to disentangle a knot inside his head. He clearly hadn't solved the puzzle of the golden egg, let alone the riddle inside, judging by the books that were strewn across his table, all a mish-mash of loosely egg-related subjects. Casually, you walked past him, slipping your book onto his table, and continued on, not sparing a glance to see his reaction. 

That night, you regained your courage and stepped into the Great Hall for dinner. Whispers and glances were thrown around, but you found that they weren't as painful as you had dreaded, each set of eyes simply an invisible sensation instead of the flesh-piercing arrows that you had built them up to be in your mind. You were accustomed to such treatment already, ever since entering Hogwarts; the fabled Girl Who Lived. You sat at your table with your back to the Slytherin table, swearing to yourself that you would spare neither thought nor glance toward Malfoy for the rest of your time in this castle.

You used Hogsmeade weekend to catch up on the mountain of overdue homework, thankful that the professors had given you an extension due to the tournament (all except Snape, who was all too happy to simply count every late assignment as a failure.)

~~

        The frost-clad grass crunched beneath your feet as you trudged out to the edge of the forbidden forest, the scarf around your face lacking in protection against the biting wind. Malfoy's silvery hair stood out in the corner of your eye, but you kept your vision solely on Hagrid, which wasn't a difficult task, given that he took up a large portion of it. 

Hagrid's cheery, wooly face was a reprieving warmth. "It's good ter see ya again, (y/n)! Glad yer feelin' better now!" Hagrid seemed to be under the impression that your strange behavior with Malfoy was simply some long, drawn out fever that had addled your brain, and you were all too happy to feed this idea.

"Glad to be better, and glad to be back," you replied, earning an affectionate pat on your shoulder that nearly buckled your legs and knocked you to the frozen ground. You ate your words, however, when Hagrid opened up the door to the creature's pen, and you were reminded of what you were taking care of.

The matured Black-Ended-Skrewts were now six-foot-long and heavily armored, while you were not. The dragon hide gloves were suddenly starkly insufficient shielding against their relentless attacks, while all you tried to do was simply feed it. At least they gave neither you nor Malfoy a chance to even glance at each other, lest either of you lose a hand.

Cuts now accompanied your scorch marks, though now that you had experienced the inferno of dragon fire, the irritating stinging was not so fearsome. Your robes bore several charred holes and your dragon hide gloves were tendered to tatters by the time you managed to corral your skrewt back into its wooden crate abode. 

Unable to control your curiosity, you peered over to see how Malfoy was hanging on; he was muttering guttural insults beneath his breath at his own closed crate, the small amount of his robe that remained intact discarded at his feet, and even his pant legs bore small holes brimmed by singed fabric. His arms were wrapped around each other tightly, shaking like the nearby trees every time the brisk breeze wafted by. Suddenly, you liked the Blast-Ended Strewts just a tad. 

Goyle caught your eye and puckered his lips mockingly. You instantly tore away your face away and began to trek back to the castle, tuning out the mocking laughter that followed. 

Despite the bitter weather, you left the castle for the break period. Sitting down in front of the black lake, you realized that you had never truly appreciated its beauty before; its pristine surface was like a sparkling black mirror, gilded by the afternoon sun. These shimmering waters were the Merpeople's entire world. You thought back to the Slytherin common room, when you had viewed these waters through those yawning windows. Had you ever seen a stray fin? 

Another reflection appeared beside your own. Looking up, you saw Viktor standing beside you. "Thank you. For the book." You smiled at him, and he looked away, his face warming shyly. "No need to thank me, I would have been toast in the first task if it wasn't for you." This time he gave you a quizzical look.

"I saw the books you were studying. Near buried neck-deep in them. You weren't very conspicuous." The shy smile reappeared on his face. "Do you mind if I...?" he asked, and it took you a moment to realize he wanted to sit with you. "Oh, of course." He sat down beside you, and followed your gaze as you stared out at the lake. 

"Are you enjoying your stay here?"

"Yes, it's better than back home. So much warmer." It didn't feel it, and the very thought of what cold could make this weather feel warm almost made you shiver. "It's larger too, our school only has four floors, though our grounds are much wider. Mountains and lakes, it gives quite the view when flying."

Peering over at him, you could almost see the view he reminisced on, his eyes like windows to the majesty that he saw within his memory. "It sounds beautiful."

"It is. I wish I could show you. I was impressed with your flying during the first task. Do you play Quidditch?"

"Seeker, though I haven't played for... Blimey, two years now." Looking to the dreary sky, you couldn't wait for next year to finally play again. To stretch your wings and ride the wind again.

"You looked quite at home in the sky." You blushed softly at the compliment and thanked him. You were surprised at how talkative he had suddenly become now that he had shed his shy disposition. 

"Have you figured out what you're going to do for the second task?" he asked.

"Yeah, you?" He gave a solemn nod. Turning to him, you held out your hand. "Good luck." He looked at it, and a small smile returned to his lips as he took your hand, his large hand engulfing your own, callused from gripping the broom handle.

"Good luck." 

(A/N) - Small retcon.

I forgot that she has the Marauder's Map, so there's no reason why she wouldn't know where the kitchens were  ¯\_( ´꒳` )_/¯. A lot of my time lately has been eaten up by work and classes, so now that I have the opportunity, I'll do a double bubble post!

Chapter Text

        Gillyweed in one fist and your wand in the other, you stood at the edge of the pier alongside the other champions. Taking a deep breath, you tried to ignore the thousands of eyes that were on you, though you couldn't help but want to curl into yourself standing in a swimsuit beside flawless Fleur. You caught a glimpse of Cedric, his pale torso taut and shaped by years of Quidditch, but you quickly pulled your mind back to the task before you, forcing concentration. Cedric himself seemed to be steeling his gaze, his jaw tense as he bid himself to the same task, refusing himself even a clandestine glance in your direction. 

The sky was overcast by a slate sheet, and the occasional breeze felt like knives against your exposed skin. Bagman's bellowing voice was peripheral to your mind as you focused instead on tensing your muscles to avoid shivering. "Our champions will start on my whistle!" At the sound, you did as you had been picturing for a week; shove the gillyweed into your mouth and leap into the water.

The first hitch was the taste; dirt. The texture was slimy and tough, and the gritty taste was rejected by your tongue, making your throat unwilling to swallow it. When you tried anyways, your body refused the command, making you gag on the wad of roots. Gripping your fists into tight balls, you forced your muscles to loosen and accept the rubbery roots.

The second was the cold. You were the last to hop into the water as you struggled with the unforeseen taste and texture, but when your body finally broke the surface, your muscles instantly constricted, your joints became rigid, and you began to sink like a brick. The cold water knocked the air from your lungs, and an involuntary gasp parted your lips, though you held enough restraint to not inhale water. 

After only a second of this torture, the ice-cold water turned tepid against your skin as shimmering, insolating scales sprouted across your goosebumped skin. The black abyss that you had become lost in brightened, the veil ripped aside, allowing you to see your way. The surface was a black mirror, but beneath the waves was a green palace. Your hair billowed around your head like a (h/c) plume of smoke in the weightless environment. You looked to your hands and feet, seeing the translucent webbing that bound your fingers together, and the long, delicate, ghostly fins that had replaced your toes. 

In the span of a few painful seconds, these foreign surroundings were now as comfortable as home. Your body cut through the murky water like a blade, feeling almost as though you had become your Nimbus Two Thousand. The only trouble now was how to discern how much time had passed. 'An hour long you'll have to look, and to recover what we took.' How much time had you wasted chewing the gillyweed and floundering in the water?

A large shape appeared beneath you, but when you stopped to look, you only spotted Fleur. A large bubble surrounded her head, and her wand was alight as she tried to evade a wriggling pack of grindylows. You held your own wand held out to help, but she was gone as suddenly as she appeared, disappearing into the kelp forest that mantled the lake floor. 

You stayed above the forest, continuing to swim through the deep, looking for any sign of 'what you'll sorely miss,' but coming up frustratingly empty. Cautiously, you decided to glide downward, hoping for a better view of what might be hiding in the kelp without having to delve into the darkness. A piercing pain latched onto your foot, and instinctively you reeled your other back, knocking loose the object. Twisting around, you saw a sanguine mist leaking from your foot, though your fins were luckily still intact.

The grindylow shook the stun from its head, but before it could fully recover, your wand was already pointed at it, unleashing a torrent of boiling bubbles that scorched the creature's delicate skin. The grindylow vanished back into the darkness of the weeds below, but just before you could feel safe, five others poked their heads out.

Desperately you spun around, swimming as fast as you could while still pointing your wand behind your shoulder and repeating the firey spell, hoping to dislodge the violent pack. A few times you felt their claws brush against your fins, but they were never able to get a proper grip on them. 

You weren't sure exactly where you were when you finally lost the grindylows, but you had come to the end of the kelp forest, staring at what looked like the outskirt ruins of an ancient city. Despite the algae that bloomed on every roof and window sill, it was preserved perfectly beneath the waters. 

Merpeople speckled the city, some curiously peering through doorways, while others bearing intimidating tridents stood outside the borders, leering at you cautiously. There, between the guards, were what they had taken. Tied down by kelp, four bodies floated in the still waters. You immediately recognized Susan, relieved to see the subtly stream of bubbles that drifted above her, and swam directly for her. As you grew nearer the merfolk, you could hear them sing, "An hour long you'll have to look, and to recover what we took..."

In the corner of your eye, a bright shimmering light caught your attention, causing your pace to falter. Malfoy was among the captured bodies, his platinum hair glittering in the filtered sun as though it had been gilded, wafting around his face. 

"...your time's half gone, so tarry not, lest what you seek stays here to rot."

In your moment of pause, Cedric's frame appeared in your vision - though he was difficult to recognize at first with his features distorted comically by the bubbled on his head - swimming straight for Susan. With a single shot from his wand, the kelp rope was severed, and he grabbed onto her wrist, swimming toward the surface. Susan was Cedric's? You looked to the other two; a small girl and a young man, neither of who you recognized. The only person left that you knew was Malfoy, but the riddle said- 

Your floundering was interrupted by the shark head that drove toward the boy, snarling through his bindings. Not wanting to be the last to finish, you realized you had no time to think and dove down to Malfoy, singing the bonds with the same spell that burned the grindylow. Hooking your arm beneath his, you turned toward the surface before pausing once again. Looking back to the little girl, the song haunted your ears. "lest what you seek stays here to rot"

Twisting around, you saw no signs of Fleur. "Damn it," though your words came out as a heap of bubbles. You aimed your wand again, shooting a blast at the kelp, dislodging the small girl as well. The mermaid did not like this, however, the forked blades of the trident tight in her webbed hands now aimed at you.

"Only one!" 

"Accio little girl!" The small girl was yanked through the waters and into your free hand, where you coiled your arm around her waist. You then turned your wand to the agitated mermaid that swam upwards toward you. "Lumos Maxima!" A glaring prism of light filled the gap between you and the pursuing mermaid, littering her vision with stars and disorientating her. The other guards were left frightened by the magic, unaware that the spell simply hindered, not harmed. 

All of your focus became dominated by swimming with two bodies weighing you down. You no longer shot lithely through the waters, but instead trudged as slowly as a human. Your finned feet kicked wildly skyward, desperate to break through the black surface and escape this green world. 

Only a foot away from the surface, you saw a dark shape below you. Imagining a vengeful pack of grindylows or a wrathful mermaid and unable to grab your wand, you were extremely relieved to only see Fleur swimming desperately up to you. Once she caught you, she took the smaller body from your arm and wrapped her own around the still girl.

The two of you parted ways, Fleur swimming straight through the water while you swam up. Finally breaking your head through the surface, you were pleased to see that the shore wasn't too far away now. As soon as you took in a lung full of air through your nose, the clammy cold once again encased you, saturating your muscles and leadening your body. You persisted through the frigid waters, wading against the waves until your feet finally touched land again. 

You dragged Malfoy by the collar of his robe as far as you could, the water still lapping at your ankles as you collapsed beside him, sucking as much air as you could fit into your lungs. Sitting up, you heard a gasp beside you, a flurry of coughing. He simply sat there for a moment, bewildered, until a shiver sunk into him, waking him up fully. His face twisted into a furious snarl.

"They told me that I could help! They never said how! Bloody hell, when I wake up I'm soaked to the bone and absolutely freezing me-" You placed a hand over his mouth to shut up him. He turned toward you, finally seeing who his savior was. His already owlish eyes expanded further as he stared at you, your fringe slicked to your forehead in loose curls. 

"Are you ok," you asked solemnly. You lowered your hand, giving him the opportunity to speak again, but he just stared at you, before asking instead, "why did you save me. You hate me." His voice was small and fragile, vulnerable. The way his hair clung to his pale face, framing his hollow, despondent eyes, he looked so lost. You blinked, surprised. You had never seen him appear so weak. He was suddenly that boy from Diagon Alley again, holding your hand as he led you through the strange street and into the stranger shops. Why couldn't he always be that person?

"I... I don't hate you. I hate the things you do..." you confessed, and now it was your turn to look away shyly. "I'm sorry." It was so faint that you weren't sure if you had simply heard the wind. He looked over your shoulder and got up, waded away through the sand, his body weighed down by his sodden clothes, his feet slipping on the uneven terrain. You tried to get up as well, but forgetting how stiff your legs were, you fell back down onto the sand. 

A fluffy towel fell over your shoulders, radiating a warmth that invigorated your skin and worked to thaw your muscles. Looking up, you found Cedric. Cedric helped walk you to the nurse's tent, while Madam Pomfrey herself ran after Malfoy. Sitting beside Susan, who had steam billowing from her ears, you snuggled as closely as you could into the enchanted blankets that you were given. Susan had seen you drag Malfoy to shore, but knew better than to ask about it.

"Here's some Pepper Up Potion." You took the offered cup gratefully. "Thank Merlin." A single sip of the potion was enough to cure the soft trembles that addled your limbs. "How did I do?" you asked.

"Third, Cedric was first, and then Krum. Your well past the time limit, but Fleur hasn't even come back yet," Susan informed you.

"You were first to the merpeople, what held you up?" Cedric inquired. You were about to say, but Fleur had finally emerged from the lake, her little sister held princess in her arms. Once on the shore, she let the girl back down, guiding her through the choppy waters by hand. You were glad to see that they were safe. 

"Hello-" you began to say as you watched her approach the nurse's tent, but you were thrown off when she suddenly wrapped her arms tightly around you. "Thank you, thank you so much." A tad taken aback by the sudden warmth from the previous chilly girl, you tentatively patted her back. "It's nothing, really." 

"Nonsense! I had gotten lost after the grindylows attacked me, and I was so scared for Gabrielle, I thought, I-I," she hugged you again, tighter this time. She was pried off you by Madam Pomfrey, who swathed her in a matching blanket before patching your injured foot with the wag of her wand. Fleur's little sister was already cuddled within the blanket, sipping on her own potion, twin trails of steam marching from her ears. 

After explaining the story, Susan was bursting at the seams, and even Cedric couldn't help his amused smile. "You thought the song was serious? That Dumbledore would just let us die if you managed your time poorly?" 

"I-I... Well, when you put it like that, it does sound silly, but at the time..." Fleur held her head high, "She did the right thing! Those grindylows were everywhere, and I don't trust those merpeople to protect against them, they are hardly stronger than muggles!"

All of the judges were standing at the bank of the river, and after a discussion with the chief merperson, a particularly fearsome mermaid, and brief deliberation, Bagman turned back to the stands. Placing the tip of his wand to his throat, he announced through a booming voice, "Ladies and Gentlemen, we have reached our discussion. Merchieftainess Murcus has informed us of what exactly had happened at the bottom of the black lake, and we have therefore decided our results based on this;

"Fleur Delacour, despite her excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, required assistance to rescue her hostage, and therefore receives twenty-five points." Her sculpted lips pursed bitterly, and she shook her head with disappointment. 

"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nonetheless effective and was the second to retrieve his hostage. We award him forty points." Viktor was still sat on the shore with his friend, and seemed more interested in their conversation than the results.

"Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to retrieve his hostage, and the only one who arrived within the hour time limit. We award him forty-seven points." 

"First place!" you squealed, as happy for him as you would have been if it was your own score. "Team Hogwarts," he said, and you couldn't help but hug him. His arms snaked around your back, sparking a brighter warmer than the enchanted blanket around your shoulder.

"(y/n) Potter used gillyweed to great effect," Bagman continued, "and though she returned last, and well outside the hour time limit, Merchieftainess informed us that Potter had reached the hostages first, and against her own safety, rescued Delacour's hostage. Her delayed return was due to her wishing to ensure the safety of all the hostages, not merely her own. Most of the judges," Bagman took a moment to throw Karkaroff a withering glance, "Feel that shows moral fiber, and deserves full marks. However... (y/n) Potter's score is forty-five."

Your jaw dropped, your arms still hanging limply from Cedric's shoulders. "You're tied for first place!" Susan shouted with excitement, causing a small flash of disappointment to momentarily rippled across Cedric's face, but he quickly pushed the intrusive feeling back, instead saying, "That's great!"

"But, I- Is that fair?" you asked, feeling unease about the results. "You completed the task first-"  

"-You would have if you hadn't helped Fleur's sister. You deserve this." Those kind words were kindling on your smoldering heart, and at that moment you wanted nothing more than to give him the kiss that Malfoy had stolen from you. But Bagman's voice continued, ripping your attention off those entrancing pale orbs, crinkled slightly by the kindly smile he always wore.

"The third and final task will take place after Winter Break. All champions will be notified of what is coming precisely two months after school starts again."

Chapter Text

        It had been two years since you last plucked a Golden Snitch from the air, yet just as lithely you grabbed the falling letter before it could land in your goblet of coffee. You saw Hedwig's tail feathers disappear through the Great Hall window. She had arrived before the other owls.  Unlike the school owls that often times dropped their cargo haphazardly onto the table below, her aim was usually neat and precise, leaving you to assume that she was still cross about the extra flight.

You knew who the sender was without even having to read it, which was good because he hadn't included his signature paw print this time. The inside of the parchment was almost equally scant as the outside, leaving you thoroughly dissatisfied by Sirius's response to your urgent plea of caution;

"Be at the end of the road out of Hogsmeade this weekend."

Hannah paused her rushed work finishing a Potions paper and tilted her head curiously, never seeing a letter in your hands before. "Who's it from?" The truth hung precariously from the tip of your tongue, but you were begrudgingly forced to swallow it. Only Cedric was privy to Sirius's innocence and relation to you, and that was only because he had accidentally found himself embroiled in the Pettrigrew's botched plan to abduct you last year. 

As much as you wished to purge your anxieties onto your friends, you instead folded the letter back up and shoved it briskly in your robe pocket. "Oh, um, just the Dursleys, reminding me to stay at Hogwarts for the Winter Break."

Halfway through your porridge, the post owls arrived in droves, covering the sunny ceiling like tawny-colored storm clouds that hailed Daily Prophets down onto the four trestle tables below. An expecting grimace pinched your face as you looked across the table at the one in Ernie's hands, but came up pleasantly surprised to see an almost benign headline, "The Thrilling Results of the Second Task!" The photo below it depicted all of the champions diving agilely into the water - all except a miniature version of yourself; her rigid shoulders raised toward her head while her hands were gripped in tight balls at her side, still desperately chewing on the knot of gillyweed in her mouth. You pulled your gaze away, unwilling to further her humiliation by watching the impending awkward leap into the water. 

A small commotion coming from the Slytherin table stole your attention from your breakfast. A few familiar and unfamiliar faces were out of their seats, hovering around an exceptionally pleased-looking Malfoy. Ever since being pulled to the shore during the second task, he had become unusually taciturn, throwing neither jab nor jibe your way, his attention attached purely to whatever work was in front of him. He had even begun to ignore Goyle and Crabbe when they would try and entice him with a less-than-witty quip. 

The sudden change of nature had also affected his demeanor; he seemed a half miserable, stalking shadow of his previous haughtily swaggering self, absent of even the ghost of a smile on his pale face. But now he sat with his shoulders squared, his nose hovering high in the air again as he lustily soaked in the attention. Above his curled lips were cheeks consumed by a smoldering red that stood out painfully on his pallid complexion. He spoke, enticing a wave of laughter to ripple across the pit of Slytherin. All except Adrian Pucey, who was purging his mysterious anger by crumpling up the copy of Witch Weekly in his hands.

Malfoy suddenly glanced across the table between you, meeting your curious eyes, and tore it away instantly. Although his smile appeared to stretch at the knowledge of your attention, the rare abashment made you even more quizzical.

        The listless mien you wore on your way to potions was ripped away when your body was suddenly sent tumbling across the hard stone ground. Hannah was at your side in a moment, helping you back up. You felt as though your ankle had caught something, but when you looked back you, there was nothing- nothing except Pansy Parkinson, who had her wand in her hand. She strode confidently past you, her nose in the air, as though all three of you didn't exist.

"What's her problem?" Susan griped. More bruises would be added to match the ones on your knees during Defense, where you learned and practiced hex deflection. Pansy was quick to partner with you once the subject of hexes was mentioned, making you work hard to deflect the heated deluge that she sent your way.

Rubbing the smarting bruises that blossomed on your arm, you mused how you had barely spoken a word to her in the four years that you spent in class together. She seemed previously to share the same level of disdain that all of Malfoy's gang collectively held toward you and every other student that didn't bare a green robe, leaving you wondering what sparked this sudden burst in animosity.

With every class that passed, more and more eyes clung to your frame in the halls and classrooms. You could hardly concentrate in Transfiguration, your attention constantly pulled to the gaggle of Ravenclaw girls that couldn't stop swapping whispers and brittle giggles. Because of this irritating distraction, instead of conjuring a beautiful bouquet as instructed, your wand spat out a flurry of pink petals, enticing a flood of laughter that reddened your face. McGonagall swept up to your table, the heels of her shoes slapping sharply against the floor she strode across, and with the sway of her wand, the mess of scattered petals vanished from your table and the ground around it. Though she held her tongue, her austere eyes spoke those reprimanding words for her. 

Yet what was worst of all was that this strange behavior had spread contagiously to Cedric, who refused to meet your eyes when you passed him in the hall. "Cedric," you called loudly so he couldn't pretend not to hear. He paused briefly, and without looking back, replied, "hey," before continuing on. "Now what was that about," Hannah commented to Susan. Stubbornly, you followed after him, weaving through the tide of robed bodies, and grabbed his sleeve, not allowing him an escape. 

"What's going on? Everyone's looking at me funny, Parkinson's turned homicidal, and now you're ignoring me." He stared straight ahead for a few moments, and when he finally lifted his eyes to meet your own, a pacifying smile was pulled uncomfortably tight across his face. "I'm not ignoring you. We're talking now aren't we?"

"Yes, but-"

"I've just got a lot on my mind." He ran a hand through his wavy locks, and for a moment the cheerful veil was pulled back an inch as a mysterious pang flickered across his eyes. "I need to focus on the final task. It's going to be more difficult than the last two, so I want to be prepared. You should too." As soon as he turned his head, the fraudulent smile fell, the pained scowl reclaiming his face. The bell rang, and reluctantly, you freed him, watching him swiftly disappear down the hall. 

With nothing else you could do, you simply returned to your waiting friends. "So what's up with him?"

"Dinno, he said it was the tournament, but I don't think so."

It wasn't until dinner that you finally learned what had infected everyone around you; Susan had a weary look on her face as she sat down at the table with a magazine in her hand.

"You too?" you asked.

"I found out from some Ravenclaw girls..." You sat up, swapping your knife and fork for the copy of Witch Weekly she handed you. 

It was already folded to the page, which immediately sparked a fire in your chest. Triwizard Champion (y/n) Potter Caught Cheating - But Not In The Tournament! 

The tragic hero of the Wizarding World, (y/n) Potter, was mysteriously chosen as a champion for the Triwizard Tournament despite being below the age requirement. As expected of the famous young wizard, she has defied all odds and proven herself more than capable by tying for first place with Cedric Diggory, the other student chosen by the Goblet of Fire to champion Hogwarts. As Rita Skeeter had written in the Daily Prophet article, Triwizard Champion's Conquer Dragons and Love, Cedric Diggory and (y/n) Potter have not only been battling fearsome dragons and feral merfolk, but the turbulence of young love as well. It would seem that the latter would prove to be a challenge that poor Diggory could not spell his way out of. 

Beneath the flashy headline was the animated image of Malfoy leaning over you, smashing his face against yours. The enchanted blue roses that decorated the pillar your back was pressed against framed the photo dreamily, adding an additional spice of romance. You could still feel the photo; his fingers submerged in the ocean of (h/c) that was your hair, the tips tracing along your scalp; the hot air of his deep, excited exhales wafted across your face; his lips desperately clinging to your own, as if they solely provided him with the oxygen he needed to survive.

The pumpkin juice by your elbow began to bubble as you continued to read.

Draco Malfoy, a promising Slytherin in Potter's grade, had stolen the fickle heart of the young champion. The second task of the Triwizard Tournament (to retrieve what you would sorely miss from the merpeople that resided inside of the Hogwarts black lake) proved doubly hard for poor Diggory when he was forced to watch the first love of his young life pulling ashore another boy - the boy that had previously escorted her to the Yule Ball. When Skeeter had attempted to enter the school to ask Potter exactly what had sparked this sudden change in romantic interest, the Headmaster (Albus Dumbledore, known for being a tad touched in the head) barred her from the grounds. So she could only give her speculations; perhaps the sudden jolt in attention has gone to Potter's head-

Your body shot up, and you looked down the table, seeing a few of those magazines held in the hands of people who snickered to each other. You turned your head to where Cedric always sat with his friends but found he was absent. Twisting around, you searched for Malfoy, finding him chatting heartily with someone who had the magazine in their hand. You wished at that moment that you could channel a Howler and scream across the entire hall that only a Love Potion could make you kiss that smarmy snake, but you only bit your lip. Your appetite now gone, you stormed out of the hall instead. 

~~

        Cedric knew that you'd never willingly kiss Malfoy, but the thought didn't hold an ounce of solace. Not when all that dominated his mind was the image of Malfoy's body pinning yours against that pillar, your faces hungrily attached. His pale hair draped across your (h/c) locks, his hands greedily keeping your face to his own.

The very morning when he heard about the Yule Ball, he had already decided to ask you; the only problem was, how? He contemplated what words would work best to secure the coveted yes. What location would make it be a memory that you both could look back fondly on? 

He'd been mulling over how to craft such a perfect opportunity since your second year, but with all of the terror over the basilisk, he never had the chance. He decided next year he would ask you out, but Sirius Black had cast a dreary cloud over the entire semester, so he had told himself he would finally ask you this year. Finally, his chance had announced itself along with the Yule Ball - during a particularly slow song, with your head resting on his shoulder, your hand held tenderly within his own - but he had gotten too wrapped up in solving the clue for the second task and waited too long. He had heard about all of the guys that had asked you to the Yule Ball - had seen Pucey in the hall following after you like a lost puppy - but told himself that you'd say no to them all, so he thought he had time to think. 

Never did he imagine Malfoy would pull something like that. Love potions were banned, but he couldn't prove it. Looking up from the blank parchment in front of him, he hadn't recognized a single word that was etched onto the blackboard. He'll borrow Zacharias's notes later. Zacharias owed him after all, always coping his notes and trying to glance at his homework whenever he had the chance. 

Smoothing his fingers over his brow, he tried to dislodge the brambles of jealousy that invaded his body. He had to focus on the final task. It was the last one, so it would obviously be the toughest. He needed to protect not only himself but you as well. But whenever he tried to move his thoughts, they  stubbornly and masochistically went back to the image on that paper. His grip tightened precariously around his quill. His knuckles hungering for Malfoy's face, but he opened his hands, flexing his fingers and cleansing that desire. He wouldn't let those kinds of feelings infect him. He ran a pacifying hand through his hair, and glanced at Professor McGonagall, who was already looking at him.

"Thank you for joining us, Diggory. I know the tournament is distracting, but you may learn a thing or two in these lessons," she said amiably, sympathetic to the stress he must be under. He was always attentive, but it wasn't the tournament that had his mind so muddled. 

~~

        The murmurs behind clasped hands and rubbernecking stares were fortunately widdled away by the days that passed. Even with the interest in your love life naturally dwindling, you still had to be vigilant in the halls, lest you be cursed by a still sulky Pansy. Though the arrival of Hogsmeade weekend should have been a welcome reprieve from the miserable week, you were not venturing into the village for a holiday. Lying to your friends about simply wanting to do some Christmas shopping was difficult, but you reminded yourself of the necessity. One day you would tell them about Sirius. When all of this passed, you'd tell them. 

The High Streets still kept your head on a swivel, endeared by the sights and shops that lined the snow-clad streets. You made a mental note to stop by Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop for Hannah and Gladrags Wizardwear for Susan as you passed by them. The snow packs grew taller as you reached the end of the village. You just began to wonder where Sirius might be waiting when you saw the head of a shaggy black dog poke out from behind Dervish and Banges. You dashed up to him and squatted down, ruffling your fingers through his thick fur. He melted in your hands, his tongue lulled blissfully out of the side of his mouth, his tail flailing madly behind him.

He snapped out of the stupor when you finally retracted your hands, and with a single commanding bark, he turned toward the mountains that bordered the wizard village and trotted away. You followed, though your two feet traversing the wild terrain far more awkwardly than his four paws. Every now and then he'd look over his shoulder and stop, waiting for you to catch up before continuing.

He led you to a cave that was tucked away, hidden by the rigid mountain base. As he waltzed into the mouth of the cave, Buckbeak poked his head out. A happy chirp popped from his beak before he bowed his head. Once you did the same, he trotted out, nuzzling your hand affectionately, nibbling it gently much akin to Hedwig.

Buckbeak loyally followed behind you as you entered the cave, where you found that the dog was gone, instead seeing Sirius standing in wait. His grey, tattered Azkaban robes hung limply from his thin frame, and his wild, obsidian hair was nearly to his waist now. His cheekbones jutted from his face like cliffs, his smile buried by his beard, but none of that mattered; it simply felt good to be able to see him again. All the more reason why he shouldn't be here right now. 

"You shouldn't have come here, Sirius, it isn't safe." His smile dimmed slightly at the reproach, clearly expecting a more warm welcoming. 

"Your safety is more important than my own, and It's my duty as your godfather to protect you."

"How do you expect to protect me if you're locked back up in Azkaban!" He flinched at the word, sending a pang of guilt through your chest. 

"Don't worry, I'm pretending to be a loveable stray. My name is Snuffles now. I read your letter and I understand your worries, so I wanted to show you that I am safe here. You, on the other hand, are not."

He motioned to the pile of frayed Daily Prophets. The top headline was about Barty Crouch in Saint Mungo's, and the one next to it a missing witch named Bertha Jorkins. "And I'm not the only one that's noticing these strange happenings." He leaned down and picked up a magazine, showing you the headline, "Ministry In Chaos!"

"All the trouble starts with Bertha Jorkins. She worked for the Department of Magical Games and Sports, the department behind setting up the Triwizard tournament. She was one of the people responsible for managing the tasks, knew the ins and outs of the tournament, and she mysteriously gets lost in Albania of all places?"

"Why does Albania matter?" A lapse of silence suddenly enveloped him, and he appeared as though he was debating whether or not to tell you something. He looked back at you, and a new smile cracked his stressed face again. 

"Never mind these darker things, how did the second task go?" All of that seemed so trivial compared to what was apparently happening behind the scenes of the tournament. "What don't you want to tell me?" A dark malignance shadowed his face, and you whispered, "Is it about Voldemort?" 

He reluctantly nodded his head. "My sources tell me that he's been hiding in Albania. The papers keep bustling about how she got lost there, has a bad memory, but I went to school with Bertha, and quite the opposite is true. She was a tad dim, yes, but not forgetful."

"You talk about her as though she's..."

"Dead? Unfortunately, if my suspicions are correct, she has been for while now. Voldemort's previous rise in power was marked by the number of disappearances that occurred around that time. Not only are Bertha and Crouch missing, but a muggle from Voldemort's father's village has gone missing as well according to..." His voice trailed off when he finally stopped his pacing and saw the anguish that furrowed your features.

"(y/n), you aren't responsible for these disappearances."

"But-"

"And there's nothing you can do even if you wanted to. I can tell you the rest later." A warm smile finally blossomed on his face again, "It's been so long since I last saw you. You've grown. Come, sit." Reluctantly, you sat down on the dirt floor, hiding your discomfort on the cold hard ground. Buckbeak, on the other hand, was perfectly content as he laid down beside you, resting his large head on your lap.

You noticed that laid beside the scattered pile of Daily Prophets was a collection of the ripped-out articles that you were featured in. You were grateful that there were no Witch Weeklys scattered among the Daily Prophets. Absentmindedly, you smoothed your hand against Buckbeaks soft feathered head and told him about your year, reiterating your experience in the first task with greater detail and regaling him of the second. 

He sat perfectly quiet, listening intently to everything you said, adding laughter when appropriate and encouraging questions like, "and what did you do next?" You had become so comfortable in the one-sided conversation that you unloaded your burdensome brain, eventually working your way to the most recent events of the Yule Ball and the Love Potion that was administered by your date.

Sirius flared at this news, his voice booming off the cave walls, spooking Buckbeak, "A Love Potion?! Of all the sneaky- Even Severus never-" he caught himself too late, setting your curiosity afire.

"Severus? Snape, you mean? What about Snape?" A mischievous smirk grew across your face, "Did Snape have a crush in school?" You couldn't imagine that the perpetually dour professor could feel anything other than anger, let alone love. Sirius forced his anger back down his throat, making it clear from his shift in demeanor that this was not information he would be disclosing. "That was a slip of the tongue. As far as I recall, Love Potions are banned from Hogwarts. Have you gone to Dumbledore about this?" Your smile fell from your face, replaced by an annoyed sigh as you pulled your legs to your chest. 

"I have no proof. The chocolates are gone, and the only person who could vouch for the missing ingredients is Snape, but he'd never side with me over Malfoy." The thought of what your father might have done flickered across Sirius's mind - he would likely take the matter into his own hands, namely with his wand clutched within, but dismissed the ideas as soon as it arrived.

Instead, he stood up from the uncomfortable ground that he had become accustomed to. "It's about time you got back to school."

You were grateful to stand again, your rear growing numb, and dusted the dirt from your trousers. "Next time I come I'll bring food-"

"There is no next time. I don't want you to leave the school grounds at all. You coming here was a one-time thing so you can see that I'm safely hidden. You have bigger things to worry about right now, and if I can hide in Hogsmeade, who knows who else might be. Whoever put your name in the Goblet of Fire has failed twice now to see you dead, meaning the third task will be their last chance. Leaving the school grounds is simply too dangerous right now."

The forlorn look his reproach painted across your face made his scowl lighten. "When this tournament business is over, I'll bring a big rock inside for you, so you don't have to sit on the floor." You laughed and gave him a hug. "I missed you." It took him a second to return the gesture, as it had been so long since anyone had last touched him. He wrapped his thin arms tightly around you, soaking in your warmth like the sun.

"Me too."

~~

        Professor Binns droning voice exited your ear as soon as it entered the other, your chin rested on your hand as you stared out the window at what once was the Quidditch field. You weren't sure what they were planning for that area, and nor could you help your mind from wandering about what it could be. You wished you could travel back to second year - you'd gladly relive the shunning you suffered if it ment that you could be on that field again, the feeling of the wind's fingers in your hair, becoming weightless as you abandoned your problems on the ground below.

You left the classroom with just as much knowledge on the Goblin Rebellion as you had walking in. "Mind if I borrow your notes, Susan? I feel like I just woke up from a nap." 

"Bold of you to assume I was able to stay awake either," she said with a teasing smile, but handed you her notebook regardless. "Thanks, I'm gonna try and get some studying done, I'll see ya at Charms." After trading waves of farewell, you parted ways with your friends and turned your attention to the notebook in your hand, thumbing through the pages to get to the most current set of history notes. 

You had just landed on the cause of the rebellion when you heard, "How'd you win her over, Malfoy? Thought you two hated each other." Two Ravenclaw boys were standing further down the hall beside a thoroughly pleased looking Malfoy. 

"Yeah, you two fought like cats and dogs." He had his hands rested importantly on his narrow hips, his nose hovering high in the air while his lips were curled with arrogant self-satisfaction. 

"Love Potions work wonders," you said, drawing their attention. Malfoy's eyes widen and his face paled somehow further when he saw you.

"Love Potion?"

His lips fumbled silently before finally pushing out, "I've always excelled in Potions, a study Potter famously lacks in."

"And you used it to pull a prank as creepy and slimy as you are."

Slowly but surely, brick by brick he began to rebuild his confident mien. "If I had told you to jump into the black lake, you would have. Sounds pretty funny to me." The boys watched you both, turning their heads with each quip that was thrown between you.

"I pulled you from the bottom of that lake," you reminded him bitterly, conjuring a recollection that colored his complexion, "That's right. "What you'll sorely miss" was even me. Not your two tag-along friends or even that pretty idiot."

Your eyes flashed dangerously, and your hand delved into your skirt pocket, pulling out your wand. Malfoy did the same, causing the Ravenclaw boys to cautiously take a step back, though they still seemed enthralled by the possible duel that may take place right in front of them. 

"Call him an idiot again," you threatened. The jealousy that drenched Malfoy and danced across his sneering face nearly tinted his grey eyes green. The excitement suddenly disappeared from the boy's faces, replaced by fear as they distanced themselves from the two of you. 

"Empty-headed, pretty-boy idio-' The curse that was on the tip of your tongue and wand vanished when Moody appeared between you. Malfoy's wand was pointed toward his back, but he didn't give it any attention as he took a sip from the flask already in his hands. "Shouldn't you be in class, Potter?" he grumbled.

You lowered your wand instantly. "It's free period," you told him meekly, unsure if some punishment was brewing.

"Don't recall free period bein' a time for hallway duels. Go on. Off you go." Simply grateful to get off without detention, you took the command and scampered off down the hall, hearing behind you, "And you, Malfoy- if you've got your wand out, you better well use it and not just stand there chatting. All three of you, get goin' now before I pull my own wand out and take Potter's place."

(A/N) - Aahh was so kool seeing 99999 words in the story, so sad to lose that crazy number ( ´; ω ;｀)! Next chapter will finally be the final task, it will be (at least I hope) a two-parter, but I will do my best to release both at the same time. I truly did not intend for this arc to drag so long, and I apologize for that fact ( ´▽`;;;)ゞ

Thanks for reading <(_ _)>!

Chapter Text

        Christmas break was only a week away, and for the first time, you didn't look forward to it because after the holiday was the final task. The first two challenges were difficult enough, and you were at least given hints on what to prepare for. You were going into the third and final task completely unaware. You needed to come prepared with at least a way to defend yourself from the impending perils, but how? You weren't confident in the defense spells that were housed within the books of the library, and even with the aid of the Maurader's Map, sneaking into the restricted section would be difficult.

Ascending the stairs, you considered briefly the plethora of advanced magic books that filled the secret room that was hidden behind the hearth in the Slytherin common room. With a wild shake, you shook the thought from your very head. You swore to yourself that you would never step foot into that room - his room, the room Tom Riddle... Voldemort had handcrafted during his seven years spent within this castle - ever again. 

But where else could you find such a collection of tomes? The victory that was now within reach was paradoxically peripheral; safety was what loomed in the forefront of your mind, and it wasn't only your own safety that you had to fear for, but Cedric's, and even Viktor and Fleur as well. The stress that addled your mind and body was exhaled through a lengthy sigh and you attempted to reorganize your thoughts as you rounded the corner so you could mentally prepare for Divination. With the pernicious final task hardly a month away, you knew the horrifically bleak and gory predictions that "spontaneously appear before Trelawney's third eye" once you climbed into her classroom would be in abundance. 

As you had every day on your way to Divination ever since Cedric had informed you of this shortcut, you pulled open the door that was adjacent to that peculiar tapestry - but you weren't greeted by Norvel Twonk's portrait. A room you had never set your eyes on was before you; books lined every wall, and standing in the center of the room was a single crudely stuffed dummy that stood on a wooden pole. 

"What the..." Peering over your shoulder, you checked to see if you had the right door- and sure enough, behind you, Barnabus's face had just met with one of the pink-tutued-troll's clubs. It had been years since this castle had last surprised you, but you attuned to it quickly, and without further question or comment, you stepped into this new, strange room that somehow housed everything you had been wishing for.

You wouldn't reemerge until dinner.

~~

        The holiday passed as a lonely one for Hannah and Susan, as you and Cedric sequestered yourself into your own little worlds in preparation; his the library, yours this new strange room. In what felt like the mere blink of an eye class resumed, followed closely by exams. It was time for Susan and Hannah to sweat over their own studies, all four of you hardly able to spare a word to each other.

The halls you walked through were barren as most of the castle's residents were sequestered within the great hall, poring over their exam papers. You were going up the stairs to that room to get one more casting session before the final task took place. Stopping mid-step on the stairs, you were suddenly enveloped by a gelid pocket of air that shook your muscles as it daubed goosebumps across your skin.

"The other chumpions are meeting their mummies and daddies right now, Potter! Why aren't you there to say hello to yours?" You didn't spare Peeves a single glance as you continued up the final steps, your steely gaze pinned straight forward as his mad cackling filled the once dead castle. When you disappeared past a corner, the perpetually bored poltergeist drifted languidly in the air after you.

"Oh, that's right! Poor pitiful Potter's parents-" Peeves malicious, twisty smile fell when he saw that the long hall he followed you to was empty. No door to slip through or statues to hide behind. Only a handful of sconce-bound torches and a tapestry of a horde of trolls tormenting a much chagrined Barnabas. 

You emerged from the room hours later, the fingers that were wound around your wand sore. Stuffing your wand into your skirt pocket, you flexed your hand and wandered to a window to measure how much time had disappeared. The impending sunset was leaking through the tree line horizon, appearing inauspiciously like blood diluted by the blue waters of the late afternoon sky. Dipping your gaze, you saw a maze in the process of consuming the Quidditch field. Your eyes trailed around the bushy labyrinth, but almost immediately your eyes found a dead end. Your stomach turned sickeningly, and your hand subconsciously sunk into your pocket, fingering the smooth holly handle of your wand.

"Potter," a gravelly voice growled, triggering your spring-locked muscles, you reflexively twisted around and extracted the wand from your pocket, raising it instinctively - only to find Moody. He smiled, his magic eye on your wand. "On edge, I see. Good."

"The third task is to navigate a maze?"

"Aye. Make you worried?" Embarrassed, you looked away, but you felt his hand rest on your shoulder. "You passed two already. What's one more?" He smiled a relaxed, lopsided grin, the scar that split his bottom lip and ran jaggedly down his jaw like a river bed stretched gruesomely, but it made you feel a bit better.

"I expect great things from you tonight. Great things."

        The Quidditch stands were more stuffed full than they had ever been. The four of you stood in front of what was once the Quidditch field, now an expansive maze that, even when you turned your head, dominated your entire vision. 

"If you come into danger and need rescuing, all you need to do is raise your wand and cast a red flare into the air. We will come and find you at once," McGonagall informed with severity, Flitwick bobbing his head in agreement. Moody took a swig from his flask as he scanned over the champions, lingering his gaze on you. 

"All ready, are you?" he asked, though it seemed like he was speaking specifically to you. Again, the champions nodded their heads, all too stiff to speak. Bagman walked up as the professors walked away. "Feeling excited?" he asked, his smile stretched broad across his face. "Well, good luck to all! You'll do swimmingly!" He then swiftly turned on his heel, facing toward the stands. Putting his wand to his neck, and clearing his throat, he muttered, "Sonorus."

You glanced to Cedric, only to find he had been observing you first. He quickly flicked his gaze away, aiming it instead to the creeping entrance of the maze. He was wearing the same outfit you had been given; a black pair of trousers and a shirt, split yellow and black, with the Hogwarts emblem on your breast. His tension was plain through his tightly wound fists, his rigidly held shoulders, and his full lips now pressed thin as the skin around his jaw pulled tautly. A steady breath, likely one intended to calm, expanded his chest.

'He'll be fine,' you told yourself. He had been studying just as hard as you had. You followed his tense gaze, staring into the blackness that doored the entrance, which exhaled a whispy, trailing fog like a consuming maw. That fog would soon be devouring your feet.

"Ladies and gentlemen! It is now time to present the third and final task! Our brave champions will be traversing a maze filled to the brim with obstacles that must be overcome if any of them wishes to reach the center and claim the glory for not only themselves but their schools as well!" The stadiums came to life, jarring the birds that were hidden inside the trees of the forbidden forest and sending them scattering into the blackened sky. You peered over your shoulder at the animated crowd, spotting Amos Diggory in the first row sporting a grin that nearly reached his ears. Hagrid was standing in front of the stadium, his giant hands smacking together before waving excitedly at you when he found you looking at him. You gave a small wave back before turning back around.

"Allow me to remind you how the current champions stand! Tied in first place, with eighty-five points each - Cedric Diggory and (y/n) Potter, both representing Hogwarts!" The stands erupted for a second time, again shredding the tranquil night atmosphere to pieces.

"In second place, with eighty points - Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang! And In third place, Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons!" Once the air finally stilled, Bagman continued, "Cedric, (y/n), step forward please." You did as instructed, finding your legs surprisingly limber, not stricken by fear as you had worried.

"On my whistle... Three, two-" 

The sharp sound cut through the chilly air, and with it so did your body. Cedric was in your peripheral vision for a few moments, but only a few moments, as your lighter body soon outpaced him. Once you entered the maze, all that filled your ears was the grass beneath your feet and the rhythmic drum of your heart, but those too fell silent when you paused before the first fork in the path. Cedric was back by your side within the second, staring at the same scene. 

"You pick," he said hastily. Biting your lip, you glanced down each path, knowing that whichever you chose would pull you apart. The piercing whistle cut in the distance, and you soon heard heavy footsteps growing behind you, too heavy to be Fleur's. You shouted at random, "right!" He flung forward left, but paused momentarily to peer over his shoulder at you. A tincture of wistfulness wrestled inside his eyes, and for a moment you thought he was going to tell you to join him, but instead he said, "stay safe," before disappearing into the encasing gloom that inhabited this pernicious maze.

You never heard the third whistle. The hedges seemed to swallow all sound as well as any light, but your senses quickly adapted to the encapsulating darkness. You laid your wand flat across the palm of your hand and murmured the Charm that Cedric had taught you during the World Quidditch Cup. Closing your eyes, you focused your mind and thought only of the centre of the maze. "Domus." You felt your wand shift in your hand, and when you opened your eyes you saw it pointing northeast.

After a turn here and there, a gentle white glow distantly peered out of the end of the path you walked down, greeting you sweetly. Tendrils of luminous light extend out like beckoning fingers, and like the intoxication of a siren's song, your feet moved before you even gave them the order, simmering your pace from a brisk walk to a full sprint. There in the distance was the source; a trophy that sat comfortably on an ornate plinth. But your stride dwindled as your excitement was betrayed by the caution that slowly began to leak back into your brain. Pausing mere meters away from the tantalizing trophy, you murmured, "Domus," and watched your fears become confirmed as your wand swung in the opposite direction. Coiling your fingers around it, you whipped your wand toward the magic mirage. "Revelio!" The illusion was ripped from your eyes a cloth, revealing only a dead end.

You purged your disappointment through a deep exhale that was laced with guttural curses, but before you could turn, your body was frozen mid-step as you caught sight of the flat hedge that build the dead end began to collapse into itself. For a stunned second, you watched with horror as the walls continued to merge at a terrifying pace. Taking a few stumbling steps back, you twisted around and forced your feet to fly across the ground. The sound of rattling leaves chased after you, growing closer and closer - until you finally emerged, landing face first onto the barbed twigs of the adjacent hedge. Your face stung, and when you pried your body off of it one of the branches had snagged onto your shirt, ripping it across your clavicle. 

Sweat speckled your brow and your breaths came ragged, yet you forced the pain and discomfort to the peripheral corner of your mind and pried your fingers from your wand, murmuring the incantation again, watching it point down the neighboring path.

'Why am I doing this?' The thought had wandered into your head on its own while you pointed your wand at the Blast-Ended-Skrewt that guarded this path, "Impedimenta!"

The thrumming of your heart eclipsed your heavy breaths as you raced past the giant creature you likely helped raise. Why? Why were you trying so hard? A vine slithered through the grass in front of you, cloaked by the mantling fog, and latched onto your ankle. Your hands touched the ground first, eating the majority of the fall. The sting of your scraped palms was muted as the maze walls again began to fuse around you, this time both of your paths closing in on you. 'I could give up right now, blast the flare, and be done with this trouble once and for all.' You lifted your arm and aimed your wand.

"Bombarda!" An orange ball of pure inferno flew the tip of your wand, effortlessly rendering a large chunk of the hedge wall in front of you into a shower of splintered twigs and scorched leaves. Wrenching your foot free from the vine, you delved through the hole you created. The singed edges slowly began healing together, shrinking your escape hole and raking your head and back with the jagged, angry branches.

The trophy would be nice, the galleons better, but was it worth this much chaos? Would Cedric be angry if you won? Part of you knew he wouldn't, but that glimpse of disappointment that washed across his face like a rogue wave when it was announced you had tied with each other poisoned your optimism.

He never wanted to work together, preferring to figure everything out by himself. Was it really his smothering father that motivated him to put his name inside the Goblet of Fire? Was all of this pain and strife worth possibly ruining your friendship?

As if summoned by your thoughts, you nearly collided with Cedric while turning a bushy corner. To your pleasant surprise, he had not a single blemish nor stain on him. Cedric's eyes fell on you without any of the relief you visually effused; instead, his pale orbs grew dark, and his lips pulled back in a toothy sneer of revolution. He raised his wand, pointing it squarely at your chest. His acrid glare held your own bewildered gaze with an iron grip.

"Cedric, what are you doing..."

His voice started a mere hiss through gritted teeth, growing in octaves and venom as he spoke, "We made a promise, but you put your name into the Goblet of Fire regardless. It isn't fair. You were never even supposed to be in this competition!" The tip of his wand glowed threateningly in his hands. Your mind blared at you to retreat, to run and hide - to at least take a step back - but your body was chained to the ground by shock.

"Cedric, I told you. I-I did put my name-" 

"YES, YOU DID! YOU WANTED THE ATTENTION! ALWAYS THE CENTER OF ATTENTION!" His voice cut through the cold night air, piercing through your ears and slashing across your heart. Confusion and sorrow bled from your wounded heart, flooding your eyes. You whimpered in a fragile, piteous voice that sounded foreign to your own ears, "Cedric, please stop..." He took a creeping step toward you, his wand still alight with the impending spell.

"Everything they say about you is true, (y/n). You just had to insert yourself in the middle of the tournament you knew I wanted to join. I was supposed to win, but you just had to break the rules like you always do and steal away my chances. I hate you." Your lips trembled, unable to speak. The hatred was thick in his voice, coated in a palpable poison so potent that it slowly eroded away at your very soul. 

Cedric's curled lips hadn't moved, yet his voice rang out from behind him. "HEY!" He whipped his head around, and suddenly his body shifted, losing its mass momentarily as the colors and shapes altered. Before your eyes you watched Cedric disintegrate, torn apart and rebuilt into another man. You only saw the back of the person he became, vaguely recognizing the dusky brown hair and cabby hat that sat atop it - until he spoke.

"This is the best you can do, Ced? Sigh. I'm so disa-"

"Riddikulus!"

The belt unraveled around Amos's trousers, sending them tumbling down to his heels and revealing a pair of red striped underwear. The man quickly reached down, trying to gather up his dignity while Cedric appeared from the shadows behind him, grabbing your arm and dragging you away. Only when you reached a new turn in the path did he stop, allowing you both to catch your missing breath.

The silence between you two was heavy, suffocating. "A boggart," he finally said. You nodded, having already surmised as much. Another lapse fell between you, and you simply waited for him to excuse himself so he could go back on his own way again. But when he finally spoke, his words cracked the tension that had encased you like a tomb.

"I... I'm sorry if that's how I made you feel." His apology jerked new tears to blind your vision. Embarrassed, you turned your head away, hoping he wouldn't notice you wiping your face. 

"It's fine, I understand that this means a lot to you." A hand wrapped around your own, gently guiding it away from your face.

"But you mean so much more to me." You unabashedly swung your face back up at him, jarred by his vulnerable yet powerful words. He stared down at you equally unabashed, tenderly wiping one of the stray tears with his thumb. It was hardly a second, but for a moment you and him were no longer trapped in a maze laced with treacherous obstacles; you belonged in a world where only the two of you resided, a world where your surroundings were tangential, and only the warmth and reassurance of his touch was as real as you were. 

Heavy footsteps sounded behind you, ripping you from this paradise as it tore your attention off each other. Cedric looked over your shoulder and instantly snaked an arm around your back, holding you protectively to his chest. "Crucio!" a deep, accented voice called out of the darkness. 

"Protego!" Cedric yelled back, and the spark bounced off the invisible shield, scattering in front of you. You twisted against Cedric's chest to see Viktor standing with his wand pointing at Cedric. His dark eyes were empty and his face was a blank slate, contrasting the hateful curse he had just spat. He opened his mouth to shout another spell, but you were faster.

"Stupefy!"

Viktor fell like a brick to the ground, a dull thud momentarily shaking the still air. Cedric reluctantly uncoiled his arm from around you, but when you took a step toward Viktor to investigate he grabbed your hand, halting your movements. "Why would he attack us?" you asked beneath your breath. "Us" felt wrong as soon as you spoke it, knowing that his eyes were pinned squarely on Cedric, seemingly blind to your very existence. "I don't know, and I'd rather not find out." You lifted your arm into the air and blew the flare, where they lingered, spitting red crackling sparks into the abyssal sky. As you stared down at his still body, appearing as though he was merely taking an inopportune nap, you were reminded of your conversation by the black lake. Although his larger hand had swallowed your own when you wished each other luck, his grip was gentle.

Your fingers coiled stranglingly around Cedric's, terrified that at the next fork you found he'd part with you, yet he loyally stayed by your side, seemingly as unwilling to separate as you now. Finally, the infinite expanse of hedges was parted by a faint glowing in the distance. The light was a beckoning reprieve from the encapsulating darkness, and like a magnet it drew you closer, seeping into your skin and latching on. Your paces invigorated, your feet nearly becoming airborne as you wrung every last ounce of stamina from your fatigued muscles. 

Of all the challenges you faced until now; soaring through the air in retreat from a fuming dragon; swarmed by grindylows and threatened by merfolk; Blast-Ended-Skrewts, Dementors, rows of hedges that collapsed around you like hungry maws - it was a rock that was hidden within the grass that defeated you. 

You hit the ground hard, the outstretched hands that desperately tried to soften your fall slipped against the moist grass, allowing your chin to smack against the ground. Pain bit hard into your flesh while embarrassment scorched your emotions; the latter proved more potent, until you tried to gather yourself up. Your ankle shouted its protests at the slightest of movements, igniting every nerve inside your leg and sprouting tears in the corners of your wincing eyes. And so, you collapsed back onto the ground, accepting your defeat. You finally felt how heavy your muscles had become. A bitter, brittle laugh almost passed through your lips - you had come this far, just to flounder when victory was a mere yard away.

Cedric stopped in his tracks the moment you vanished from his side. The sound of his approaching footsteps only sent new shards of pain through your mind. What would be painted across his face? Pity? Begrudging, obligatory kindness?

"Go! Grab it!" you shouted, "Fleur could be anywhere, grab it now!"

An open hand entered your downturned vision. "Together," he replied, the kind cadence enticing you to look up at him. Half of the sleeve of his arm was gone, charred at the ends, and exhaustion had painted shadows beneath his weary eyes. But despite the trials that had etched themselves onto his sweat-stained face, he still wore the same warm smile that never failed to find its way on his lips whenever his eyes met yours.

"I can't do it alone. We're Team Hogwarts."

A reluctant smile spread across your face as you took his hand, allowing him to pull you up. He tilted his frame toward you, and snaked his arm securely around your waist, allowing you to lend him some of your weight. "Ferula," a long strip of white fabric streamed from his wand and wrapped tightly around your sprained ankle.

As though there was no tournament, no rivals or dark creatures that still loomed within the fog, you both sauntered calmly to the glimmering trophy that patiently waited. All of the small scrapes and burgeoning bruises that shaded your faces were washed away by the radiant light, and even the pain that addled your muscles was forgotten. 

Together you reached for the trophy, but only your hand locked around its glimmering arm. You looked up at Cedric quizzically, but he only smiled endearingly down at you. He had found the moment to confess his feelings after all. "(y/n), I lo-" His voice became lost as an invisible hook looped around your waist, and you were pulled from him in a swirl of blinding light.

Chapter Text

        The air was knocked from your lungs as you were thrown back onto the ground, sending a bolt of electrifying pain jolting from your ankle. Your grip on the trophy was forgotten, allowing it to bound across the ground before rolling to a rest. The desperate gasp that parted your lips became a heaving gag as your stomach violently lurched when crashing nausea dominated your senses.

The cold air that encapsulated you filled your lungs and nipped at your skin, cleansing some of the disorienting haze from your body. Your brain continued to spin wildly in your skull, but you forced your pulpy muscles to stiffen enough to sit up.

The queasiness from vertigo shifted to fear as you took in your surroundings; ancient, moss-covered gravestones littered the area, springing up from the dense fog that cloaked the ground like a sheet. A few meters away, resting beside a bare, skeletal tree the trophy glowed eerily in the fog, illuminating the trailing wisps. Above you, the sky was an abyssal ocean of black that greedily swallowed any and all light.

"Hello?" you called warily. To your relief, your cry was hastily met by brisk footsteps crunching through the grass. You turned toward the sound hopefully, but your quivering heart was only shaken further at what you found. Crawling backward from the figure that approached, you desperately looked around for your fallen wand, but the fog had stolen it. You traced your fingers through the wild sea of grass until the tips finally felt something long and hard.

You pulled your wand out just as Pettigrew raised his own. "Expelliarmus," and the wand was once again swallowed by the grass. Another spell hissed out of his wand; a cord that shot at you like a bola, latching onto your wrists before binding them together.

"Tie her to the tombstone..." a thin, high voice commanded. The voice washed over you in a gust of gelid air, sending a chill crawling up your spine and pebbling your skin before settling sickening in your stomach. Only then did you notice the black bundle of cloth that was tucked protectively against Pettigrew's chest. Doing as the voice commanded, he placed the small bundle down gently before grabbing the cord that bound your wrists and yanking you up. He dragged you toward a towering tombstone while you kicked helplessly, your protests falling on callous, deaf ears. Placing your bound wrists above your head, he pointed his wand again, and this time cords crawled across the stone like snakes, twirling around the cord that bound your wrists and pulling your body upwards. Your toes scraped the ground, the pressure blaring down from your wrists and shoulders like bolts of lightning. 

"Blindfold her, fool!" the voice cried. It was so familiar, yet so vague. Like long forgotten memory pulling at your brain. But you knew enough to fear it. A long strand of black cloth crawled from the tip of his wand this time, covering your eyes as it tied behind your head with invisible hands. Your breath quickened, any movement chaffing at your already aching wrists, and the muscles in your lower arm began to cramp badly. 

Suddenly you could hear the crackling of a fire. When was there a fire? The heat was almost comfortable in the cold atmosphere, but you only found it as a new source of fear.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given. You will renew your son," you heard Pettigrew say, only churning your panic and confusion. Your stomach coiled tightly as you heard footsteps approaching you again. 

"Blood of the enemy," all aching in your upper body was eclipsed by the new pain that dragged down your forearm. A scream ripped from your lips, piercing the static night air. "Taken forcefully. You will resurrect your foe." You could feel your own blood trickle down your arm ticklishly. You struggled in the bindings to no avail, only continuing to incense your cramping muscles and stinging skin.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly given. You will revive your master!" His words morphed into a tremulous cry that slashed your ears. "Hurry up, fool!" the cold voice cruelly lashed again, and obediently the writhing screams were muffled to mere piteous whimpers and labored breathing. Then a splashing sound sprung forth, and a bright light flooded your vision, bleeding through the thin dark cloth. Unable to shield your eyes with your hands or arms, you could only move your face away in retreat. Your heart thundered in your chest, pounding against your ribcage in a desperate escape attempt. You wished you knew what was happening, but another part was grateful for the blindfold that hid it all. Then the voice was back, chilling the cold air further as it cackled madly, the sound reminiscent only of splitting ice, before oddly warming to the deep, rhythmic cadence of a human man. 

The laughter subsided, and a voice spoke, "My robes, Wormtail." Had another person appeared? It sounded different from the strained hiss, yet remained familiar. Your quizzical thoughts were cut off when you felt a hand stroke your cheek. Icy. It reminded you of the Dementor's touch, how it sapped every ounce of warmth and happiness and left behind only a barren wasteland of monochrome despondency. Moving your head to the side, you tried to escape the unwelcome touch, yet it simply followed. The fingers glided down your cheek and to your jaw, parting ever so reluctantly.

You were relieved that it was retracted, until it appeared again, moving your hair from your forehead. From your scar. The tips traced its length, ghosting over it ever so slightly. "My mark..." the voice spoke almost lovingly, pulling at the distant recesses of your memory, like a poised finger placed on the top of a book, ready to pluck it from the shelf. 

You didn't want to believe it, wanted to cling to some semblance of ignorance, but there was no hiding from the truth of who stood before you now. 

"Tom," you said shakily, but you let out another scream of pain as your scar turned to fire. "Tom is the name of the man you are bound to. You know very well who stands before you. You carry the brand I left on your very face, after all. You are reminded of your better every time you glance into a mirror." You could hear the smirk in his voice. The tips of his fingers again traced slowly down the side of your face, his voice a delicate whisper, "I could never touch you like this before, you know, Potter. Your foolish mother's protection would have barred me, charred my very skin. It's thanks to the blood that now inhabits my veins - your blood, that I may bypass that pesky, ancient magic."

Pettigrew sniffled in the background, "please, my lord, my hand-"

"I owe you much, Potter. I want you to see the body you have granted me." The sleeves of his robe brushed against the sides of your face as he untied the blindfold. What you found wasn't the face of the monster that you had read of in books, the man who had transfigured himself beyond human recognition, falling into a rabbit hole of madness and reemerging as something entirely new. No, the man that stood before you was the striking image of the handsome boy inside the Chamber of Secrets; the silken onyx curls still lazily coiled around his porcelain complexion, except now his boyish face was gone, replaced by sharp features that were chiseled to striking refinement. But the eyes that stared into your own were still that of a monster; deep brown, near black irises were now dyed red, gleaming like vials of blood - foreboding the violent color that stained his soul.

He was draped in a simple black rope that streamed down his arms like inky waterfalls and fell at his bare feet in a pool of fabric. A smirk handsomely curled the corners of his pale lips, and with the lazy wave of his hand, the cords vanished. You fell to the ground at his feet in a heap. You knew you needed to stand -  to run, to fight, to do something - but your aching arms hardly had the strength to move, let alone pick you up. Voldemort painfully removed his eyes off of you to address his sniveling servant. He was blanched and on the verge of collapsing, cradling his mutilated wrist to his chest. His breaths came in quick, in sharp huffs, but a weak smile built on his pallid face when his master's eyes finally found him.

"Wormtail, I haven't forgotten you. I believe you're owed a reward," he said, his grin tauntingly victorious. You finally managed to compile the strength to lift your torso up, your anger fueling you. "You - You traitorous, sniveling, rodent of a-" Voldemort moved in a swift motion, leaning down and wrapping his long slender fingers around your jaw, silencing you. "Only look at me," he commanded, his eyes wide and consuming. "This is my rebirth after all, and you are my most honored guest." Without even looking at Pettigrew, he pointed his wand toward him, unceremoniously bestowing his gift. 

Dropping his hand from your face, he instead knotted it around your shirt, ripping the collar further as he hoisted you to your feet. The deep ache inside your ankle was smothered by the adrenaline that your drumming heart deluged through your veins. He pointed his wand toward the grassy area you were dropped into, and retrieved your wand from the haystack of grass. He held it out for you to take, the corner of his lips quirked in an elegant smile imbued with maliciousness.

You snatched it from his hand and pointed it at him threateningly as you took a few steps back, creating some much-needed distance between you. You felt like a child again, down in the Chamber of Secrets, face to face with Tom. Except it was truly nothing like then. This wasn't the memory of a teenage Tom Riddle, whose greatest achievement at the time was earning the Headboy titled; this was the man behind the start of the Second Wizarding War. Tom Riddle had no wand; Voldemort does. 

Voldemort's smile dimmed slightly, and he tore his gaze from you, swaying it across the graveyard. "So they were brave enough to come after all," he murmured cryptically. Enticed to do the same, you nearly fell back when you saw the first of them; drenched head to toe in black, hoods masking their identities. Turning your head, you spotted another, slowly approaching. More sprung up from the fog like the scattered tombstones, all approaching slowly, in unbelieving awe. Slowly they all gathered, encircling and enclosing around you. While you twisted your head around in bewildering fear, Voldemort's crimson orbs swayed around lackadaisically. As though blind to the wand that was still aimed threateningly at him, he turned away from you. Appraisingly, he swept his leering gaze across them. He lifted his arms, the fabric of his robe sliding down his forearms, pooling like silently screaming months at his elbows, exposing corded muscles that coiled tautly beneath skin the shade of moonlight. You found that the smile that lifted his features was just as cold and foreboding as his frown.

"Welcome, my old friends. So kind of you all to join me on my rebirth day, though I see some were foolish enough to stay away. Those few shall be dealt with swiftly." With his hands laced behind his back, Voldemort strolled around them, slowly, methodically, his robe flowing like liquid around his long legs. He was sure to pierce through the darkness that devoured each face; his own face a steel mask, concealing whatever emotion brewed beneath.

"You all look so healthy. I'm glad to see you've been taking such care of yourself while you thought me dead," he whispered, his voice as loud as it was hushed, as sharp as it was soft; an arctic gust that shuddered through their tremulous spines. "Thought me broken, beaten - by this," without breaking eye contact, he flung his open hand toward you, and you felt just as insignificant as he implied beneath the sensation of their collective eyes. "All I had left by my side was Wormtail, who couldn't even succeed in kidnapping a single girl.

"Where were my useful servants? Cowardly fled, dispersing like roaches beneath the light- All but one, who escaped entombment in Azkaban to be at my side. But! I'm sure your courage is now invigorated to see that I indeed had not died," his voice simmered, an exultant smile pulling at the edge of his lips, "That I indeed can not die. Mortality for me is but another thwarted foe." The heads bobbed up and down, some stoic, while others were subtly quivered with poorly stifled fear. "Trust is most important among friends, yes? Yes, and so is patience. Just as you trust me to always rise again, so shall I patiently allow you to repay the debt of your cowardly betrayals." He paused, swinging his attention back to you.

"But enough talk of the future. This is a celebration after all - and what better way to celebrate this new body that you had so generously gifted me than with a duel, yes? That sounds fun, doesn't it? They've taught you how to duel, correct?" he asked, a strangely playful air of amiability cloaking a vicious miasma beneath. You remained silent, glancing nervously at the black-shrouded men around you. A duel? All of the spells you had studied and practiced had vanished from your head, sapped by his imposing air. Impatiently, Voldemort wagged his wand up and down, an invisible force forcing your head to bob with the motions.

He smiled pleasantly, "Good, good. Then you must know the steps. Traditions are very important after all. And so, we bow to each other." Again, he held his wand out toward you, and slowly dipped the tip downward. In time with the movement, a heavy force pressed on your back, folding your torso. 

He lowered in a brief bow, and once his torso straightened, the pressure was gone from your own. You took a few stumbling steps backward when your torso finally bounced back, and a bolt of pain surged through your leg. You heard a few muffled chuckles, and saw the amused smile that was embedded on Voldemort's deceivingly handsome face. The duel hadn't even started yet, and he was already playing with you, like a cat with its eyes set on a tiny mouse, toying with it until it was finally enticed to pounce.

He assumed the stance that years on top of years of dueling had crafted to refinement; his wand led by his first few fingers, his arm lax, his broad-shouldered frame held at an angle, becoming a smaller target. He was the picture of a coiled snake, ready to lash out with a deadly strike at any moment. Panic sunk in, and the only spell that came to your head slipped past your lips.

"Expel-"

"CRUCIO!" Everything went black. Your senses were plunged into a place where the only thing that existed was pain, excruciating pain, pain that tugged at every nerve in your body, setting it alight with agonies you never believed possible. When you resurfaced from the abyss, you opened your eyes only to see the black night sky. You opened your mouth, gulping in a lung full of air and found that the cold air scorched your throat. It was raw and tender, as though you had been screaming. You didn't even bother to try and lift yourself back up, your fingers were shaking so badly you knew you couldn't hold your wand.

Voldemort leisurely approached you, murmuring as softly as silk, "No Dumbledore to protect you and no mother to die for you. You are completely and utterly mine now, Potter." Kneeling down beside you, he placed his wand beneath your chin, guiding you to look at him.

"How did it feel, Potter? Did you like it? Would you like more?" You might have considered the ruby eyes that stared down into your emerald orbs to be beautiful if not for the malignant greed that prowled inside them. "Name me your Dark Lord and beg for my mercy. Plead with everything you have. Call my name and cry for reprieve, and I may grant your wish," he breathed in a hushed whisper. A part of you lept at the opportunity, terrified to be forced back into that dimension of pure agony. You parted your lips, but you gripped your wand at your side. Clenching your muscles, you gave everything to whip your wand at him. 

"Exp-"

"Crucio," the white-hot pain blanketed your body, sufficating your sense with tormenting pain. It was somehow worse than before, taking root inside your body. Wringing your soul with blazing hands. Hours or seconds, you couldn't tell, time ceased to exist, the only tangible existence inside this world was consuming pain that you never believed possible without death overcoming you. Death... The word sounded so sweet, tantalizing.

Then the blinding light dissipated, and you were back inside that graveyard. Your throat hurt worse than before, the air you desperately sucked in stinging the tender flesh. 

The night air felt colder against your now wet cheeks. Prying your moistened eyes open, Voldemort had disappeared from your side. It took a great effort to turn your head to the side, where you saw him pacing. The amusement was gone from his face, which was now pinched in puzzlement. You thought for a moment that you saw a similar look on Tom. A look of deep contemplation. It was then that you realized your hands were empty. 'My wand, where's my wand,' you thought desperately. Weaving your fingers through the grass at your side, you found it. Aches addled your body - your skin, muscles, bone, and soul, but still you forced yourself up from the ground. The arm you held your wand was quivering like static, but still your grip held firm.

The trophy glowed softly in a circle of light, attracting your gaze just as it had inside the maze. He stopped suddenly, and when his head whipped toward you, you flinched back, your courage corked in your throat.

"Imperio," he hissed, a look of annoyance furrowing his handsome features. Your mind was swept clean of all thoughts, your head completely hollow, becoming a bare sheet of paper. Beg was etched onto it with heavy ink, permanently dying the fibers. Get on your knees, and beg your lord for mercy. It sounded right for a moment, natural, like the passive impulse to breathe. Why hadn't you simply thought to do so before? But the more the ink soaked into the paper, the more it felt wrong.

No...

His eyes expanded along with his smile, his lips pulling back a satisfied, toothy leer. "You endured valiantly, dear Potter," he taunted, his voice cloying with faux sympathy. 

Beg.

No...

The ink continued to saturate the page, bleeding so heavily into the fibers that the words morphed into an illegible mess. 

Beg.

"But as you always knew, you could never oppose your Dark Lord-" 

"NO!" You screamed, your voice scouring your sore throat and ripping through the graveyard. The night air resettled, yet the stillness was now foreboding - as though a single breath may break it. Even the wind had halted, the bare trees as still as the petrified Death Eaters.

"No?" Voldemort whispered softly, the word barely touching your ear. He was a statue of placidity, but he spoke through clenched teeth, "Defiance is not a virtue, Potter. I suppose we need another lesson on obedience. I had always assumed the Cruciatus Curse was painful, but it seems that you've taken a fondness for it."

He rose his wand, but you were ready now.

"Crucio!" "Expelliarmus!"

The spells collided, and sparks of color exploded upon impact, lighting the air. Death Eaters turned subtly to each other, sparing glances, silently wondering what to do. Surprise boiled to rage inside Voldemort's chest. His lips pulled back into an angry sneer. He opened his mouth, but another voice spoke the first, a wand appearing in his peripheral vision, pointed toward you.

"Cruci-" Voldemort was faster, whipping his arm toward the Death Eater. A green blast collided with his body, which collapsed as soon as it touched. "SHE'S MINE!" he bellowed madly at the corpse, his voice shaking the air. Then he heard your voice plead in a desperate shout, "Accio!" and his sneer dropped. Whipping his head back to you, he witnesses just as your fingers latched onto the Portkey trophy, and his jaw parted as he began to scream, "(Y/N)!"

The spell he slung at you hit the spot you were standing.

Again the invisible hook around your waist manipulated your mass to the more pliable consistency of rubber as it was bent and stretched. But when you were thrown back onto the grass this time you felt so much relief that you hardly notice the sickness or soreness that ladened every inch of your being.

Rolling onto your back, you pried open your eyes, and a small smile built on your face when you saw that the sky was now filled with stars. You allowed yourself a second of peace to appreciate the soft grass beneath your aching body. The solace was violently shattered and the fragile smile that sat on your lips was pulled into a grimace as an excruciating pain cut into your forehead. It felt as though your skull was being split open, yet when your hands clutched desperately at the afflicted area, you were taken aback to feel that the skin was still intact. 

Orchestral music and a melding mass of voices touched your ears, yet you could barely register anything other than the writhing pain that seared into your scar. 

"(y/n)!" Hannah. That was Hannah's voice. "You found her?!" And Cedric's. It sounded distant. Were they far away, or was your brain having trouble holding onto their voices?

You vaguely felt yourself being plucked from the ground, held against someone. Peeling your hands from your face, you looked up to see Dumbledore looking down at you with concern deepening the lines that framed his features. Turning your gaze, you found the sea of faces that stared at you. Excitement quickly molted to worry when they took in the state of you, the exhaustive terror that haunted your eyes alone enough to entice a flurry of concerned murmurs.

"Are you hurt?" Dumbledore gently asked, regaining your attention. The events came back to you in a tide that flooded your eyes.

"He's- he's back," you croaked, your voice breaking. Dumbledore froze, understanding your vague statement instantly. Cornelius Fudge had shouldered his way to the front of the crowd just in time to hear you reiterate, "Voldemort's back." The breath you spoke the name beneath hit the crowd like a gale, causing a ripple as they all flinched at the mere sound of the name. "He's back," you whimpered, the realization sinking in as the trickle of tears turned to streams down your cheeks, raining from your chin. 

Dumbledore looked to you to Cornelious Fudge, who seemed confounded, his complexion as white as milk. Moody appeared at your side, taking you from Dumbledore's side. "I'll take her to the infirmary," he said hastily before latching onto your arm and pulling you through the crowd, which parted around you, as though your encounter with Voldemort could somehow contagiously spread to them. 

Inside the castle corridor, you held onto his overcoat in an effort to stay upright. The ache of your ankle was drowned by the radiating pain that still burrowed into your forehead, but your body registered the injury nevertheless, forcing you to limp.

"You said he was back- The Dark Lord is back?" Your heavy head bobbed like a buoy. "He never died. He has his body back, he made me duel him."

"You dueled him?" He pushed the door open, leading you inside. You slumped into the chair before the desk, not even noticing the multitude of locks on the door bolt shut as he closed it. Looking around, you finally registered that you hadn't been led to the infirmary. Strange tools stood on every dusty surface, and beside the wall sat a large trunk.

A snapping finger appeared in your vision, redrawing your attention. Moody hovered over you, a hand on each armrest. "You dueled the Dark Lord?" he repeated. It all sounded so silly when you heard it out loud. Ending the Triwizard Tournament by dueling the Lord Voldemort. Your leadened brain lagged, it took you a moment to say the simple word, "Yes." His eyes traced over you, clearly surprised by the lack of mortal injury. He then looked into your eye, noticing something familiar.

"Tasted the Cruciatus Curse did you?" His lips quirked in a disquieting smile, and his tongue flicked across his scarred lips. A presence danced across his eye the same as had Voldemort - that pure sadistic impulse. His fingers tightening around the armrests, he reorganized his thoughts, "Got his body back you said? At his peak strength again?" 

"I don't know," you said, blinking. Why was he asking you this? Why weren't you in the infirmary? You tried to stand, but he put a hand on your shoulder and forced you back down. His magic eye wandered to the door, peering cautiously through the wall. "Did he say anything about his most faithful servant??"

"He gave Wormtail a magic hand." His grip on your shoulder began to hurt as his fingers wrung into your skin, "No! Not that sorry excuse for a wizard that would rather play dead than stand by his Lord!" A smile began to creep across his face. "His faithful servant, who freed himself from Azkaban, who acted as his hands while he was unable, who gave him the gift of his most wanted enemy..." 

Your lips twitched, but no words came out. A traffic jam had formed in your head, stifling any thought. The answer was in your head, yet was shrouded by mist, made intangible. Who? 

He leaned in toward you, and spoke quietly, "I patrolled the outside of the maze, cursing every true obstacle that you would stumble on. After all, what would the Dark Lord have done if you were indisposed? I stunned Delacour when she passed by, and Imperiused Krum. Can you imagine, after all the work I had put in, how I felt when you fell? Mere meters away from the Portkey? Thankfully, Diggory was a bigger fool than I could have ever hoped." 

The information was coming too fast, everything, all of it was too much for your head; you felt like it would burst at the seam. Then you felt his wand press into your chest, pointed at your heart. "I don't know how you escaped him, but I know how much he longed to kill you." He suddenly wrapped his hand around his magic eye prosthetic and before your eyes Mad-Eye Moody melted away, replaced by a disheveled man.

"Who are you," you said, terrified, the wand still pressed into your skin.

"Both of our fathers' deaths ensured Lord Voldemort's rein," he told you, the smile rebuilding on his face as excitement percolated beneath his skin, "Can you imagine how pleased he will be when I deliver your lifeless body to his feet? Can you imagine how he'll praise me, reward me?"

The door was blasted open, and while you flinched back, the man fearlessly aimed his wand toward the doorway, but a light struck him first, sprawling him across the ground. Dumbledore stepped inside, Snape and McGonagall trailed in after him. Without speaking a word, Snape went straight to you while Dumbledore and McGonagall deal with the man, searching you over for any further damage that may have been afflicted by this mad man. For once you sought safety in the professor, allowing him to help you up, wrapping your hands around his robe and leaning against him. He did not rebuff this, instead snaking an arm across your frame, holding you tightly to his side. His wand was still held tight in his hands, and he glowered ruefully down at the man. "No! I have to kill her!" He bellowed madly, wiggling desperately within the restraints that had been placed on him.

"Severus, please take Miss Potter to the infirmary." Gladly, he pulled you from the room in an instant, while the man continued to scream out protests.

"Who was that?" You inquired meekly, your quiet voice filling the silent hall. 

"We know as much as you do." Snape's voice was strangely without its usual edge. He had expected you to stubbornly press the question as you always had, but you too surprised him by accepting the answer. You trusted Dumbledore, felt safe so long as he was around.

He stopped in front of the marble staircase, forcing you to pause as well. "You sprained your ankle, yes?"

"I think so." He sat you down on the stair step and knelt down, lifting your injured ankle with bemusing gentleness. He murmured an incantation beneath his breath, and your ankle glowed momentarily, a warm sprung from the inside of your bone and radiated out in a wave, replacing the pain. He stood up, and you did the same, putting pressure on it. 

He took your forearm without asking, looking over the cut that dragged down the middle. The entire arm and sleeve around it were stained with dried blood, the tissue around the cut a deep red. Without a second thought of the blood, he placed his thumb at the of top the cut, and murmuring a string of words, he slid it down the length of it. The skin sealed together behind the trail of his thumb, leaving only the dried blood as proof that the injury had even occurred.

"Thank you," you breathed, looking over your now intact arm before glancing back up at him, "I can go on my own now." Snape ignored you, grabbing your arm and escorting you the entire way. Even upon reaching the infirmary, he refused to part until Madam Pomfrey had retrieved the sleeping potion he recommended.

Only when he watched you drink the potion with his own eyes did he finally peel himself from your side. You stared at the door he left through, your hands coiled around the blanket that had been forcefully tucked over you. After everything that had happened, the last thought that inhabited your mind was that Snape capable of being gentle... Could be... kind... 

On his way back down the stairs, your trembling voice continued to relentlessly echo in his ears. "He's back." He had lied to you before, of course he had recognized Barty Crouch Jr. But you had gone through enough today, and one question would only lead to more. "He's back." It would be best if you slept, allowed at least a moment of peace before you knew what this truly meant. "He's back." How your life would be changed from now on. "He's back."

His fists coiled into tight balls by his side, his thin lips pressing further.

"Voldemort's back."

Chapter Text

Book five

        Beneath the bleary summer sun, the chains of the swings squeaked softly as they followed your dozy, doddering sway. Your fingers were wrapped loosely around them, the metal comfortably cooler than the balmy afternoon around you. Your downturn gaze was locked unseeingly on your trainers, your eyes resting on the frayed hole that exposed your sock. Your trousers matched, with several time-worn blemishes that turned the fabric that should be covering your knees into open mouths.

You had finally been given a real room by the Dursleys, but conversely, you were forced to spend more time outside the house, as Dulsey made sure to have her displeasure of losing her second room seen and heard at all times.

While the summer air was stale and stagnant, your thoughts raised like a gale through your head - despite all her attempts at making you feel like even more of an intrusive, unsightly weed than before, none involved the Dursleys. Even the volume of Dusley's blaring tantrums were tangential to the far more insidious silence of your single connection to the happenings of the wizarding world; the Daily Prophet.

There hadn't been a single mention of Voldemort in all of the Daily Prophets that you now hoarded. Why? Why hadn't Cornelius Fudge made a statement about the resurrection of the Dark lord? Hadn't Dumbledore raised the alarm of his return? Summer break had only started a week ago, what was going on in that world since your absence? Did no one truly care about the return of the most dangerous Dark Wizard to ever live, or did they simply not believe you? You swatted the thought away. Dumbledore believed you, and there was no wizard more revered than him. 

Yet still, it felt as though the only evidence of his resurrection was your memories and the gut-sinking dread that was imprinted into them with a branding iron. After everything that had happened around you last month, it was maddeningly frustrating to have to sit on the outskirts and simply wait. Merely a week at Privet Drive felt as though it lasted as long as a single semester at Hogwarts, and now with this hovering above your head, it was like every second had been slowed to a minute's length. 

You tried writing Hannah and Susan about it, but the ink you wrote with might as well have been invisible because they always ignored all mention of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. All questions like, "Have you heard anything about what the ministry is going to be doing about his return?" were answered by mundane statements such as, "The weather's been dreary lately, mum's given me the cold she had caught from dad, and her Pepper-Up Potions taste dreadful."

It was as though they were under the impression that acknowledging Voldemort is what was keeping him in existence. You had given up these interrogations after a handful of passive rebukes. 

Although his father also worked for the ministry, you never added any inquiries to your letters to Cedric. Any inclination you may have had to turn the questions to him was doused by the memory inside the infirmary the morning after the Triwizard Tournament finally came to an end. 

The sleeping potion had mercifully gifted you a dreamless sleep. Pale fingers of morning light trickled through the infirmary windows, gently coaxing you awake. When your eyes fluttered peacefully open, the first thing they spotted was Cedric's broad back resting beside you on the edge of the bed, his face buried in his hands. Cedric felt the mattress shift as you sat up, perking his head up and turning to you. His eyes were an irritated pink and lined by red rings, while his face was slick with tears, more racing down his cheeks. His brow was screwed together in a look of rueful reproach. He leaned forward, engulfing you inside his arms and pressing you against his chest. 

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," he breathed into the crown of your head, dampening your hair with his tears.

He had been under the impression that if he hadn't let go of the trophy, he could have protected you, and no amount of cajoling reassurances could strip that idea from his mind.

So instead of risking twisting that dagger of guilt that was lodged in his heart, you filled your letters with the same lighthearted chatter your friends were force-feeding you, never anything of true substance. In this time, you had become well acquainted with his family's owl, as he had sent you a letter nearly every other day.

If it was anyone but him, this might have been an annoyance. Yet, instead of shoving them beneath your bed as you had with the Daily Prophets, you kept these letters housed safely under the loose floorboard in the cupboard beneath the stairs.

Even if Voldemort was absent from the headlines, he was still ever present in your dreams, rotting them into nightmares. In a particularly terrifying one, Cedric fulfilled his greatest regret and kept his hand on that trophy, being dumped into the graveyard with you.

Where he would stay, forever. 

Those fantastical final weeks that passed within Hogwarts walls were a single blur of events, each entangled with the other like a knotted ball of string, causing a clog in your brain that mercifully contained the true enormity of the events you were subjected to. 

But with every day that passed, the past events that engulfed you like a torrential flood were trickled back into your head as black drops of condensed dread. Thoughts that would roll into your head like bristling storm clouds, raining fragments of memories over you. Those red eyes; rubies to your emeralds. Riddle's eyes were near black, reflecting his dark ambitions; whereas Voldemort's were permanently stained, saturated with the blood he had spilled.

His mere memory was a presence that gripped your entire mind in an iron fist, even the ghost of Voldemort's voice was dominating; deep, rhythmic, reverberating through your bones like a plucked guitar string.

"My mark..."

Your hand wandered to your forehead. It had become a habit of yours to absentmindedly trace the tips of your fingers across the jagged scar, just as he had. 

"No Dumbledore to protect you and no mother to die for you."

Your heart's calm stride picked up to a brisk jogging pace, the muscles in your throat cramping as you tried to reflectively swallow your feelings. The sun above was slowly consumed by a rogue wave of blackened clouds, casting a deep shadow over the forlorn playground.

"SHE'S MINE!"

Clamping your eyes shut, your locked knees halted your languid swaying. Even if the Daily Prophets said nothing, he was still out there. Walking, talking, plotting. You sat there as stiff as a boulder, your fingers now constricted around the chains, unaware of the growing chill that crept through the metal beneath your hand.

"(Y/N)!"

A harsh, shuddering shiver electrified your body, shaking you from your stupor. Your lashes fluttered, and you found they were damp, though your face was dry. Burdening tears that had yet to spill.

It was as if the inside of your head had spilled out, staining the world around you; the sunny day around you had decayed, a dreary, sheer black curtain now cast over the sky. It was only midday, yet it was nearly as dark as midnight. The balmy air had become colder as well, and it felt as though the temperature was only continuing to shrink as it became alive with brisk winds. 

The jarringness of the moody weather settled, and rubbing the goosebumped skin of your arms, you got up, lamenting that you couldn't conjure an umbrella. Hopefully, you could get back to the house before the heavy clouds could burst.

You found the sidewalk, but as soon as your feet touched the concrete, it was as though you had stepped through an invisible doorway; your surroundings suddenly felt wrong, almost insidious. The twittering birds that were hidden within the trees and the distant, near-constant buzzing of cars were snuffed out all in an instant - the background noises that melded so seamlessly into daily life that they had become peripheral had caused the silence to be deafening.

The clean, grassy scent of summer and the newly birthed wind that had just begun to stir up the air had vanished as well. It was as though you had stepped into a dimension that appeared identical, yet felt wrong. Unnatural. 

The realization that popped into your head birthed a brand new unease; magical.

Your hand fell into your trouser pocket, retrieving your wand. "Who's there!" You attempted to bolster your voice with feigned courage, but your nerves bled through instead, betraying your confident disguise. Peering over your shoulder cautiously, you spotted the hooded figure drenched in black that stood down the sidewalk too late - their wand was already pointed directly at you. Instincts propelled you to desperately shout out, "Expell-" but the Death Eater was faster, and the last you saw was the spell shooting toward you before darkness swallowed your consciousness.

The velvet darkness turned to a haze, and you could hear voices, distant, but growing closer, clearer. 

"Coward! You didn't even have your wand in your hand!" a woman's voice berated.

"I 'ad to search for it, I forgot which pocket it was in!" the man defended unconvincingly

"A coward and a liar!" 

A sharp, sour, pungent smell hit your senses, waving away the lingering fog like an odorous hand. 

"Bloody Dementors, what the bloody hell were Dementors doing 'ere..." the man's voice muttered. 

A third voice appeared, grippingly familiar. "She's coming to. Thank Merlin it was just a shunning jinx."

Your eyes fluttered open, and the first thing you saw was Mrs. Figg's face hovering over you, strands of her brittle hair pointed down toward you, framing her face like grey icicles. A relieved smile had creased her lined face further.

The world around you had returned to its natural order. Birds were singing, cars were humming, and the sun had reemerged, as overbearingly warm and bright as before. 

"Mrs. Figg...?" 

"Hello dear," she said in a gentle voice as she leaned back. You sat up, putting a hand on your head as you tried to parcel out what had happened. 'I was attacked... by...' Shifting your gaze, you saw a man with bright orange, stringing hair that spilled across his shoulders and forehead, the whites of his eyes a dull pink webbed with red veins and bordered by puffy discolored bags of flesh.

You turned for your wand, which had fallen a few feet from your body, and lunged for it before twisting back around and pointing it at him. 

"No one ever tell ya it's rude to point a wand at someone?" he griped, unperturbed.

"He's not the one who stunned you," the familiarity of the voice sparked your remembrance before you even twisted your head around to face him. Lupin was kneeling beside you, his attire even more ramshackle and threadbare than you remembered. He appeared as though he had aged five years in the two years since you had last seen him, sporting fresh lines framing his features and an extra peppering of grey throughout his hair. 

"You do deserve a jinx or two though, Mundungus," Mrs. Figg retorted. He bristled.

"I'll have you know I'm missin' out on a very lucrative business opportunity to be 'ere."

"And what good that's done us," she bit back, while Lupin asked you, "How are you feeling?" The side of your head panged and your shoulder ached dully, but otherwise, confusion dominated your being.

"What, what the hell happened?"

With a withering glance to Mundungus, Mrs. Figg answered for Lupin, "This wad of dirty cloths was meant to be watching you, but somehow didn't notice a Disillusionment Charm was cast."

"There were bloody Dementors!"

"The spell was cast before they arrived!"

He had to take a moment to mull an excuse up, "Well, it was a convincin' illusion, how was I s'pposed to tell!"

"I think you'd notice her disappearance if you were actually watching her like you were supposed to!" she huffed, and added in a mutter, "He was right to not trust you."

"Disillusionment Charm? Dementors??" you echoed dumbly, looking at both of them, your wand still hanging in the air, stiff as a statue. Mrs. Figg gave you a grim look.

"A spell was cast over you and a Death Eater and then a pair of Dementors appeared. Thankfully Remus was able to disperse the Dementors and dispelled the charm before you were seriously hurt."

"The aim was likely for the Dementors to distract us while that Death Eater attacked you, but thankfully the plan failed. I was, unfortunately, unable to catch them before they could Disapparate, however," Lupin lamented. Mundungus scratched his scraggly, orange, scruffy chin with a finger that was poking free from his tattered gloves in thought.

"Tha's quite odd, ain't it? Why'd you reckon they'd just stun 'er? If they had the chance why not-" 

"For Merlin's sake, Mundungus!" Mrs. Figg harped sharply. "What are you even still doing here! I can't Apparate and unlike you, Remus makes use of his wand! Go tell Dumbledore what happened! Go!" She raised her purse threateningly, and Mundungus reactively took a step back.

"A'right, a'right!" he said, holding his arms up defensively before disappearing with a ripping crack. Helpfully, Lupin took your arm, but you stood up without his assistance. 

"What about Dumbledore? And what are you doing here, Professor?" More questions burned your tongue, but instead you decided to simplify by asking, "What the hell is going on?" One second you were all alone, lamenting the frigid silence regarding Voldemort and now you were surrounded by people who were all clearly brustling with the information that had been kept from you.

Lupin replied coolly, "It'll all be explained in time. Right now it's clearly too dangerous for you to be here any longer, and we need to go now in case more Death Eaters show up."

"Go where?" Your frustration was showing through the edge in your voice, and though you assumed this too would be another unanswered question, for the first time, he smiled. 

Holding out his hand out, he said, "You'll see. Take my hand, it'll be fastest and safest to Apparate."

"I don't know how," you said hesitantly. "I know, we'll be Side-Along Apparating." Cautiously, you took his hand, hoping it wouldn't be as stomach-turning as traveling via Portkeys.

With a smirk, he added, "He's been clawing at the walls to see you again, you know." Before your newest question could be voiced, you disappeared with a crack.

Chapter Text

        Upon prying open your eyes - you had prepared yourself for the worst before Apparating for the first time, and felt fortunate to find your body undisturbed by the trip - you blinked them curiously as you found yourself now standing inside a foyer pathed by grimy black and grey (likely once white) tiles. A sickly orange light trickled from the rickety chandelier above your head; its arms were intricately scaled like snakes plated in bronze, though the metal was blemished heavily by oxidation, and their mouths opened to dust-tinted bulbs. 

A set of gas lamps, the same time-abused brass and similarly serpentine, clung to the walls adjacent to each other, trying their best to do their duty and spit out enough light to fill the space. The decaying wallpaper they sprouted from was decorated by faded gold swirls that swam stilly through an olive green backdrop; it must have once been considered handsome, though now the portions that weren't Doxy eaten and peeling were afflicted by the same grime that had claimed the tiling beneath your feet. 

Facing you at the end of the hall, a rich blue runner crawled down the stairs like a limp, dirty, fabric tongue - the entire staircase gave you the morbid visage of an enormous, unhinged jaw. Adding to your unease, sitting in front of the barrister was the stump of a severed troll's foot, umbrella handles macabrely popping out from the top. 

Your initial impression was that the primary residents of this house appeared to be the shadow and cobwebs that possessed every corner and nook. The air was thick and heavy with the musty odor of long-festering mildew and dust that were likely older than you - beneath that, however, you detected a scent that was faint, yet distinctly out of place; the homey aroma of cooking.

Voices reverberated softly through the walls, claiming your attention, "Is that them??" followed by a flurry of footsteps. Lupin put his hand on your shoulder and placed his finger to his lips before pointing it to the threadbare curtain that was draped among the gloomy shadows that rested against the wall. "Don't raise your voice," he warned cryptically. 

A door down the hall opened, and the first to emerge out of the doorway did so wand first. You recognized the rather memorable face immediately as your previous Defense teacher (though you had never actually shared a classroom with him) and, coupled with the wand pointed directly at you, felt a wave of disconcertment, as the last time you had seen that face, it had melted off like candle wax, revealing a Death Eater beneath.

Moody was just as cautious. "You make sure that she wasn't switched with a Death Eater?!" he barked softly in a gruff attempt at a whisper, but a short, plump woman with a head of soft red hair brushed him aside as she stepped out from behind him. "The poor girl has gone through enough, Alister!"

Turning her face to you, her demeanor instantly softened to butter. "Are you ok, dear? Does it hurt anywhere?" Your head still ached dully, but you replied, "No."

"This is Mrs. Weasley," Lupin politely introduced. She, however, was looking you over again, this time with a keener eye. Her brow pinched. 

"Goodness me, they ruined your clothing!" she hissed quietly. You were about to tell her they were simply old, but she spoke first, "I'll mend those up for you dear, don't worry," and with the wave of her wand, thread appeared within every gap of fabric, swaying through them like thin black worms wriggling through dirt, before sealing shut like a zipper.

Before you could thank her, the thumping of hurried footsteps that flew down the stairs stole your attention. Sirius stopped on the final two step, his chest expanding and falling softly as he caught his breath. You hardly recognized him at first, his face now cleanly shaven, save for a handsomely cropped mustache, and his hair brushed and trimmed, hovering just above his shoulders instead of resting against the small of his back. A neat suit replaced the grey, frayed Azkabhan robes, though it hung on his frame slightly, and the stress of the past eleven years was still engraved permanently across his face. 

When his eyes spotted you between the Mrs. Weasley, Moody, and Lupin, a wide smile cracked his face and he leaped over the last two steps, dashing down the hallway to you. He held his arms out as though he intended to hug you but instead placed his hands on your shoulders. He could hardly control the excitement that amplified his volume as he said, "(y/n)! It's so good to see you again! You have no idea how furious I was when I heard-"

"Later, Sirius. What she needs right now is to sit and rest." Mrs. Weasley took your hand and led you through the hall. "Some tea will help calm the nerves," she said kindly. Sirius and Lupin trailed after you while Moody cautiously kept his distance, wand still in hand.

The layers of dust and packed dirt cushioned your steps like a carpet. As you move through the hall, you saw that where any other house might have had pegs or hooks to hang your coat, there was instead a row of shrunken heads hanging from the wall. With an unsettling shiver, you realized from their shriveled ears and noses that they were house elves. 

Stepping through a doorway opposite the one Moody and Mrs. Weasley entered from, the grimy tiles were traded for thick slabs of granite, and judging by the long table that trailed down the length of the room and the assortment of chairs that lined it, you were in the dining room. Though it was just as glum, with the table scarred where the lacquer finish had scraped off and the rows of dishes that covered the china cabinet against the wall all the same shade of storm cloud silver, the light within succeeded where the hallway strained to beat back the darkness.

He appeared perfectly at home in this forsaken place, blending in so well that you almost hadn't noticed Snape, yet when you had, you found he was watching you. He was standing stiffly at the table, as though he was waiting for something. As soon as your eyes connected, Snape tore his away.

"Care for a spot of tea, Severus?" the woman asked kindly, making her way to the china cabinet. "No, thank you, Molly. I've business to attend to." And just as suddenly as you had spotted him, his black frame slipped past you like a breeze and disappeared through the door, never sparing a second glance. She rested her hands on her hips and sighed softly through her nose before grabbing a teacup.

"That man, can't imagine how he does it. Nor do I care to if I'm being honest." 

You looked to Sirius, who was loitering in the doorway, glowering into the hall Snape had vanished to. "What's Snape doing here??" 

"This is the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, dear," she explained for him, placing the cup on the table. Tipping her wand over the cup, a stream of steaming tea flowed from the tip. A splash of milk followed the amber liquid, and with a shake, two sugar cubes plopped out. 

Again, the answers you were given only begot further questions. The chair you pulled out creaked concerningly beneath you as you sat down. "What's the Order of the Phoenix?" Sirius sat in the chair beside you, threading his fingers in front of him.

"At the beginning of the first Wizarding War, Dumbledore created an organization to combat Volde-"

"He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named! Please, Sirius!" 

"Yes, sorry."

"Dumbledore created it?" you asked as Moody and Lupin filed in, taking their own seats.

"This is the second incarnation technically. Your parents were members of the first one," Lupin informed you with a smile. 

You whipped your face to Lupin. "Really??"

"Of course. Ah, you should have seen us, me and your father. Our backs together, our wands drawn." Sirius squared his shoulders and whipped his arm out, poising his fingers as though he was holding an invisible wand, his eyes focused to an adversary only he could see. 

Moody grunted, and the fidgety blue iris of his magic eye disappeared to peer behind him. He crossed his arm on the table in front of him and hunched over, seeming to have forgotten about the wand still in his scarred, knotted hand. "Like rats, Death Eater's are. Cowardly hunkered inside every wall and shadow."

Lupin was peering into his own memories, though they were much more reserved, with a tinge of lamenting. "Back then, no one but Dumbledore was concerned about You-Know-Who. Not until it was too late and he already had his hooks in the ministry. Unfortunately, it seems that they haven't bothered learning from history." 

Sirius put his hand on his old friends shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeezing as he flashed him a smirking grin that exhumed feisty confidence. "If history's repeating itself, so will our victory against him."

He looked to you suddenly, "After all, last time we didn't have-"

You were on the edge of your seat, but your ever swelling avidity was popped when Mrs. Weasley spoke over him in an unnecessarily loud voice, "Oh, would you look at the time." She was looking up at a strange clock that hung on the wall - one hand was zig-zagged, one so long it touched the numbers, and another was whizzed lapse around the others. You were lost as to how it functioned, but she read it fluently with only a glance, "The meeting will be starting soon. Arthur and Bill should be home any minute now." 

Sirius stood up, "I'll show you to your room. You can bring the tea if you like." You left the cup of tea (Moody helped himself to it instead, finally putting his wand to use to add a few more sugar cubes) and followed him up the staircase, which pitifully groaned its protests each step of the way. 

He led you down the hall to the last door. After placing his hand on the silver doorknob, he paused, saying, "I was still getting the room ready for you when you arrived, I hope you don't mind it."

The first thing that caught your eye within the room was the Slytherin-green snake nestled in the middle of a silver plaque. It hung like a centerpiece on the wall, which was smothered by pin-striped wallpaper that bubbled and sagged sadly in the corners. On the neighboring wall was a beautifully carved wooden frame that housed a mirror that was rendered useless by a fogging concoction of dirt and dust. A forlorn chair was tucked in the corner beside the dresser, which matched the molding of the feet and headboard.

The bed laid in the center of the room, the sheets tucked neatly over the mattress, the pillows placed at the head, yet there was a large, rectangular imprint in the dust that carpeted the room, leading you to believe the bed frame was once off-center, and the blankets previously sprawled across the floor.

As you stepped inside, he said, "I tried to take that damn plaque down but like everything else its stuck to the bloody wall. I know it's still a bit messy, but, well, I had only just heard that you would be staying, and all of the other rooms were taken..." Sirius acknowledged the room in words only, preferring to avoid its sight by resting his eyes on the door frame. 

"This place hasn't been so lively since I was a kid. Though of course back then it was filled by insufferable snobs." 

"This is your house?" He reluctantly paused his inspection of the door frame, glancing back at you. As soon as his eyes met with your own, the room around you became peripheral, and a wave of sentimentality rippled across his face as some hole within him seemed to fill again. 

"Parent's house. Though it is mine now, I suppose. I offered it to Dumbledore for the Order." A sigh drifted relaxingly past his nose. "Hopefully soon it'll actually feel... a little bit like a home now." It would be the first time that day that you smiled, sparked by the notion that you may both finally find a real home, a real family in each other.

"Me too."

Sunny contentment stretched his smile further, deepening the creases that lined his eyes endearingly, and shone through his black eyes even in the dark room. He took a step forward and wrapped his arms around you, resting his cheek against the top of your head. Sirius tightened his grip when he felt you slide your arms around his back. 

Your nose pressed against his blazer, and you unabashedly took in a lung full of his familiar, soothing scent. Familial warmth filled your heart, bleeding into your veins a happiness that almost hurt. "I thought I'd have to wait all summer to see you again." 

"I thought the same. I suppose the Death Eater did us both a favor, then. It's so good to see you again." Within Sirius's embrace, the heavy stress that had saturated the fibers of your being evaporated like a muddy puddle beneath the warmth of a picturesque sky. You could have stayed like this forever, suspended in time, but the dull sound of the procession of footsteps and hushed chattering downstairs pulled Sirius away. 

"That must be the start of them. I should get back downstairs. Oh, Tonks and Mundungus have gone off for your things. They should be back soon enough," he informed you before stepping into the hallway. 

"Will you come get me when the meeting starts?" you asked, but your hopes shank along with his smile. He rubbed the back of his neck and threw his gaze back to the dust-tinted floor, fleeing from the betrayal in your eyes that said, "Not you too."

"You must be a member to take part in the meetings."

The same irritation sprung back up your throat like bile. "So make me a member."

"Only adults are allowed to be a member of the Order. You have to be seventeen to join." 

"How is that fair! I'm the one he's hunting! I faced him only a handful of weeks ago!" You allowed your anger to seep into your voice, no longer tapering the volume for the convivence of those around you. The murmuring conversation downstairs disappeared, and you took some satisfaction in the feeling that you were finally being heard.

Sirius kept his own tone even. "I'm well aware of what happened. This is Dumbledore's rule. Not mine. I believe you have every right to be in that meeting, but-" The crease between his brow deepened - not with irritation or sadness, but confusion. He lifted his vision, finally looking into the room. "Do you two mind? How long have you seen in here?"

You turned around to see whoever it was he was speaking to, but found nothing. You were just about to ask when you finally saw them; stood side by side, four clean footprints were visible in the dusty floor.

Feet suddenly filled in the empty space, along with the twins they were attached to. George and Fred lowered their hands, which you noticed were clutching small top hats embellished with a single red feather each. "Since we heard she was coming. Didn't, erm, mean to spy on your moment earlier." 

Fred slung an arm around your shoulder. "It's alright, (y/n), they aren't letting us in on the meetings either."

The sound of front door below closing and another series of footsteps retracted his attention, and with a sigh, Sirius gave you a single apologetic look before disappearing through the doorway. 

Miffed, you plopped on the bed, your arms crossed tightly across your chest. The twins sat down beside you. The indignant heat that percolated through your chest melded seamlessly with the pain radiated throughout your forehead, sprouting angry tears to dew the corners of your eyes. 

"It's not fair," was all you could say.

"It's not, but we've been making it even by eavesdropping on the meeting." 

"How?"

"Extendible Ear. We'd use one now, but mum nicked our last one."

"Perfect," you spat bitterly. 

"We can, however, offer a condolence in the form of information we've already gathered so far through our espionage."

Stubbornly, you wanted to tell them you didn't care, that it didn't matter, but your hunger for even a crumb of information was voracious, so, with tapered expectations, you begrudgingly asked, "Like what?"

George folded his arms importantly, "like the fact that they've been keeping tabs on known Death Eaters in the ministry." Your pouty face fell dumbly with shock.

"There are Death Eaters in the ministry??"

"Not just there, but Hogwarts as well. Snape is one of them." Your jaw dropped, but Fred quickly corrected, "Pretending to be. A game of spy for Dumbledore." 

"He plays the part well enough," George quipped darkly. "Might be his acting as a Death Eater comes too naturally. He's been itching for the Defense position every year it's open, after all." 

The ring of Death Eaters reappeared in your mind's eye, and you wondered for a moment if one of those hoods could have hidden your Potions professor - but the spark of thought was snuffed out by the recollection of his thumb gliding gently down your forearm, paying no heed to the blood that was caked onto the skin, healing the wound that Pettigrew had created. 

Yet every other time you were in his presence you were met with either vitriol or, if you were lucky, total apathy. He acted the latter in the dining room hardly ten minutes ago.

Fred's voice pulled you from your thoughts, "Speaking of, we've already got a new Defense teacher."

"They can't possibly top last year - he was a literal madman wearing someone else's face," you said, your nose scrunching at the recollection.

"I wouldn't speak so soon if I were you. Apparently, it's some witch from the ministry. Apart of the something justice or law whatever council."

"Going to be buckets of fun, then," you said sarcastically, though George and Fred traded a grin.

"We're up for the challenge, personally."

Your aching head and boiling indignance was forgotten as the three of you conversed; you traded your harrowing story with their regalement of the innumerable hazards and curses that infested this house when they first stepped into it.

You appreciated their company, even more, when you found yourself alone in a bed that bumped every now and then, stifling an already elusive sleep. Tracing your fingers across the scar, which curiously still throbbed terribly despite hours having passed since you knocked it against the sidewalk, you closed your eyes and bundled the blanket up to your chin.

When sleep finally came, it swept you up in a red tide of anger and pain, infecting your dreams.

Chapter Text

        The hallway was painted black with shadows, spilling from the mass of darkness that created a door in front of you. As though pulled by an invisible string, you continued forward, all of your focus transfixed to the hidden end of the hallway. There was something there, something that you longed for so deeply that it hurt - and the only cure to this pain was whatever laid ahead.

Frustratingly, the night drenched walls around you and the doors and blackened paintings that adorned them seemed to looped, and the opaque darkness blocked any view of this prize. Your feet might as well be fused to the ground with all the progress you were making.

Suddenly, a familiar "hoot" came from the end of the hallway.

"Hedwig?" Was that who you wanted?

"Hoot!" The hallway disappeared, and when you actually opened your eyes, you saw only Hedwig stationed on top of the armoire. 

"Hoot," she said again, this time with contentment as she had finally coaxed you awake. You sat up and rubbed the sleep from your eyes with the heel of your hand. 

"Morning to you too." Sliding your legs out, you sat at the edge of the bed and blinked your tired eyes, seeing your trunk in the corner of the room. Placing your feet on the ground, your toes curled in shock of the chill that had soaked into the floor. Looking down, the sight of the dark hard wood pulled at the recollection of the dream. Like morning mist, it was impossible to hold, only dispersing and dissolving as you attempted to grasp it. What lingered was the feeling of it. The frustration quenchless, the fixation blinding. You were glad Hedwig had woken you up from it.

Kneeling down in front of you trunk, you opened it up and rummaged through the articles of clothing and old school supplies. Hedwig had known what you were looking for and eagerly flew down onto your shoulder just as you pulled out a few loose owl treats. 

She flew back to the armoire and tucked into her breakfast as you left to do the same. With no windows, early morning in the Black manor was just as dimly lit as the late afternoon you had entered.

Your hand slid down the staircase railing, your fingers feeling the occasional nicks in the wood. Stepping off the last step, you took in a deep, lung full of dusty air before unleashing a breathy yawn. Your throat was suddenly corked as you heard the sharp sound of a curtain sliding and your heart nearly stopped when a long, piercing scream ripped through the hall.

"INTRUDER!" 

The threadbare curtain had been flung aside, revealing the portrait of a sallow, austere woman beneath. Her face was mashed into a sneer of disgust and contempt, her black eyes baring down at you as though she was attempting to burn you from existence with the heat of her glare. "Filthy dirty spawn of a blood traitor! How dare you defile the halls of my noble and pure fathers with your VILE existence! Vermin! Dirt! Filth! Begone from-"

The door to the dining room slammed open, bouncing off the wall. Sirius strode over to the painting, almost the spitting image of the woman as anger contorted his features. 

"SHUT UP YOU BELIGERENT OLD HAG!" He wrapped his fists around the curtain, but it wouldn't budge. She glowered down at him, her face twisting with pure odious loathing.

"YYOOOUUUUUUU!! ABOMINATION! TAINTED REMNANT OF MY OWN FLESH! BEFOULED WASTE OF-" 

"SHUT! UP!" he screamed back, burying her voice with his own. Putting his foot forward, he bent his knees and forced his entire weight against the curtain, finally sliding it shut again and extinguishing the howling of the woman. He held that position for a moment, his fists wound tightly around the curtain, his black hair haphazardly draped across his face, a sneer still molding his lips. Deep, collecting breaths expanded his chest before he straightened his posture, looking over at you.

"Good morning," he said, a charming, lopsided grin now lifting his face.

"Quite the good morning..." 

His smile turned more apologetic. "Mrs. Weasley's making breakfast. Come, come." He waved you into the dining room, though your eyes were still glued to the curtain as you pass it. He pulled out a chair and sat down. You followed suit. "Sorry about my dear sweet mother."

"That's your mother?" you asked, baffled.

"I share your feelings toward that knowledge, trust me. You can't imagine how horrible she was when she was alive. I've tried every spell in the book but seems she's stuck that portrait on with a permanent sticking charm."

Mrs. Weasley glided through the door that connected the kitchen and the dining room with a troupe of plates marching through the air behind her. "Oh (y/n)! Good morning." The plates fanned out across the table. Two chipped teacups settled themselves in front of you and Sirius. "Tea or coffee, dear?" 

"Coffee please, thank you." A marching precession of a french press, bowl of sugar cubes, and a small pitcher of creamer drifted over, tipped over your cup one after the other, and then tottered through the air to Sirius. As she sat down in front of you, most of the dishes slid toward you, like an edible vanguard. You grabbed a pastry. 

"How did you sleep, (y/n)- WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT THOSE HATS!" You jumped at her voice before twisting around to see what had earned her ire - again, the twins appeared out of seemingly thin air as they took off their hats. "To be more conspicuous so we blend in perfectly?"

"Enough snark, or you'll be cleaning the downstairs toilet today," she warned, zipping their lips. They took their seats along the line, grabbing some choice plates and bringing them along. Fred pulled out a notepad and a pencil while George picked the best pieces and filled both of their plates. Mrs. Weasley huffed at them, "You should be focusing on your studies, not these trinkets."

"For what? A job at the ministry? Look at those clowns. We're putting our talents to use, thank you very much."

Mrs. Weasley seemed unconvinced, but when she opened her mouth, George quickly spoke her words for her, in a rather impressive impression, "Your talents are better used for something stable and safe."

"We won't be safe or stable when we're driven mad inside an office."

Before Mrs. Weasley could retort, Ginny hobbled in, visibly sluggish from sleep. Her usual sleek hair was ravished by her pillow, tangled and chaotic like the branches of a bare bush. "That old woman's voice shakes the house," she commented as she  pulled out a rickety chair and sat down. 

"Sorry about that, didn't mean to wake you," you confessed. You realized that you hadn't spoken to her since the end of second year - her first year. You just saw her in the corridor every now and then, her red hair sticking out in the mass of black cloaks. She looked at you shyly and smiled. "It's alright, you're not the one that stuck her to the wall." Her comment was punctuated by a lamenting sigh from Sirius.

"Even in her death that woman still torments me," he added before a spoonful of eggs. 

Sirius was with Mrs. Weasley in the study dealing with a possible boggart while you and Ginny were in the drawing room. You were sweeping the carpet of dust and dirt off the floor, while she walked around with a rag, wiping down surfaces. She had come prepared, with a tea towel over her hair and a book in hand; Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests that Mrs. Weasley had given her, which now sat abandoned on the side table. The cover's eyes followed you both as you passed by, smiling brightly when you came close, though neither of you paid it a glance.

Waltzing past the china cabinet, you paused your sweeping to peer through the locked glass door. Sirius had said he would have to find a counter-curse to unlock it, though knowing the proclivities of his family, it was likely safest to leave it that way for now.

Your eyes swept across the rows of shelves, pausing every now and then on their macabre contents; a crystal vial that was clouded by the invasive dust, a mummified finger with an onyx ring, and a dagger with runes that appeared legible, yet fuzzy. The longer you tried to squint and read them the heavier your head felt.

Ginny groaned miserably, enticing you to look back. "By the time we've finished cleaning this house school'll have started. What a summer vacation."  

'This is how I always spend my summers,' you wanted to say. Instead, you asked, "What electives did you pick?"

"Magic Theory and Divination- Ah!" She had brushed her rag across a tapestry, stirring loose a hidden Doxy. Just like Newt Scamander sketches, the Doxy possessed a deceivingly dainty body with translucent, reeded wings that shone in the grimy light the chandelier allowed, and barbed with clawed fingers and a gruesome smile full of needle teeth.

"Stupefy!" you yelled, swapping your broom for your wand. The tricky creature deftly dodged the spell. Ginny had found her own, and together the two of you had your wands aimed, shooting pale blue bolts that whizzed past its flighty frame. One stray shot struck a vase, shaking it tremulously before freezing it in place.

With all of its attention glued to your assault, the Doxy had flown right into the freezing cloud of mist that Fred had sprayed in its path before falling like a rock. Putting the can of Doxycide into his back pocket, he reached down and plucked the stiffened Doxy off the ground, casually dusting it off.

"When we heard you scream I hoped someone sprung one of the gruesome curses that Sirius talks about."

"Sorry to disappoint," Ginny retorted. George opened the tweed sack in his hands and Fred tossed the Doxy inside. "Thank you very much."

"What are you doing with those?"

He perked a brow. "Its best you have plausible deniability in case mum finds out."

"Anyone got a bite?" George asked, holding up the bottle of Doxy antidote. After shaking your heads no, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the twins had sauntered away to conduct their own curious business.

Sliding your wand back into your pocket, you turned back to Ginny. "You know, if your ever cutting it close for Divination, just go to the third floor and use the door in front of the tapestry of Barnibus - you know, the guy that's getting tussled by trolls in pink tutu's - its a shortcut to the classroom. Usually," you corrected.

"Usually?"

"It almost always let me skip four floors, but the last time it was... different. It wasn't just a doorway, but was a whole room. With books," you said cryptically, trying to understand it yourself. Maybe alternating rooms?

She tilted her head curiously, and then grinned adventurously. "I'll keep an eye out for this roulette room. Maybe it'll be something brand new when I open it."

Feeling as though the dirt you had swept up simply relocated from the floor to your skin, you slipped into the bathroom with an armful of fresh clothing. You were immensely relieved to see that it had already been scoured. The mirror was an opaque grey except for a tiny circle someone must have created to see. The sink was already black, making it hard to see dirt, but it seemed clean enough. The shower curtain was also relatively clean, what were once horrid stains now benign white blotches, magically bleached out, and the tub itself was a clean black porcelain.

Turning the shower tap, the water sputtered out in a hail of soupy black water that ran thinner as it flowed, before shifting brown, and finally running clear. The temperature was tepid at best. You grabbed the bar of soap and scoured yourself. With no shampoo in sight, you made due and lathered the soap in your hands before massaging them through your scalp. You left the shower as soon as you could, using your wand as a blow dryer for your body before slipping on the fresh clothes. You kept the wand to your hair, allowing the hot air to waft through your hair as you went back to your room.

"Pst," you heard over the sound of the air on your ears on the way to your room. Stopping, your dipped your wand down and saw two identical faces peering from the crack in the open door. They had the same mischievous smile that was equal parts contagious and suspicious.

"Want a sweet?" George whispered. A hand slipped through the gap in the door, an open palm with a small blue ball inside it. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

"What is it?" you asked, sure that they were keeping their voices low for a reason. They exchanged a look and sighed. "Our test subjects keep getting wise."

"It's a Burping Bubbles Babbleberry Ball. Our newest creation."

To their delight, your chary was giving way to curiosity. "What does it do?"

"Just as its name suggests. Burping bubbles."

"But Babbleberries give you a terrible stammer if you eat it."

George gave Fred a look, mumbling, "She's well read on her berries..."

"At the moment, we consider that a feature. And it goes away after an hour anyways," Fred told you confidently.

The front door opened and closed, and footsteps could be heard downstairs, coaxing the twins out of their room. "Get the extendable ear!" Fred told George, who had already dived back into the room before he could finish the sentence. You watched him rummage through the packed closet, small unfinished projects falling around as he pulled out a flesh colored string, seeing an ear come out attached to the end. 

"Mum may have taken our last one, but she didn't take our wands," Fred said exuberantly. All too happily, you huddled with them at the base of the stairs. George slowly threaded it through the balusters and down the wall til it hovered just at the bottom of the door, and through the other end you could hear voices. The meeting had hardly started, yet it there were already heated words being traded.

"-being asinine." It was Snape. Though right now his hissing voice had an edge that could cut. 

"She should know!" And Sirius. Your heart soared at his petition for you, immediately gathering the context for the conversation.

"By all means, play with your own life, but do not assume to do the same to others."

"Severus is right," Moody's unmistakable gravely voice said, "we shouldn't-"

You nearly leapt from your skin when you heard the wood behind you creak. All three of you whipped your heads back - Fred protectively holding the ear to his chest - to see Ginny. She quickly knelt down beside Fred to hear.

He pulled it away from his chest, and the first thing you hear was the tail end of a sentence, but it was enough to dim your jubilance as you heard Lupin say "-too young."

"(y/n) has gone through more than most of us," an unfamiliar deep, reverberating voice replied. 

"Which is why we should protect her," Mrs. Weasley retorted. Your fists balled at your side. 

"She doesn't want to be protected! She wants to fight!" 

"She's a child, Sirius!"

"James-"

"She isn't James!" Lupin shouted, his voice penetrating the door. A palpable silence followed, creating an awkward air that could be felt both upstairs and downstairs. 

A woman's voice quipped in an attempt to defuse the tension, "no more guard duty will be a relief."

Anger calloused to bitterness. You didn't feel like hearing the rest of the meeting, yet were still tied to the ear regardless. The topic, however, seemed to have been dropped as they moved onto duller subjects. When the meeting was adjourned and the twins had pulled back their magical device, you watched the members filter out. A tall, stocky man with a round hat glanced up the stairs sparing the eavesdroppers a smile and a nod before making his way to the doorway. A small girl appeared after him, following his attention, and smiled brightly up at you, giving you a wave as she walked, and managing to trip on her own feet. She grabbed the curtain to catch herself, and succeeded, but opened up Mrs. Black to the world.

"Out! Leave this sacred home! Your foul stench-" Hands clasped over your ears, you slunk off to your room.

You only left the room when you were asked to assist with dinner. Abjointed to the dining room was the kitchen, a square room that was lined by a rough stone wall that matched the grey slabbed floor. The room was heated by a cast iron cauldron that sat snug within the open hearth. You stood in front of one of the two counters that were attached to the wall, rows of pots and pans hanging in front of you. You were chopping vegetables while Mrs. Weasley was tending to the bubbling cauldron. Mr. Weasley was looking over your shoulder, himself the absent conductor to his own cutting board of meat. 

"Muggles must be very precise to not cut their hands!" After meeting Arthur Weasley you were met with many comments like these, all meant as good willed praise yet many left an unintended aftertaste of condescension. Regardless, you kept a smile and replied as patiently as possible.

"Sometimes they do."

"And then you use a 'band-ade', correct?" he asked genuinely, his pronunciation elementary.

"After washing the cut, yeah."

"And you wash it with sope, right?"

"Dad, Sirius needs you," said Ginny, standing in the doorway. The knife rested on the cutting board as he walked out the room. Ginny stepped inside and gathered a big stack of bowls with one hand, balancing as she grabbed the cutlery with the other. She gave you a smile and a wink, and you internally thanked her. 

Inside the dining room, the perpetual smell of stale dust that suffocated the decrepit house was replaced by the homey aroma of the meal in front of you, and the cold air now hummed with conversation. The dishes were unlike the banquets you had enjoyed in the Great Hall, without the hundreds of years of practiced and perfected recipes crafted by the kitchen house elves, yet nothing you ate left you wanting. Maybe it was the environment, seasoned by the small, intimate audience.

You were glad to see that Snape hadn't returned for dinner, and even more pleased to see that Tonks had. To the amusement of Ginny and yourself, she had her two index fingers morphed into the shape and color of a knife and fork, and was pretending to cut and eat her stew with them.

"Kreacher's been stealing again, trying to take the things we're throwing out. Found a bunch in his little nest," was the only news Sirius had to share. He and Lupin hadn't exchanged more than courtesies since the meeting, never meeting each other's eyes. George, Fred, Ginny, yourself, and Tonks sat on one end of the table; the latter was currently stretching her ears into the size and shape of a house elves'. At the other end of the table Bill, Charles, Lupin, and Mr. Weasley were discussing giants in hushed tones.

Sirius sat in the middle, silently staring at his bowl between spoonfuls, left out of both sides.

He lifted his head and peered down the table. A smile now built on his otherwise listless face as he leaned forward, his arms crossed on the table as he asked, "so (y/n), tell me about what happened with the Death Eater. Did you see Dementors as well?? Spare no detail!"

"This is hardly dinner talk!" Mrs. Weasley chastised. Sirius unravelled his arms and slumped in his chair. He returned his attention to his stew, idly stirring it. A surge of sadness struck you as you watched him deflate.

"I didn't really get to see either of them," you said, but he didn't look up at you, simply saying to his bowl, "I would love to face off with either, or better yet both. Something to liven things up, let me stretch my legs."

"Death would do the opposite of that. Just be thankful your safe," Mrs. Weasley said. Dessert plates replaced the bowls, and platters were being traded across the table as knives and forks sunk into slices of pie. 

You glanced toward Sirius every now and then, watching as he prodded his dessert around on the plate. You looked to Ginny, and said, "How about starting an order within the Order?"

"The Phoenix Of The Order Of The Phoenix," she suggested, enticing laughter to ripple across the table. Looking back to Sirius, you finally saw a smile on his face.

The joke seemed to repark his determination, as he asked, "You know, you never asked anything about Voldemort? You're not curious?" The clatter of knifes and forks and buzz of floating conversation were all halted by the utterance of his name. As if doused by a bucket of ice water, the room fell deafeningly silent as the air was sucked from everyone's lungs.

You and Sirius alone were unaffected by the power of his name. Dropping your utensils, you exclaimed, "Of course I am! I've been waiting ever since school ended to hear a single thing about him but nobody has anything to say!"

"She's doesn't need to know," Lupin piped up from down the table, acting like you had never said a thing. Mrs Weasley nodded approvingly, while Sirius finally looked at Lupin. 

"If she wants to know, then she deserves to know."

George jumped in, nearly out of his seat with excitement. "We've got questions too! Loads of them!"

"Are you forgetting Dumbledore's orders? Not to tell her more than she needs to know," Lupin's voice was growing an edge, and Sirius matched it. "And I don't intend to tell her more than she needs to know, Remus, but she's seen Voldemort come back. She was encircled by his Death Eaters. This very much involves her." 

"Can we please not use that name at the dinner table!" Mrs. Weasley said, heavily putting her fork and knife flat on the table.

"That's right! This involves me! I've faced him before! And I've already heard bits and pieces so you might as well tell me the rest," you confessed, a small echo to Sirius. He flew an arm toward you, "see?"

Mrs. Weasley threw her daggerous glare at the twins. "So this is your faults!"

"Hey, we're curious too! Being trapped in dingy house all day - no offense Sirius, mate - and having you keep all the interesting things to yourselves! It's downright selfish!" George reasoned fiercely, Fred nodding along. Ginny was on the edge of her seat, rooting silently for your team. Tonks was eating her pie like she was watching a gripping tv program.

Lupin replied, "You two are under the discretion of your mother and father-"

"We're wizards of age!" Fred cut in, with Mrs Weasley hot on his heels, "And still my children!"

"-but (y/n) is different." Lupin turned back to Sirius. "What a teenage girl wants is not what's best for her-" Sirius flared, standing up abruptly, the back of his knees knocking his chair back a pace with a clatter. "I am her godfather! I know what's best for her! She wants to be involved in this!"

Lupin wasn't provoked by the outburst, and instead said calmly, "what she doesn't know can't hurt her, but what she could learn might." Sirius was silent for a moment, his mouth pressed into a thin line, as if he was arresting the words on his tongue. His eyes broke from Lupin's, scanning across the table before he swallowed his anger. 

Licking his lips, he stared down at his half eaten slice of pie as he said through a polite, reserved smile, "My apologies. I didn't invite you all here just to ruin your dessert. I suppose the cabin fever has begun to set in." A few chuckles rippled across the table, easing the atmosphere. "My eyes were bigger than my stomach, it appears. It was a pleasure to have you over, Tonks, Charles, Bill," he nodded politely to each before making his leave, disappearing through the dining room door. 

Everyone tried to mend the comfortable atmosphere that existed only a few minutes prior, but were left unable. Even Tonks skilled antics had become light-hearted. You kept your attention to yourself, adopting Sirius's listless mien as you pushed your food around your plate. Lupin glanced down the table every now and then, seeming as though he wanted to say something, yet was unable. 

Peeling yourself from the chair, you made your way back up the stairs early, where you stopped when you saw a creature you had only ever seen before in Susan's tent. This one was much thinner, however, with knobby elbows and knees that protruded from spindly arms and legs. Its skin was a waxen, stony grey, and hung off its body like an oversized sheet, while its ears that were large and sagged at the ends of its head like an angry cat. The creature's nose was squat and pushed up, making it look like it had slept directly on it. In its gangly arms was a silver pot.

"Hello," you greeted gawkily.

Unlike the Bones' house elf, which disappeared in fright before you could say a word, this one cringed at you as though you had called it an expletive, muttering to itself, "another vile blood traitor, they're popping out from the floorboards, scum dirtying the most noble and ancient house with their nasty presence. First, the horrible disgraced Master returns, and then those noisy unnatural twins and their wretched blood traitor family follow with the werewolves and thieves. Now a new one appears, trying to talk to Kreacher as though he's a friend. Cursed blood, now cursing poor Kreacher. When will it end, Mistress? Oh, what would Master and Mistress say... My poor Mistress... poor Kreacher stuck in a house with such..." his voice disappeared along with his frame as he continued down the hall.

(A/N) - Random nerdy tid bit, but I looked up if Metamorphmagus could change your bodies to appear like inorganic objects, and the closest answer I found (after a five minute sim of the wiki) was that Dumbledore wrote an article about whether or not they could completely disappear, which seems to imply they can? 

Also, since they're technically in a wizarding household and not even to mention all the protections, Harry, Hermione, and Ron could have been using magic the entire time there. Can't remember if they did, but they could. 

Chapter Text

        It had taken three cans of Doxicide, a mountain of rags, and all the precious months of summer break to rein in the manor. All eavesdropping attempts ended after the explosive events of the dinner with a charm Mrs. Weasley placed on the dining room door, greedily hoarding all of the secrets among only those inside. Still, you often sat among the shadows at the top of the stairs, staring wistfully through the balusters at the Order members filing through doors.

Tonks frequently stayed after to help clean, but her assistance only caused the mission to drag on longer. While her heart was always in the right place, her body never was. Like a leaf on the wind, Mundungus often drifted in and out as he pleased, though his blood-streaked eyes rarely saw anything other than whatever valuable was pocket-sized or he deemed himself able to lift.

After a few weeks of cajoling, you and Ginny had finally tried the twin's Burping Bubbles Babbleberry Ball (just before bed, so when you awoke your stammer would be shaved away by the hours). You felt the candy fizzling in your stomach before the first torrent surged up your throat, and together you quickly filled the room with belched bubbles that smelled sweetly of Babbleberry when popped. They had also gulled you into testing out their more experimental but promising venture; Skiving Snackboxes. Ginny was wiser around food that had been alone with George and Fred than yourself, and for good reason, as this sweet proved far less amusing when the jets of blood that had squirted from your nose and splattered across the floor and walls. All wands had to be drawn to clear all traces of the ghastly mess.

At the beginning of your stay, you and Sirius had become inseparable (he would call you whenever he found a cursed object to demonstrate how to dispell it, and once you both tackled a Boggart that was residing in a patchy fur coat in the closet) but as the days neared your leave, he had become increasingly withdrawn and sullen. 

At the moment, you were sliding into the dining room, planning to pilfer the kitchen for a snack. Last night had been dirigible plum pie, which you figured would be just as good cold as hot. The Order's latest meeting had ended earlier that afternoon, but the chairs in the dining room were still left how they were, haphazardly pushed out and scattered around the table. Among the dozen empty tea cups and their saucers, a scroll had been left on the table, half unraveled.

You took a cautious look over your shoulder before taking a step toward it. You kept your hands arrested by your sides, but your eyes were seeking. The handwriting was crude, the letters enormous, so the only thing you could read were three words: FOUND THEM OVER. Swallowing your nerves, you put one hand on the table and reached out toward the paper, but before you could touch it, you heard "Accio" behind you, and the scroll was pulled from your vision by an invisible hand that glided back over your shoulder. 

Mrs. Weasley lowered her wand, the paper in her other hand. Her eyes were a shade of the reproach you had seen so often directed toward Fred and George, so you were surprised when she simply said, "Bill leaving the messages out. That boy," and sighed and wagged her wand again, collecting all of the cups and their stained saucers.

Turning back to you, she smiled, saying, "Finished sorting your belongings? School is on the horizon and we won't be having much time for last-minute searches."

You hooked your fingers behind your back, your cheeks warmed by the chagrin of being caught snooping. "I have..." Your face grew warmer. "Mostly." 

"No worries, there's still time. My husband's collected your school list, so we'll all be going shopping tomorrow." 

You smiled. It had been months since you had last even seen the sun. The thought brought up Sirius; how long has it been for him? A chuckled played on your lips at the thought of Sirius following you around, playing the role of the ingenuous dog again. Maybe this news will be enough to coax into a happier mood in him. A skip was in your step as you turned to the door, "I'll go tell Sirius, I bet that'll cheer him up." Her smile dropped, the familiar look of apology replacing it. "He already knows, dear. By we, I meant us and Remus. It's far too dangerous for Sirius to be out-"

"If It's safe enough for me, why isn't it for him??"

Her lips pressed thin, "there were some of us who thought it was too dangerous for you as well, but others thought differently." Your mouth worked, but no words were conjured. If your attendance was also at risk, it was an unwinnable battle, and Mrs Weasley was clearly seasoned in debating teenagers. 

She sighed through her nose, and the cups soared through the kitchen door without her as she instead walked over to you, placing a hand sympathetically on your shoulder. "I'm sorry dear, but it won't be like this forever. You'll be safe and sound once you're at school under Dumbledore's watchful eye."

Her kind words unintentionally grated against your ears, the reminder that you would soon be leaving Sirius again rending your heart. After muttering that you would go and pack the rest of your belongings, you slunk off back into the hall. 

The precious heirlooms and ancient antiques that the Black line had curated over the centuries now sat in a sack at the base of the stairs beside the troll's foot. What wasn't cursed was likely already nicked by Mundungus. You had just stepped onto the first step when you heard at the top of the stairs, "Damn it, Kreacher! I am not in the mood for your tricks!" followed by the sound of scuttling footsteps. 

It was halfway up the staircase when a door slammed shut, and only a moment later, "HOW DARE YOU LOCK THE DOOR ON ME!" You poked your head down the hall and saw Sirius lowering his wand, opening the door that was presumably locked. There you found the Black's wizened house elf, his hands cupped and held protectively to his craggy chest.

"Kreacher would never lock the door on his master, the lock merely slipped into place," he said unconvincingly. 

"Hand it over. Now," Sirius commanded. Despite the pained reluctance that crinkled his wheyish face further, Kreacher's bony fingers helplessly unfurled and forfeited the treasure within. It was a large gold locket, which was promptly snatched away.

"Yes, Master. Ever wise, Master." As though he believed no one could hear, beneath his breath, Kreacher's sneering mouth continued in a muttered, "Ever wise my sweet Mistress was. So right and true. Master truly was a disappointing stain. Master is nothing but a nasty, horrible-"

"Festering waste of her precious noble blood, yes yes. Now go." Kreacher bent his gaunt torso in an excessively low, performative bow, but kept his withering glare on Sirius as he left the room, seemingly not even seeing you. "Azkaban was his rightful home, yes indeed, far away from poor, poor Kreacher..." he carried his insults with him into the hall.

"Is he... alright?" you asked once you were sure Kreacher was out of earshot. It had puzzled you since your first encounter with him. He was nothing like the honey-sweet house elves that worked the Hogwarts kitchens or the Bones' sheepish house elf - Kreacher's nasty words grated against all of the stories you had ever heard about house elves, whose sole desires were to make witches and wizards as happy and cozy as possible.

"I don't believe he's ever been what you'd consider "alright." But don't be fooled by his appearance, he's quicker than he looks," Sirius informed you. "Nearly slipped past me with this." He lifted his hand, dangling the locket from its chain. As it twirled dozily from his fingers, it hit you like a rogue wave as to why Kreacher was willing to fight to keep this item.

At first glance, you had mistaken the S-shaped ornamentation for a coiled snake, its body limned in fluid grooves of gold and scaled in tiny green gems, stilly slithering across the face of the locket.

"It's beautiful." In truth, it wasn't. The locket was a simple oval shape, the chain tarnished, and the gems lifeless. It wasn't until your eyes linked to the snake that they saw the true allure of this piece of jewelry, far deeper than its lackluster appearance. He looked curiously from the locket to you, an eyebrow perked. 

"Do you want it?" You hadn't realized how hard you had been staring until you peeled your eyes away. "Can I? Can I really?" You were in awe at the idea that anyone would willingly relinquish this item. He shrugged, "if you like it, though I don't see why you would. It won't even open. Let me just-" he shoved his hand in his pocket, producing his wand. 

"Revelio!" The locket simply continued to sway rhythmically. "Hm. Doesn't seem cursed, just broken." Sirius held it out for you to take, so you cupped your hands beneath it. The locket touched the palm of your hand, feeling as warm as an egg while the cool chain trickled after it, coiling around it like a mother snake. You glided your thumb thoughtfully along the length of the snake's body, and though the gems had long lost their luster, your eyes glittered in their place as they gazed into each other. The metal must have been warmed by Kreacher's hands as it was already tepid against your skin.

"Keep it someplace secure, or expect it to "get lost" again," he warned. You slid the long chain around your neck, allowing it to fall into your shirt and between your breasts. A feeling of completion you had no idea you were lacking imbued your soul with the sensation of warm chamomile tea filling up an empty cup. You were so infatuated, you thought for a moment that the necklace had a pulse, and that it beat perfectly in synch with your own.

A hand delicately resting on the locket through your shirt, you looked around, finally seeing the massive tree that sprawled across the wallpaper. Each knot in the black branches that crawled across it held a portrait and name beneath it. Out of the wallpaper in the manor, this was the most intact, though strange black burn marks ruined several portraits, destroying their faces.

"The Black family tree, though I guess that's obvious." He reached over and pointed to a charred blemish at the tip of a branch. "Here I am. A small source of pride," he said with a bitter, hollow smile. Your eyes scanned around that black mark, from Walburga and Orion Black who forked out to another name that neighbored his own. 

"Regulus Black. He's your brother, right?" You regretted the words the moment you heard them, the answer already obvious. "This was my brother's room."

His face was a blank mask as he nodded his head briskly. "He died. Murdered by Voldemort, or more likely on his orders."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be too sorry, he was a Death Eater. Got himself into that mess. Drunk on the ideals our mother and father drowned us in." His heavy words didn't match his airy tone. He flicked his gaze suddenly and tapped on another name, a smirk now pulling at his lips. "This is Phineas Nigell, the most disliked headmaster Hogwarts ever had. And her," he traced his finger across another branch, "Araminta Melifua, tried to force through a ministry bill that would make muggle hunting legal."

Your eyes followed branches, studying the names and the minuscule portraits that hovered above them, eventually finding dead ends, and skipping to other branches to repeat the process. You found the blackened hole that would be Tonks, and traced it back to another disowned family member, Andromeda, where was connected to Bellatrix and Narcissa.

Sirius must have been watching you, because he said, "Andromeda was my favorite cousin. I'm sure you can guess why by seeing the state of her portrait. Narcissa wasn't so bad as far as Blacks go, but maybe anyone would seem sane beside Bellatrix." The mere mention of that woman was enough to rip the blithe veneer from Sirius's face, revealing a mien of distilled revulsion beneath.

Taken aback, you glanced back to the tree. The minute details of Bellatrix's portrait highlighted the sharp, dark features of her milky complexion. "What did Bellatrix do?"

"What didn't she do? A Death Eater, without the sense Regulus had in the end and with every foul deed a Death Eater could do under her belt. She was Voldemort's staunchest supporter. Never renounced him, not when all of the other Death Eaters were claiming to be bewitched, not when she was apprehended and not even at her trial, when Azkaban was waiting for her. A woman after my dear sweet mother's heart."

Through your shirt, your perturbed fingers smoothed across the nubby S of the locket as your eyes wrenched away from the sallow woman and instead continued down the branch. Narcissa was conjoined to Lucius Malfoy, and from that bracket pointed the tiny portrait of a boy with hair as pale as his skin. Your narrowed eyes widened in surprise as your nose scrunched with immense distaste.

"You're related to the Malfoys?!"

"All purebloods are related, even the Weasleys, though you won't see their names on here. Anyone excluded or blacked out means they were half decent people." A sullen sigh effused his nose, he turned his back on the painted tree and leaned against it, crossing his arms too stiffly to be casual. "I hate being back here. I hate being trapped here. Stuck to this place like mother's cursed painting. Sitting and waiting on others for any new information on the comings and goings of the world. And what can I do? Nothing but clean. I'm a damn house elf. And Severus never lets me forget it."

"Me too!" you said eagerly. It was like he was speaking of your own feelings of isolation and powerlessness. 

He looked to you, eyeing you up incredulously. "You're not trapped anywhere. You're leaving for Hogwarts soon." His tone was sullen and petulant. 

"But you get to be a member of the Order! You get to know things!"

A dry chuckle filled his throat. "Things I can't do anything about. And yes, I'm a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but so long as Voldemort knows I'm an Animagus, and he does thanks to Wormtail, I guarantee you, what can I do? Sit on my ass and watch other people risk their lives?"

Your face turned red with chagrin as you desperately wracked your brain for a retort. "At least you had a house to offer the Order."

A restless hand ran through his long hair. "Yes, my father put every enchantment known to wizardkind on this house, and Dumbledore added his own, so there isn't a safer spot. But..." The rest of the thought slid past his lips in a breathy sigh. The look on his face reminded you of your time in that house on Privet Drive. Trapped in a place you knew you were unwanted, surrounded by bodies but bitingly alone. You turned and leaned against the wall beside him, letting the silence fall over the room.

Looking back to you, he consciously lifted his face in an attempt at an amused smile. "Well, my parents would probably die a second time if they saw how it was being used, that's a positive thing, aye?"

You hadn't returned his hollow smile, and instead asked, "Remember back when we first met, the night we properly met? You asked if I would live with you?" He nodded, watching you thoughtfully.

"I know we couldn't in the end, but I'm glad we get to now." He blinked, and a natural smile finally molted across his face. He leaned in for a hug, and you reciprocated it. The only thing between your hearts was the locket pressed against both of your chests. Unbeknownst to you, the locket leeched a deeper desolation through his shirt, skin, and muscles, saturating his soul in black. His embrace slackened subtly. 

"I'm not leaving for a few more days," you reminded him.

"I know."

"And I'll be back for Christmas too."

"I know," he echoed, sounding as though you were already gone.

~~

        With every article of clothing washed, collected, folded, and placed back into their designated trunks, all that was left were the school supplies for the new semester. In the foyer, Mr. Weasley stood fixing his glasses while Mrs. Weasley was primitively listing out rules in a dimmed voice in preparation for future larks, "You will not for any reason leave the group, you will not bring any of your toys-"

"They're our inventions!" George protested hotly.

"You will not argue!" she added.

"I couldn't borrow Moody's cloak, so we'll be doing this instead," Lupin raised his wand, "Illusiont!" and tapped the crown of your head. From where the tip touched a cold leaked, slowly pouring down your neck and shoulders like syrup. When it slid down your face, your nose disappeared from your vision. Raising your hands, you saw they too were missing.

Lupin checked his watch before nodding to the group. "Let's try and wrap this up in an hour." The promised sunlight was hidden behind a heavy grey sheet of clouds that hung low and precarious above your heads. Lupin headed the group through the street and into the underground, where Mr. Weasley dogged at your side, listening intently as in whispers you explained in simplistic terms how to operate the till, and afterwards answering the bombardment of questions and less than conspicuously pointing; along with a mountain of compliments on the ingenuous intricacy of certain objects ("A mailbox, a box for boxes! Genius!") or giving you less than accurate factoids.

Traveling through the arteries and into the beating heart of London, your motley crew stepped onto Charing Cross Road and arrived safely at the Leaky Cauldron. Once inside the inn, Lupin tapped his wand against your head a second time, and this time the cascade was warm, gifting you back your body. The crowd was bare, and their reception was the shadow of your first entrance into the creaky leaky inn. The only glances that were thrown your way were immediately thrown away, back onto safer places, like their drinks. It was preferable to being swarmed, but still not pleasant. Mrs. Weasley acted like an anxious shepherd, keeping an eye on every head as she filed the group through. Mr. Weasley gave the bricks a much-rehearsed tapping, allowing them to fall away into an archway that welcomed you back to Diagon Alley.

The streets were surprisingly sparse despite the close proximity to school time. Lupin had his eyes on your list of supplies, muttering the items under his breath, "One vial of Toadstool frills, three vials of graveyard soil, Standard Book of Spells, grade five. Dream Oracle by Inigo Imago. Defense Magical... Theory..." He raised a brow at the last book but kept his thoughts to himself.  

You were an image of Sirius's sullen glumness around Lupin now, stubbornly unwilling to forget his campaign against you. You looked at the windows of the shops you passed, but found they were absent of the charm you once found in them. You reached up and traced the shape of the locket through your sweater, feeling a bit better by remembering it was on you. The warmth that steeped into your skin helped soothe your irritated soul. The soft, rhythmic beating a friend to your own heart.

Mrs. Weasley turned toward the group, saying, "Cecil's is closest, so we'll stop there first." The secret chatter that was swapped between Fred and George ceased when their mother announced their next destination; Cecil's was short for Cecil's Secondhand Robes. She looked back to you, "We'll pop in Madam Malkin's for you afterwards, dear." You glanced to Ginny, who had her eyes on the ground, and said, "That's alright, I'll get my robes here too since we're already here."

"Amanuensis Quill is just across the street. I'll get the stationary supplies while you do that, Molly." Lupin continued the sidewalk while you followed the group into the shop.

It was a deal dustier than the other stores, hanging equal parts in the air and on the shelves. It was dimly lit, hardly brighter than a brazier's flame, by a source you couldn't find. The weathered wooden floor was raised in places and squeaked beneath your feet. 

You stood beside Ginny, who had a robe held up to her shoulders while Mrs. Weasley examined where the hem fell. "Maybe we should get you a few sizes up, you're in a growth spurt." Her red hair and the ears it was tucked behind matched in shade.

You found yourself in the same position when Ginny had found her robes. Mrs. Weasley pulled your arms out, holding the sleeves to compare. The robe was held below your chin, and you could smell the thick, musty scent that would leave you smelling like an attic. Mrs. Weasley smiled, having found your size.

The vest was in good condition, though pilling, but the only skirt that would fit your hips was more of a washed ash than a proper coal grey, but she assured you she would transfigure the color to match. 

After Mr. Weasley had wrangled the twins, they met with Lupin, who peeled away once more to gather the apothecary supplies. The twin's leaned into each other, lagging behind as they swapped clandestine murmurs. You couldn't hear them but noticed George point to the pet shop and Fred shake his head in disagreement. 

Up ahead, you saw the sign for Quality Quidditch Supplies. "Mrs. Weasley, do you think we could stop at the Quidditch store?"

"I'm sorry but we can't doddle. We have to focus on the essentials." 

You nodded your head obediently, but internally you had made your mind up. As soon as everyone melded into their own shelves, you knew that you had a few minutes before they would realize you weren't there. 

You wouldn't go into the store, just glance through the window for a second or two. They'd of course be none the wiser of your absence, but if they did notice, you were still in plain sight; if they left the store to find you, why, right there you were. Even if you were unsuccessful in returning in time, they would only feel a little worried, not panicked. And after all the time you spent hearing no, you felt like you deserved this.

And it did not disappoint. In the window displayed a fierce broomstick on a dark iron plinth labeled Firebolt. An aching longing struck you at its sight; it had been so long since you had last flown.

The Firebolt was long and sleek as a spear and polished til it shined, so smooth you wondered if you'd slip off once it took off, but knew it was impossible once you saw the handle, subtly grooved with deep nooks for your fingers to slide into. The wood was a dark brown that almost appeared red in the display light. The bristles were pale in contrast, as straight as arrows and all a uniform length. Your hands found the window, almost able to feel the handle fill your palms. How fast would you be? The bittersweet part was that you had the Galleons; you still had the tournament winnings, it was just that you never had the chance to put them in Gringotts, so they sat uselessly at Privet Drive. 

Your blithe pining and vision both broke from the bewitchment the broomstick had cast on you when a pale blot appeared in your peripheral. There behind the glass was the amused face of Malfoy, a mocking smile sat so comfortably on his lips. Before you could retreat, he was in the doorway of the store. He had grown further during the summer, his long, thin limbs now balanced by his newly broadening shoulders, still retaining his elegant, gracile silhouette. His fair features stood out brightly against his dark attire.

Malfoy allowed the door to shut behind him, the doorbell twinkling its farewell, as he crossed his arms against his chest and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, the silken monochrome locks ghosting across his forehead, dipped slightly at an angle with his lulled head. His narrow face was more defined now, his jaw filling out along with the rest of his body; it pained you greatly to acknowledge it, but he was handsome when his mouth was closed. 

And then he broke the mirage by opening that mouth. "All alone again, Potter? Expecting me to hold your hand and walk you through the street again?" He extended his hand toward you, the deriding grin welded to his face and his tone limned in mockery, yet his cheeks were dusted with an affectionate blush. "Perhaps if you asked nicely, I might be so inclined."

'I have to get back to the Weasleys.' A grimace of contempt was all you gave him, creating a wide berth as you tried to walk past him, but he hopped on his feet, becoming an infuriating, cocky, impassable wall in front of you. You moved right, and he did the same. "I saw you with the Weasley's going into the used robes store. Times must be rough if you've been forced to join their sorry pack. It's not too late to ran before you catch their stink. Just take my hand." 

You slapped that hand away, wanting beyond want to pull your wand out - but the thought of the repercussions of agitating the Ministry stayed your hand. He simply chuckled at the action, until your Quidditch-trained body suddenly jerked to life; feigned left, waiting for him to try and match your move, and then pivoted right, gliding right past him.

But Malfoy wasn't finished with you, grabbing your forearm. "Wait." All his humor disappeared, a solemn expression absent of haughtiness or hostility replacing it. His head leaned down to you, reminding you peevishly that you had to incline your neck to look at him now.

"Get hexed, Malfoy," you spat in response, jerking your arm back. He kept his hold, saying in a lowered voice, "Stop, just listen-"

You wrenched your arm again, but his fingers only pressed deeper into your skin. "Would you listen to some good advice for once in your life!" You froze, and he looked content to have your attention. "A tide is coming, and Dumbledore, weasels, werewolves, and all of your blood traitor and mudblood friends will only hold you down beneath it. Things are changing now, and it's not too late to change with them."

His vile words caused the line of vexation between your brow to dig deeper, but you couldn't help but see him with new eyes, searching. "What? What's changing?"

A small satisfied simper resettled on his pale lips. "The world, Potter. You'll see at Hogwarts."

"Draco!" A shrill voice called, causing his mortified face to burst crimson as he lurched back upwards. His hand dropped from your arm as you peered over your shoulder, spying a woman rushing over. In one arm was ladened by a cauldron bursting with vials, parchment, books, and quills. She was thin as a whip, her skin a peaky shade of pale, but her back stood as straight as a spear, her chin upturned in the same haughty fashion as her son's. Her hair was fair, but her eyes were black as night and as wide as the moon as she glowered down at you. Her lips were pressed into a line as thin as a knife's cut, and just as cruel. Thin long fingers latched onto his arm, pulling him after her.

Malfoy glanced back at you as his mother led him down the sidewalk like a dog on a leash, protesting petulantly, "I can do my own shopping alone now, mother!" 

Her reply was muttered to him so quickly and anxiously that you couldn't make out her words. Her eyes flickered over her shoulder toward you, and for a moment you thought you saw something swimming below the depths of hatred... Fear?

Then a similarly anxious hand fell on your own shoulder, spinning you around. "What are you doing alone! Where is the group?!" Lupin interrogated. You had never seen him so angry, being reminded of when he had found you in the corridor, about to leave the castle after Pettigrew.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to see the broomstick..." 

"That's why you're out in the open, alone!?"

"I said I'm sorry!" you bit back hotly. The locket felt as though it heated along with your own anger.

He glanced back to Malfoy and Narcissa trailing down the sidewalk, growing smaller and smaller.

"Do you have any idea the ties the Malfoy's have?? Where their loyalty lies?" You read between the lines. "If you're worried about Malfoy, he couldn't hurt a fly, even if he had his wand in one hand and his textbook in the other." Lupin's face soured further, clearly fighting on what words to say and what to withhold. 

"If Malfoy is all I have to worry about, then all of these protections are a waste of time. Voldemort," he winced, "is out there somewhere. I could protect myself better if I actually knew where he was and what he was doing, but no!" Lupin gave you a measured look, "you don't need to know-"

"But I do know! I was there, not you! I saw him! I know what it feels like to be Cruciatused by the Dark Lord himself!" Your voice was now nearing a shout, emotion entwining their steely fingers around your throat as old wounds reopened, seeping their contents back into you. Tears brimmed your lashes, glossing your vision, "I saw him kill someone, professor... I know enough to know more."

Now Lupin was the reprimanded child. "(y/n), I..."

Then, the door flew open, with Mrs. and Mr. Weasley's heads and wands bursting out. They both locked on Lupin.

"The codeword!" Mr. Weasley barked. 

"Chocolate cockroach clusters," he answered. They dropped their arms to their sides with relief, but Mrs. Wealsey immediately fired up again. 

"What are you doing out here?!" she questioned in the reprimanding voice usually reserved for her own children. 

"It's my fault," Lupin said before you could speak. "She's on the Quidditch team, and I thought she would want to see the newest broomstick release. I should have informed you first."

Her eyes ping-ponged between the two of you. "I... That... Well, next time please tell us!" she said, for once at a loss for words. 

"Absolutely." You looked up at Lupin, and gave him a small smile of thanks. His peppered mustache lifted as he returned it. 

(A/N) - Oof, apologies to those who had to read the pre-reedited version of this chapter. Didn't have Grammarly on that computer so I didn't realize how many grammatical mistakes there were. I'm sure I missed a few, but cleaned up most at least. 

Chapter Text

        "Last chance!" Four trunks bobbed single file down the staircase before resting on the dank carpet in front of Mrs. Weasley's impatiently tapping foot. "Check under the beds and in the cushions-" 

"Werewolves! Half-breeds! Freaks! Abominations! Creatures of amalgamated filth! Dismantle your rats' nests and-"  

"-because I will not be mailing your things this year again!" 

"-begone from this noble home!" Mrs. Black continued to blare with feral fervor, though not a single soul had the time to pay her sneering portrait half a glance as the chaos of drumming footsteps, disjointed conversations, and opening and shutting of doors and the searching bodies that weaved through them back and forth drowned out her mad ravings.

The discord below invaded the rooms above, leaking through the crack beneath your door as you gave the room a last visual once over. Resting a hand over your chest, you felt the locket that slumbered beneath your shirt. Taking Sirius's warning to heart, you always kept a keen eye on the ever-skulking house elf, who made no attempts to hide his covetous scowls and grumbling. He seemed to be the only other soul that saw the same value in the antique.

With Hedwig's cage in your hand, you stepped into the hall and shut the bedroom door. The dampened tones used to keep from waking Mrs. Black were traded for shouts in an effort to be heard above her restive wailing. All surreptitious efforts were abandoned, and banal or cardinal, discussions clamored throughout the entire estate. Just audible beneath Mrs. Black's shrieking, downstairs Moody was gruffly arguing that they "-can't leave without him." You trotted down the hallway and squatted in front of the banisters to listen.

"The children can't miss the train," Mr. Weasley rebutted.

"We have no choice, Mad-Eye. We'll have to go ahead one guard short," Lupin said. Other than a few grunts and grumbles, Moody made no further arguments, only shaking his head angrily. "Sturgis's becomin' unreliable. It's been weeks since-" As they filed into the drawing room, Mrs. Black's ravings reclaimed the estate. "I will not allow your noxious stench to stain-"

Turning your head, you shifted your attention to the furthest door at the end of the hall, where Sirius hid. You hadn't seen him all morning, and sparsely the day before. Was he really not going to say goodbye? Ginny emerged from her own room a few doors down with her family's owl. Her eyes fell wistfully to Hedwig, and she sighed longingly, "She's so pretty." Errol himself was leaning lethargically against the bars, the floor beneath his perch carpeted by fallen feathers.

"Two minutes!" 

"Defiling the pure and noble house of my fathers with your filthy, dirty blood!"

With one last glance to the door down the hall, you followed Ginny down the stairs, passing Mrs. Weasley, who yelled up the staircase, "One minute!!" 

"We're coming, we're coming!" the twins griped as they hopped down the stairs two steps at a time. Lupin appeared from the drawing room doorway, and Moody waited by the front door, his heavy overcoat splayed across his frame, his magic eye zipping around more sporadically than usual. Peering over your shoulder and up the vacant staircase, a forlorn sigh fell from your lips. But as you turned back around, in the peripheral of your vision you noticed the shadow by the door stir. A black mass dislodged itself from the shadows, his tail wagging furiously behind him. 

Meeting halfway across the foray, your hands entangled themselves in his fur, and he let out a single jovial bark as though to say "Surprise!"

Moody's stationary eye watched the happy union while his magic one continued to spin, grumbling, "Bad idea, I kept tellin' ya. Ain't safe. A smaller party is a swifter party. A swifter party is a safer party." A week ago Lupin was inclined to agree, but his anxieties had lightened since the trip to Diagon Alley; he simply smiled. "A happy compromise, Mad-Eye."

Tonks emerged from the kitchen, piping in, "What's more natural than a family walking their dog?" She leaned down to pick up the luggage just as Moody whipped out his wand, and the luggage pulled away from her outreached hands and across the hallway to him. "I've got'em..." he muttered, in no mood for an accident now. 

It was a shorter trek to King's Crossing than to the Leaky Cauldron. Moody and the luggage had dissolved into the city, and it would have been impossible to spot Tonks without the prior knowledge of what appearance she melded into, as naturally camouflaged among the early afternoon pedestrians as a leaf on a tree. Sirius trailed happily at your side, his tongue lolled out from the side of his mouth, fresh air in his lungs, his animated tail thumping against your leg every now and then. He took full advantage of this opportunity to stretch his legs, running ahead and falling back to your side before running ahead again once something new caught his eye.

Tonks disappeared once you reached King's Crossing and Moody reappeared just as suddenly with the luggage on a trolley, which was taken by Mr. Weasley. "It's all clear. No tails," and with a nod to you and the family, he slipped away and disappeared one last time. Your hodge-podge group drew many heads, but all eyes mysteriously forgot what they were staring at the moment you ran through the brick wall. 

On the platform, Mrs. Weasley looked over everyone with a tinge of Sirius's loneliness, her face limned by concern now that they were about to part. She smoothed over Ginny's already sleek hair before turning to Fred and George, pulling and straightening their clothing and receiving the predictable protests.

Mr. Weasley said to the twins with a rare sternness, "You two be on your best behavior this year."

"Aren't we always?" George replied, smothering the faux innocence by batting his lashes.

"Why would you expect any less of us?" Fred added, joining his brother with a fake pout.

Mrs. Weasley put her hands on her hips, a mannerism all too familiar to the Weasley children. "We're being serious. We know you've never bothered listening to us in the past, but this year you must." The edge of her tone was tapered by a caution that caused the twins to share a curious glance.

Mrs. Weasley then turned to you, and her frown turned upside down. Just as she had a few moments ago to her own children, her fingers found your head, straightening your hair before migrating to your clothing, pulling at fabric to fix issues you had no idea were present before brushing off the loose black dog hairs that were now sprinkled across your shirt and trousers. When she was finished, she brought you into a big hug. "It was so nice meeting you, dear. I'll be looking forward you to joining us for Christmas as well." 

Sirius barked in agreement. "Me too," you told them honestly, hugging back. Mrs. Weasley took a step back and Lupin took her place. He put his hands on your shoulders, "Toe the line. The ministry has eyes and ears on you, even within Hogwarts, so give them no reason for such concern." He paused, taking a moment to appreciate how much you had grown in the year since you had stood together beneath Hogwart's roof. Then a smile slid across his face, and he continued in a murmured tone, "I've spoken to the rest of the Order, and we've agreed to allow you to sit in on a meeting during Christmas break. Just to let you know the very basics, nothing more nor less. You'll be safe at Hogwarts under Dumbledore's eye, but take care of your own safety as well. Remember to use the Maurader's Map only under the direst of circumstances, and absolutely no adventures. Alright?" Before you could agree, the train horn shouted out. Sirius had nudged his way between you, clearly demanding the final goodbye. 

You knelt down, wrapping your arms around him. He rested his head contently on your shoulder, exhaling a deep, sad breath. You ran your fingers across the fur on his back. "I'm going to miss you, Snuffles. A lot." He let out a low whine in a response that told you, "not as much as I will you."

You unfurled your arms and picked up Hedwig's cage before you stood, but when you turned to follow the Weasley children, you were stopped. Looking back, you saw that Sirius had the cuff of your shirt between his teeth. 

"For Merlin's sake," Mrs. Weasley mumbled exasperatedly while you knelt down and held his face in your hands. "I'll write as much as I can." You placed your forehead against his, and when you got up to leave, he stayed on the platform. 

"(y/n!)" a voice shouted. You scanned along the Hogwarts Express and saw Hannah's face sticking out of a window, her arm waving. After waving back, your feet quickened before just as quickly coming to a halt once you spotted Cedric standing by the entrance with his luggage resting by his feet. With a few long strides, he filled the space between you.

"What happened over the summer?" he questioned in place of a greeting. You blinked at the sudden question, an avalanche of information bogging your mind and clogging your words. Where could you start? What could you say? You had just earned Lupin's confidence and couldn't betray Sirius's trust.

"You stopped answering my letters," he said more specifically, allowing you to craft an easier lie. The deluge of truth was in the back of your throat, but you swallowed it down. "Oh, yeah, I'm sorry, I was, I was just sick."

He mulled the lie over, replying dubiously, "All summer...?"

"Mhm," your voice was pitched by the guilt that squeezed your throat. The crease of worriment between Cedric's honest eyes only deepened at the obvious lie, exacerbating the itching of the truth at the back of your throat-

Susan popped her head out the window, exclaiming, "What's taking you so long- ooohhh," before ducking her head back in with a titter. With a sigh Cedric looked back to you, saying, "You don't have to right now, but please let me know what happened later. I was worried." Unbeknownst to you, all his letters over the latter half of the summer kept being sent back by his owl, who looked harassed and disgruntled, making the fib all the barer. His father was hardly any better, with the same plastic smile on his face as he constantly fed him the same, "Why would anything be wrong? Don't worry so much, Ced!" 

"Don't worry so much!" you told him as you boarded the train, causing him to grimace slightly. "Nothing happened, I'm fine, see?" You dropped your luggage and opened your arms so he could see all your limbs were intact. He didn't seem quite so impressed, but he still managed a smile. "I indeed see. And your dog, he's well I see." 

Now it was your turn to be unnerved. "You knew it was him??" you asked in a failed whisper, suddenly conscious of who else might have recognized him. He placed a placating hand on your shoulder, saying reassuringly, "I, like everyone else, saw a large black dog. I just happen to have met him a few years early." 

You stopped with him in front of the prefect car, observing him reach into his pocket and pull a new badge out, one you had seen the twins fiddling with a few years ago at the Quidditch World Cup.

"Your- Congratulations!" His cheeks rosied humbly, he lowered his eyes shyly and fidged with the golden badge after pinning it to his shirt. "It's just some shiny metal." 

"Nonsense. It's a shiny step to Headmaster Diggory." He chuckled, and you added teasingly, "Now that I've got an in with the Headboy, I'm pretty much untouchable. All the mischief in the world is at my fingertips this year." He finally raised his face as you wiggled those fingertips menacingly. Despite his reprimanding eyes, his smile dug deeper into his warm cheeks. "All it means, Miss Potter, is that I can now give harsher punishments."

"Oh no, is the power already getting to your head??"

"If that's the case, you better be careful. I'll see you at the station."

"See ya." You continued down the corridor, but when Cedric opened the door to the prefect car your feet were rooted to the spot by the drawling voice that came out of it, "-ministry's going to finally clean up that canel of a school. Father has word from the minister himself that-" until the shutting door snuffed out the voice. 

No, it couldn't be. Not him. All the fizzling joy for Cedric's achievement leaked out of you. Further down the train corridor, a door was slid back with a clamor, and within a second Hannah was bouncing on her heels in front of you.

"Guess what!"

Before you could answer, she gave a heavy hint by jutting her chest out, proudly displaying the badge with the prominent black P engraved into the golden surface already attached to her shirt. You wish you could rebottle the energy you had for Cedric, but did your best to scrounge up as much enthusiasm as you could for your friend. Smiling perhaps a bit too broadly, you said, "That's great!" but your smile dipped naturally as you realized, "So you'll be staying in the prefect car?"

"I have to, but I'll see you when I do rounds! I should be there now but I just couldn't wait to show you!"

"It's shiny. Which boy was chosen?"

"Thanks, I've been polishing it since I got it. Ernie, I think." She took no notice of your lacking energy tone, instead admiring her badge. 

"I've got to go, I'm late as it is to the prefect compartment, apparently the Head boy and Head girl give instructions to new prefects. Okay, I really should go, I'll see you later!" She skipped off to the front of the train while you made your own trek toward the back, hoping for her sake your ears had deceived you earlier. 

Two unexpected faces met you when you slid open the door; Luna was sat beside the window, as still and pale as a mannequin. Her wand was tucked behind her ear, resting beside her flaxen hair, and she didn't seem to notice you, her owlish eyes and thin fingers attached to the latest issue of The Quibbler. Wacky headlines rippled and flashed hyperactively across the cover; Cornelius Fudge caught red-handed and green-eyed in latest attempt to gain control over Gringotts! Aurors divided over Minister's blind eye to Quidditch scandal! Reports from Albania of an alliance between werewolves and giants!

Next to her was Neville, and in Neville's lap, resting snuggly in its terracotta abode, was his tumorous project plant. It had grown twice as big since the last time you had seen it, shielding his entire chest and just reaching his chin. The flora subtly pulsed, its fleshy round limbs twitching every now and then. Susan was sat across from them, looking exceedingly grateful for your appearance. Before she could greet you, Neville shifted in his seat, pulling something from his pocket and shoving his hand forward. Resting in his open palm was what looked like a small unripe tomato.

"My Mimbulus Mimbletonia bore fruit this summer, (y/n)! I saved you one!" You accepted the tiny fruit and inspected it as you tapped your wand on your luggage and took your seat next to Susan with Hedwig at your feet. "Thanks. Is it, erm, edible?" The less-than-appetizing plant on his lap pulsated and wriggled beneath its skin like a leach. 

"Yes! Well, it won't make you ill- well, it won't make you puke- probably." He regathering his excitement, "It's so sour that it'll shrink your tongue! Oh but don't worry, I learned a spell that will fix it!" You trusted his spellwork just as much as you trusted the fruit at that moment, so you thanked him again, told him you weren't hungry, and tucked it in your pocket. 

"Hello," Susan said finally. "So you're a Weasley now?"

"You saw us?"

"From the window. You arrived pretty late."

You shifted in the seat subtly and kept your eyes on your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. The brambles of guilt grated against your heart as you hoped you wouldn't have to tell the same lies to Hannah. "I met them at the station." The familiarity shared far exceeded that of a stranger, but she noticed your shift in demeanor and kept her thoughts as thoughts, instead commenting, "Well, they seem like a nice bunch. I didn't know they had a dog."

Attempting to change the discussion, you mimed a breezy cadence as you turned to Neville, "How was your summer, Neville?" 

He seemed excited by the question, but when he opened his mouth to speak, a different voice filled the compartment. You had even realized that she had lowered her magazine when she said, "That wasn't a dog." The disquietude that molded your expression accidentally matched Susan's dubiety. "Excuse me?" Luna flicked her gaze to Susan for only a moment before bringing it back to you, continuing, "It was a Hobbiwob. See, you've got its hair on you, that's how it tracks you." Suddenly able to breathe again, you self-consciously smoothed your hands over your shirt to get rid of Sirus's fur.

"I see, thanks for letting me know."

"You're welcome," and she raised her magazine again, disappearing behind the colorful cover that quivered and squirmed. The train was rattling across the tracks when the door slid open. "Lunch cart~" Hannah called in a honeyed impression that was wanting. Your hand flew up, "I'll take a pumpkin pasty!"

"Oh dear, I'm afraid we're out of those!"

"What about a licorice wand?" Susan asked playfully. 

Hannah snapped her fingers, "I just sold my last one! I do happen to have one wand on me, though I'm afraid the meal might be a tad less sweet and far more splintery."

With a promise for a fresh restocking of sweet goods during her next set of rounds, Hannah disappeared back into the corridor. It seemed that just as soon as the door shut, it was flung open again in a melodramatic fashion. Malfoy stood in the doorway, the smirk on his face as haughty as ever, with his hands on either side of the doorway as he inspected the compartment with exaggerated suspicion. There on his chest was the glossy green badge emblazed with a silver P. 

"And what exactly is going on in here, hm? No one's acting up, are they?"

"No," Susan said reticently, threading her hands on her lap, while Neville kept his head down and sight wisely on his shoes.

"Hm, knowing Potter, that's a bit unusual. It's my job as a prefect to make sure everyone toes the line, after all." He took a moment to look around the compartment with contempt that only grew the more he saw, "Hm, the prefect's compartment is much more spacious, more leg room."

He finally brought his attention to you, and keeping one hand on the doorframe, he leaned in toward you and said in a softer voice, "I see you didn't take my advice. Seems you've doubled down on the bad company instead. Weasels and dogs make for seriously poor allies." Your lips parted subtly as your jaw dropped in tune with your heart. His eyes lustily drank in your reaction, his smirk only expanding in satisfaction.

"Everyone is behaving, so why don't you find people who aren't, Mr. Prefect," Susan said, her pleasant tone mismatched with her words. His simper fell into a scowl as he flicked his attention to her. "How is your aunt doing, Bones? I hope well because otherwise, you'll be just like these tw-" In a single, swift, heated motion you stood up and slammed the door in his face (nearly separating the fingers that still wrapped around the doorframe from his hand in the process).

Susan simply turned her head toward the window, maintaining a steel mask. Her true feelings leaked into her hands, however, as her entwined fingers constricted so tightly that her knuckles were pressed white. 

"Is that what's waiting for us all year?" Neville nearly whimpered.

"Something happen?" Luna asked in the flat matter-of-fact voice of hers. Neville appeared as though he wished to answer her, but instead just shook his head furiously.

As the sun began to dip, the enshadowed sky finally gave way to the rain it had been threatening for days, clattering and streaming against the window as the downpour showered the train, blurring the forest that whizzed by. The wind seeped through the gap in the window, sweet with the scent of the rain and pine. 

When the train lurched a second time, the weather had eased into a misty drizzle over Hogsmeade station. There was something missing from the platform, someone literally unmissable; Hagrid. Instead of the familiar bass call of "Firs' years ta me! Firs' years 'ere!" a woman exclaimed, "First years line up here, please!" The lantern was held much lower than usual, and beneath its yellow light was a (comparably) short woman with a tightly cropped head of hair and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that were tinted off the light.

Hannah spoke your thoughts for you, "Where's Hagrid?" Susan saw as well, as it was hard to miss him. "He must be sick."

"Can someone that big get sick? Wouldn't we hear his coughs from here?" Hannah asked. Without any answers, the flow of the black-clad crowd swept your feet off the station, delivering you toward the forest, where the carriages waited. Hannah broke from the group to sit in the Prefect carriage with Ernie, and to your surprise, Susan said her own goodbyes (with an affectionate wink) before scurrying off toward a boy from Ravenclaw. 

She must have noticed him before you had, as just as you wondered why she had wandered off you found Cedric again patiently standing in wait, this time by a carriage, guarding it against any Justin Finch-Fledgers that might want to sit between you. The glinting golden Head Boy badge stood out on his black robes like a wanderlust sun lost in the night sky. He was leaning against the carriage, his arms crossed against his chest, a miffed air hung around him - undoubtedly Malfoy influenced - but the moment his eyes found you, the weeds of vexations blossomed into a bouquet of delectation. The smile had died on your face, however, curled with confusion when you saw what the carriage was attached to.

You tentatively walked over, your eyes on the creatures. They were deathly thin, bones wrapped in tight black skin with naked wings, the membrane thin and translucent even in the moonlight, folded against its flanks. Clear, milk-white eyes were embedded in their black flesh like two moons in the black sky. A thin tail, beveled by spine bones, swayed listlessly. All around everyone was contently hopping into their carriages, as though nothing was amiss. 

Cedric's happy mien fell when he saw the perturbation painted across your face. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, they just kind of surprised me," you said timidly. He looked to where you were staring, and then around the area before turning back to you, a shade of your own curiosity. "They? You mean the carriages?" 

"The horses, er, horse things," you said incredulously, pointing a finger right at the demonic horse, but his vision fell slightly to the left of the creature. He cocked his lips into an unsure smile, considering whether or not this was some joke and when the punchline would come.

The same thought floated across your head. A few carriages began to take off, the creatures trotting along the path like any well-mannered horse. "Cedric, you truly can't see them? It's right there, in front of the carriage. They're all around, pulling the carriages." He shook his head, all humor now gone. 

"He can't see them." Luna stood by the carriage a few yards from your own, one foot inside and one outside. "But I can." Her moony gaze then found the creature, resting right on it. "They're thestrals. They've always been there. It's said to be a bad omen to be able to see them." Her eyes flickered back to you, their wide spacey quality reminding you sickly of the horse creature. "But you can see them now. Like me." The smile she gave you hadn't soothed your nerves at all.

Cedric looked at the space again, and this time his brows pressed together with growing unease, but he pushed aside his ill feelings. He positioned himself by the thestral, blocking your view, before giving you a reassuring smile and extending his hand. "Come on, I'll help you in." After helping you into the carriage, he lingered a moment longer to stare into the empty space before climbing in, and soon your carriage was trailing after Luna's. 

Bad Omen. These were the words of Looney Luna Lovegood - but the thestral was truly the visage of a harbinger of misfortune. Like a foul aftertaste, the thought of misfortune conjured Malfoy's cryptic words to flood your mind with the same anxieties they had crafted earlier. "Weasels and dogs make for seriously poor allies." 

He was ominously cryptic in Diagon Alley as well, and his usual blithe arrogance had taken a strangely stoic framing, as though the airs he walked truly raised him above your pitiable echelon. His father must be a Death Eater, how else would he know about Sirius? And Lupin had already alluded as much when he found you together.

"What? What's changing?"

"The world, Potter."

Now free from spoiled prefects and invisible horses, Cedric was a picture of contentment beside you, savoring every second of the ride together. He watched you from the corner of his eye, reminding himself again that you were safe and sound - and right by his side. Post lamps traced the path, like little moons gifting their sheer white lights, the rhythmic rustling through the lush forest that the path was carved from. The air was still thick with the late afternoon shower, the raindrops that speckled the leaves of the trees shining with the luster of tiny white pearls. Every now and then with the bumps in your road, his legs would bump into yours, though only he seemed conscious of this, appreciating the cool air on his red face. "I think this will be a good year," he murmured wistfully into the night air.

~~

        When the first years lined up, the hat belted out a new song, a sad tale of the fracturing of the four witches and wizards who built the school and how the Houses divided, and the importance of togetherness, unity, and friendship despite shallow differences. The sage advice missed your ears entirely as your focus was instead glued to Hagrid's usual spot at the staff table, absentmindedly clapping along with your housemates. 

It wasn't until the last first year filtered onto and off of the dais that you noticed the short squat woman with mousey hair that was drowning in pink. She stuck out so sorely, you were almost surprised you didn't notice until now. Once Professor Grumblyplank was introduced - you're own applause was tapered - the other woman sat up and strode confidently to the podium. The other professors looked extremely confused, but Dumbledore was a mask of polite interest as he graciously stepped aside. The weeping candles that laden the podium near buried her, but she was undeterred as she placed the shortest wand you had ever seen to her neck.

Her sugary voice soared through the cavernous hall, "Before the feast begins, I would like to introduce myself. My name is Dolores Jane Umbridge, but you all will address me as Professor Umbridge. I will be your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." The students began to murmur, but those were silenced by the dainty "ahem," that fluttered from her throat. She continued, "The Ministry of Magic cares deeply about all of your education, and this is where it is nurtured and tended to so that it may grow to its fullest potential. Without the proper education, like a malnourished plant, it will never flower, and instead wilt and decay," she said through her chipper demeanor, only her brow inclining upwards displaying a sliver of concern. With every second that passed another student had broken off eye contact and shifted it to something more interesting. Most of the students had their heads propped on their hands, or whispering to one another about more interesting topics. Ernie, however, had his back straight and his hands furled together on the table, all ears. 

"... better to strive for a balance of tradition and progression. Conformity shifts to mold with every oncoming circumstance and is commendable..."

You yourself were less listening to her and more observing her. Her fuzzy pink cardigan matched her magenta robes, with a frilly white collar popping out around her neck. Her smile was as much an article as her own clothing, fixed on a face that didn't reflect the mood. Her eyes were hard as stone, her banal words said with a honeyed yet hollow tone. 

"...let us move forward then, and perfect what must be perfected, and prune the practices that are better prohibited." She finally stepped away from the podium, and Dumbledore initiated the applause. It rippled tentatively across the staff table and the hall, both likely just glad that the ordeal was over. 

After the feast, your House was led by Hannah and Ernie, the latter acting like an over-enthusiastic shepherd to the first years, "This way, come come! No stragglers! Form a line!" Breaking from the flood of yellow hoods, you trotted over to the mass of red. The twins were lagged behind the group, chatting gaily with Lee Jordan. 

"This is gonna be a fun year." 

"How do you figure?" you piped in, grabbing their attention.

"Weren't you listening to her speech?"

"I'm surprised you were."

"She basically said that the ministry is going to be running this place." They shared smiled.

"They believe that more rules call for newer, more inventive ways to break them," Lee Jordan explained.

"Speaking of," you plunged your hand into your robe pocket, retrieving the little fruit inside. "For your Skiving Boxes."

"What is it?"

"Fruit, from a Mimbulus Mimbletonia."

"And it does...?"

It was your turn to flash them a mischievous smirk. "Don't worry, Neville has a spell that'll cure it in a snap."

(A/N) - Sorry for the gaps between posts (;ᴗ ; ) been working on this chapter for a while, and though I'm still not really happy with it, I felt the need to just hurry and release it so I can finally move on to the other chapters (which I've already done the first edits for so the next few should come out relatively quickly. This is a long book so there will be a lot of chapters ( ･ั▿･ั ;;)ゞ) I personally can't wait to get into Half-Blood Prince (my favorite the best HP book)! 

Chapter Text

        "But we didn't see a light in his house," you petitioned as your fingers performed the pattern of wrapping, twisting, and pulling your tie into place beneath your chin. The golden morning sun invited itself in through the half-moon windows, illuminating the emerald grass that peeked above the frame. Your eyes were searching in a futile attempt to peer past the grassy field to Hagrid's hut. With the flutter and flick of her wand, Hannah's honey hair smoothed flat before neatly forking down her neck and twisted in place against her scalp, settling strewn across her shoulders. "He was probably asleep. As I wish I still was," she replied with a lengthy yawn chasing the tail of her words. While Hannah was now comfortable with the idea of a head cold explaining his absence, anytime you let yourself soak in that plausible explanation, Malfoy's words would chill those waters.

"Things are changing, Potter."

You were forced to tear yourself from the window when Hannah slung her bag over her shoulder, and side by side the two of you strode into the common room. The plant that sat atop the girl's dormitory doorframe wiggled its green viney limb as you each passed under it, heart-shaped leaves tickling against the crown of your heads. Scattered throughout the common room, chattering bodies were sunken into the fat plush chairs or loitering by the barrels, lagged by conversation. You spotted Cedric among his tail of friends; a triangle of his dress shirt popped out from his sweater, his black robes slung casually over one arm while the other threaded through his still sleep-sodden hair.

"Take a look." You and Hannah moved in synch as you peered over your shoulders, facing a piece of paper that Susan had thrust at you. She stood in the open doorway, and along with the paper she also offered a pensive mien that sourly pinched her features. Hannah took the paper, and you leaned in to look, discovering that it was her timetables. Like a mirror, her expression became your own while Hannah griped, "Defense with Slytherin, Double potion with Slytherin, all on the first day!"

A groan left your lips before you added, "And I have Creatures today. That's three classes."

"Malfoy's gotten even worse than before," Hannah added darkly. "He wouldn't shut up in the prefect's compartment. Only that girl Pansy was eating up every pompous thing he said." She leaned into you two, whispering with a small tinge of amusement on her lips, "And I've never seen Cedric so mad."

"What exactly did Malfoy say?" you asked warily, unsure you wanted the answer. Hannah opened her mouth but closed it quickly after a moment's consideration. "I'm hungry, do you think there will be any jam pastry left?" she said instead. Following Hannah's now jaunty pace, the three of you popped from the barrels, through the kitchen corridor, and poured into the entrance hall.

"Can't you give me detention for the whole day?" you asked soppily as you passed through the gaping stone mouth of the Great Hall.

"I wouldn't recommend skipping classes. Don't forget you've got O.W.L's this year." His voice pulled your attention to the side, where you found Cedric had appeared, his uniform now straightened and impeccable. Even his new badge was stationed perfectly symmetrical, directly over his heart. "No shirking or you won't be able to practice, and we need our star Seeker."

"That goes double for you, you know. You've got N.E.W.Ts," Susan reminded him.

"N.E.W.Ts, captain of the Quidditch team, and Headboy. You've got a breezy year ahead of you, Ceddy," you quipped, a simper now playing across your lips.

He returned it. "And if little ol' me can handle all that, I expect I won't have to worry about you, then."

~~

        The lullaby of Binn's monotonous droning was working its effects on you despite your ardent attempt to focus on the lesson. The giant wars were compelling enough to aid your resolve, but ultimately your mind kept slipping from your skull and wandering from the confines of the stultifying classroom. The row of yawning windows that marched across the wall gave the best view of the Quidditch pitch, so of course your quill sat stagnant on the page, slowly oozing ink onto the parched paper. 

When class ended you made a mad dash to copy as much of the board as you could before rushing into the hall. Hannah faired somehow worse, rubbing the remaining nap from her eyes before exercising her jaw with a deep yawn. "Prefects sleep in class?" you teased.

"This one does," she replied dozily. 

The sleep was scoured from your bones as you descended the spiral staircase into the dungeons, and all banter was forgotten when you reached Snape's dungeon. The professor was pleasantly absent from the classroom, but Malfoy's punctual presence served enough to curdle the smile from your face. Already seated, he was the same image as all the years before; flanked by his sycophantic cronies, comfortably leaning back with his arm slung over the back of the chair - except now attached to his puffed-out chest was a silver badge that glinted almost menacingly off the dim fluttery light of the braziers. 

Ernie was already seated as well, his hands woven atop the table, his cauldron, dagger, and scales neatly lined up before him, appearing the opposite of the laxed Malfoy. The three of you trailed in a line to your usual table, and as you pulled your own seat back, you mused regretfully that you should have relaxed your pert pace through the castle and enjoyed the warmth and sunlight that was banished from these dark, damp dwellings.

Just as you bent your knees to sit, you were caught by surprise by the clatter behind you. Wobbling precariously on your feet for a moment, your hand latched onto the edge of the table, catching yourself in time. Peering down, you realized that your chair had been pulled out from beneath you. Twisting around, you automatically threw an accusatory glare at Malfoy, who was already watching you with a wide grin, but otherwise the image of innocence. And for once, he was, as Pansy was the one who quickly hid her wand beneath the table. "Yes, Potter? Can I help you with something?" he asked amiably. Grimacing, you turned away. But when it happens again, you stood back up furiously, generously sharing your glower with his entire group.

He raises his brows expectingly. "Is there something you need, Potter?" he reiterated.

"She keeps looking back at you, I think she might be a tad smitten with you, Draco," Crabbe said, causing his smug smile to spread.

"More likely she's a tad touched," Pansy said bitterly in response, her own mirth suddenly forgotten.

"I think anyone would have to be if they liked that cretin," you bit back, curling her frown into a lour. 

"Just ignore them," Susan told you. She was staring straight ahead, refusing to even tilt her face toward their general direction. Pansy's smile regrew as she gave her wand a wag beneath the table, and Susan's own chair was given a tug backward, suddenly jarring her.

Hannah stood up, puffing her own chest out, her badge sheened by the tenuous light. "You know very well unauthorized magic usage is banned! Would you lot act your age?!" The gang chuckled with amusement, and Pansy snickered, "Oh no, now pigtails is mad at us!" Her complexion darkened with chagrin, her mouth pursed so tightly you thought the pent-up anger might start escaping from her ears like a kettle. Your fists knotted at your sides, your eyes narrowing threateningly at Pansy, who oozed condescension as she batted her own back up at you.

Ernie was twisted in his own seat, deciding to act as a mediator, "Now now, let's all calm down-" but the volume and thickness of the vitriol in your voice easily blanketed his own even tone, "You bob-headed, pug-nosed-" until the faint, ghostly whisper of Snape's robes drifting across the stone floor shoved a cork into your throat. 

Unable and unwilling to shift your sight toward the black blot that for now only existed in the safety of your peripheral, you heard him speak in a dangerously soft tone, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Or are you finished?"

"Yes," Hannah replied meekly for you. 

"I suppose then I owe you thanks for allowing me to start my own class. Now sit. Down." 

You and Hannah did as instructed promptly, and this time your seat didn't flee from under you. He brusquely strode across the classroom with all of the cordiality and warmth of the Bloody Barren. "I'd like you all to use Potter and Abbott as perfect examples of what I will not be accepting into my N.E.W.Ts Potions class." He threaded his fingers behind his back, tracing his flint eyes across the rows of faces, "As I pray you all are already aware, O.W.Ls will be beginning this year. The grade my already tapered expectations will be set to is "Acceptable." Any lower," his black eyes darkened further as he made sure to meet the flighty gaze of every face they passed, sending a shiver down the spines of a poor few, "and you will incur my... displeasure.

"None of you in this class are quite as moronic as some of my others, so I assume this will be no extraordinary task. I will only be accepting the very best into my N.E.W.Ts Potion class, so I have no doubt I will be parting with a handful of students here," the shadow of a smile so subtly tugged at the edge of his lips as his eyes flickered to you before moving along the row, "but for the rest of the year, we will, unfortunately, be remaining together." Behind him, two nubs of chalk came alive, crawling across the board. One etched Draught of Peace in its path while the other began to scrawl out the list of ingredients below. "No time shall be wasted this year. You will be brewing a Draught of Peace potion today. A common remedy to restlessness and anxiety, and also a potion that shows up commonly on the exam. I expect this will prove as no impossible feat if you have been paying attention these past four years."

The classroom was blanketed by silence as he simply watched the class for a moment, only to shatter that quietude himself as he threw his hands into the air and shouted, "What are you waiting for!" causing a mad scramble of hands delving into bags, retrieving daggers and brace scales. "Oh, parting will not be such sweet sorrow, I promise," he murmured to himself as he flowed behind his desk, the chalk finally collapsing back onto the base of the blackboard as the ingredients list was finished.

You fell into your usual routine, lining up your tools at either end of your cauldron, but when you shifted your vision to your bag to retrieve your potions textbook, all you found were Charms, Transfiguration, and Divination; the Potions textbook was missing. You peered back up at Snape, and then to the blackboard, seeing the page numbers you had no way to find. Swearing beneath your breath, you were about to ask Hannah to share hers, when something hard bumped the back of your head.

Turning around, you saw Malfoy leaning over his table, his Potions textbook in his hand between you. You alternated your dubious expression between him and the offered textbook.

"What are you-"

"The word is thank you, Potter," he murmured under his breath. You didn't move, sure that some prank must be lurking beneath the surface of the offer, but he simply opened his hand and the textbook drifted through the air, past your arm, and rested in front of you. He then sat back and raised his hand. "Professor, I forgot my textbook." Snape never glanced up from his work, simply saying in a bored tone, "Share with Goyle." 

Surely this is another cruel jape. But his silvery eyes weren't darkened by the usual tint of impish cruelty; he simply pulled Goyles' textbook to him and busied himself with the preparation of his potion. Wondering what the catch was, you were jerked back around when Snape snapped in a much sharper tone, "Page 243 of your own textbook, Potter."

Warily, you returned your attention to the lesson, and after gathering the pinches and sprigs of ingredients from the student's cabinet, you began the familiar process of cutting and measuring. Wand in hand, you double-checked the temperature before stirring your stuffed cauldron, relieved to for once see what was listed on the board; a shimmering mist of silver vapor. At the table in front of you, Ernie was anxiously shoving more ingredients into his own cauldron, hoping to calm his red swirling potion but only causing it to bubble as it shifted from a muted red to black. Hannah's potion was burping sickly, though the exhaled plumes were indeed silver.

One hand resting against the small of his back and the other around his wand, Snape weaved through the tables with a placid pace, muttering, "Evansce," to every potion that wasn't to his likely with no criticism or explanation. 

Susan's wasn't shimmering, but the liquid was the same pale shade of teal as the diagram in the textbook; still, without reason, it disappeared. He paused in front of yours, granting Ernie a few moments as he frantically continued to only irritate his potion further. Leaving a trail of empty cauldrons in his wake, he was so sure yours would be the next disappearance, yet his wand finally paused. His pale, spindly fingers coiled tighter around his wand, his eyes widening ever so slightly as they searched.

And then, with the flick of his wrist, your brew finally joined the long trend. He began to continue down the table when your voice rooted his feet to the floor, "Hey!" Snape stopped stiffly, one foot half off the ground. His back still faced you, hiding whatever expression your protest might have molded his already sharp features into. 

"What was that?" he asked with menacing delicacy. "My potion was perfectly fine!" you argued. In a jarringly quick, fluid motion, he rounded on you, splaying his hands on the table as he easily loomed over your seated figure. The long, inky curtains of hair that bordered his face draped downward, shrouding his face from the fire's light and drenching his pallid complexion in shadows. "You would have sent some poor unsuspecting tester into a permanent sleep, and I am in no mood to be cooking up antidotes for failed potions." 

"It was just how you described!"

"Oh? Was it? Tell me, what scent was it?" This time it was you who paused. "Does your nose not work or is it your ears? What did it smell like, Potter," he demanded harshly. 

"N-nothing, it didn't smell like anything," you told him, not quite able to remember. Smoke was all around, and each potion in the room seemed to have effused its own unique scent. Without releasing your eyes from his, he pointed his wand toward the board, "Perhaps, since it seems that you believe you have a firm grasp of the subtle and vastly important intricacies of potion brewing, you can tell me what the potion should smell like? Or are your eyes broken too?" It took you a moment to gather your courage to peer over his shoulder and see, ruing what you might find. Your fears were confirmed when you noticed that among those crowded, little letters, accompanying the physical description and taste, was the scent. 

"Lavender..." you finally murmured, the bitter taste of defeat curling your face. 

"And what did yours smell like again?"

"Nothing...."

"Nothing, which is exactly the marks you'll be getting for this assignment. Next time I advise you to properly monitor the temperature and not just dump in as much moonstone powder as you wish. Your scales exist, use them." Straightening his back, he continued on his way as though this detour never happened - though he now twirled his wrist far more brusquely than before, snuffing out the potions in quicker succession. The few that passed the assignment lined up to fill their potions into flagons, but as soon as the bell tolled your freedom, you dumped your cauldron back onto the shelf and haphazardly shoved everything into your bag before nearly running from the classroom.

(A/N) - Sorry for the longish break, needed some time I didn't know I needed to refresh my mind (´︶`;;). (Also I may need to reel myself back in but I have so much fun writing catty Snape scenes.) This ended up reeaallyyy long so I've split it into two halves to make it readable (ﾉᵕヽ;;)! So more catty (though not nearly as fun!) professors in the next episode of Dragon Ball- I mean, next chapter of (y/n) Potter (´ ∀ `)ノ!

Chapter Text

Once your friends had caught up to you, you immediately broke into a rant. ""Does your nose not work?" Yeah, maybe I should have done what he clearly did and cast an Engorgement Charm on my nose, then I could smell every potion from miles around. N.E.W.Ts can't arrive fast enough. I should tank my exam just to spite him, show Professor Dumbledore just how horrible of a teacher that greasy, slimy, git is. Ugh, I can't believe Dumbledore would trust him enough to-" join the Order of the Phoenix- but you caught yourself, instead muttering simply, "to be a professor..."

You wished you could tell them, all the information you suddenly contained stretching your seams to their limit, but you couldn't betray the confidence of Sirius's loyalty and Lupin's timid trust.

They didn't seem to notice your near slip-up, themselves bristling. "And a foot-long paper on moonstone usage? This is our first week!" Hannah griped. Susan nodded with solidarity. "On top of a foot-and-a-half-long essay on the provocation of the giant wars! Giants are angry, the end!"

"There you go, just write that in rreaallyy big letters," you joked, feeling slightly lighter hearing their complaints for once. 

Past a corner and down another corridor, you three slipped into the Defense classroom, finding the classroom was barer and cleaner than you had ever seen it. The wyrm that clung to the ceiling like a macabre chandelier was stripped of the cobwebs that wove the bones like a cottony ghost of its flesh, restored back to their original bare state, and at the top of its vertebrae was a smart, pink bow. Extra candles were scattered around, the brazier for once well-fed. The wrought iron candelabra that hung above the professor's desk was cleaned of the frozen rivers of old wax that veined it, now shined under the flame of the wicks. Freshly scoured of the years that tinted them, even the bricks were brighter, and the dank air was perfumed sweetly by flowers, though the source was unseen.

The numerous flames seemed to hold no influence over the temperature that still uncomfortably seeped through your robes, however, and all the light that was boisterously dispensed only bent and convulsed every shadow, chasing them further up the walls. The shadows cast by Umbridge's plumped cheeks framed her cold eyes. 

Umbridge was already stationed at her desk, the same buoyant mien she wore the night before still fixed to her face. Her poly-pink attire caused her to stand out like a piece of discarded bubblegum on the sidewalk in the grey room. Conversations were all abandoned in the corridor as the rest of the class filtered in, made pensive by the new professor and the freshly burnished classroom that surrounded her. 

She finally spoke when Malfoy sat down with his gaggle at the back of the classroom and pulled out his wand from the pocket of his robe. "Oh no, you won't be needing that." He stared at her, blinked, and hesitantly returned it to his robe. 

Once all the seats were filled she stood up, saying enthusiastically, "Good afternoon!"

A few "Good afternoon"s trickled back, and her smile pinched tighter on her face. "Now, that won't do, will it? I should like you, please, to say "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.''" She waited expectantly, until everyone echoed in different volumes and tones, "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge."

"See? That wasn't so difficult. Now, wands away and quills and textbooks out."

While the class moved and quills, parchment, ink wells, and textbooks were laid across desks, she continued, "You will all be experiencing a Ministry-approved curriculum this year." Her own wand tapped three times against the board, and like a stone skipping over the surface of a lake, three chalk lines rippled across;

1. Understanding principles of defense magic.

2. Leaning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can be legally used.

3. Placing the defensive magic in a context of practical use.

The silence stayed uninterrupted, with the exception of the dull scratching of quills across the parchment. The books across the tables opened themselves in front of you, pages flying before pausing on the correct one. Chapter One, Magic For Beginners. She sat back down at the desk. "Please read the contents of the chapter quietly to yourself." 

You gave your best at attempting to acquiesce to the questionable circumstances of your new Defense teacher, reading the near childish explanations and condescending tone. Things like where to keep your wand pointed - never toward yourself or those you don't wish to hex - that some hexes and jinxes are worse than others - a trip to your local Healer is only an irresponsible spell away - to think if you truly need to resort to magic - or if words could handle the situation better ... Your fingers began fiddling with the soft plumage of your quill. You glanced curiously around you, seeing others struggling or completely abandoning the attempt to read. 

Ernie was biting his lip in an attempt to stay awake, dutifully writing down notes such as "Never point your wand at your own face." Susan was tapping her quill against the parchment, while Hannah was absentmindedly rolling the edge of the paper in her fingers. Malfoy had quickly given up all efforts to focus, standing his textbook upright to hide his doodling. Umbridge herself was watching the class closely. When she glanced at you, you flickered your eyes away, surrendering yourself back to the assignment, but you couldn't even finish a sentence before your mind began to slip away again. 

"When do we stop?" Zabini asked suddenly, capturing everyone's attention. 

"Hands raised when you speak, please. You may stop when the bell rings."

You raised your hand. "Is this all we'll be doing today?"

"Hands raised and you may speak when I call upon you. Yes, and tomarrow you will be moving on to the next chapter to read that as well." A few hands cropped up this time, but she ignored them, continuing in a tone made treacly with patronization, "It was brought to my attention that you are severely lacking in the fundamentals. Your previous teachers were, well, excuse me for saying this, but ill-sourced." With one last simper, she returned her attention to her desk, quill in hand, and ignored the hands that lingered in the air. Arms slowly fell along with faces with reassignment to their textbooks. Heads were propped up solely by hands on cheeks.

Again your mind strayed, this time to your ink well. You dipped the nib into it and watched the ink drop down into the vial. "Miss Potter," a voice called out delicately. You looked up and saw her watching you again. "Having trouble concentrating?" she asked, cloying sympathy now daubing her entire disposition.

"Um, are-"

"Hand, Miss Potter," she said.

You quickly raised your hand again, then lowered it. "Are we going to be using our wands at all this year?" Everyone else exchanged looks, suddenly perking up with interest again. Her smile widened, stretching thinner. "Why would you need to? You are too behind on the basics."

"Because-"

"The Ministry has decided that this is the proper curriculum."

"But what about-"

"Hand, Miss Potter." You threw your hand into the air again and let it fall just as quickly, but she instantly turned her attention to another student.

"Yes, Mr. Macmillan?"

"What about our Defense O.W.Ls?" Ernie tentatively inquired.

"Simple. So long as you've gotten a firm understanding of the theory, the practical aspect should be easy."

You tried again, your patience running thin, "What about-" but she simply continued over you, "Yes, your name?"

"Daphne Greengrass. How, with no practice?"

"I repeat, so long as you've studied the theory well enough, you will have no need to worry about your O.W.Ls. That will be enough questions for today. Continuing from Chapter One, please."

In the halls, your hands were angry knots around the bag over your shoulders, your hanging head weighed down by the growingly claustrophobic walls of the dungeons. It was only the first day of school and yet the dungeons were already feeling like their namesakes. The locket lingered balmy against your skin, still saturated with your anger. You wanted to say his name, were so close to it - the Order was still looking for him, how could the Ministry be so inept?! And this was a curriculum approved by them!?

Your distrait thoughts crept through to the surface as you began to nibble on your lip. How could you learn to protect yourself with no wands all year? Your worries echoed off your tongue with a tint of your internal brooding, "No wands all year?" 

Hannah dipped her head as she walked, looking at your downturned gaze with as much anxiety as you held anger. "What are we going to do?" She turned to Susan next. "There's no way we can actually pass our Defense O.W.Ls without actually learning anything this year."

Susan seemed equally distraught but remained pensive. "What can we do?" 

"But we'll fail if we don't use our wands at all!"

Your face snapped up, your sulky expression now shaped by bewilderment. "You're worried about OWLs?! Who cares about exams! Volde-"

Hannah's finger snapped to her lips as she released a long shush! that cut through your sentence. Heads in the hall rounded at the hissing sound she expelled. Susan stared owlishly at you, her lips slightly ajar, clearly surprised you would even try and utter his name.

Instead of dampening, their adverse reactions inflamed your resolve further. "It's important! He's out there somewhere!"

"Yes, but what can we do about that?" Hannah fought back, though aversion weakened her tone. "Something! We can do something! But we can't do anything if we don't learn new spells to defend ourselves! And we've never had a proper Defense teacher except Professor Lupin!"

She looked around shiftily, being sure no passer-bys had caught on to the pernicious subject of the argument before saying, "Dumbledore could be our professor and we couldn't fight You-Know-Who. Even if we did learn a few new spells, what could we do against..." That name became lost at the end of her voice as it trailed quietly before disappearing completely in her throat.

"(y/n) did something. She fought You-Know-Who and lived," Susan spoke up, surprising you as much as it had Hannah. Your fingers tightened, their knuckles pressing white around the straps of your bag as the truth leaked from your lips in a nearly inaudible whisper among the peripheral chatter, "I did... but..." The image of the glowing trophy, its pearlescent tendrils breaking apart the darkness that inhabited the maze, his fingers in perfect synch with your own as they wrapped around the arm. Voldemort stood lofty and imposing, sprouted forebodingly from the mantle of fog like the breathing effigy of your tomb; his marble-white skin blanched by the draping black robe and sickles of obsidian tresses that tumbled so artfully around his hauntingly alluring face; the ruby eyes that gleamed off his monochrome complexion with a luster nearly as luminous as the cup, cutting through the crisp darkness of the graveyard and piercing through you like hooks that longed to fill the gap between you by reeling you closer - "...I still can't help the thought that if Cedric had followed through with our agreement... if he had grabbed the trophy as well..." - Cedric sliding into your line of sight, his back throwing a cover over Voldemort as he brazenly put himself between you and him, denying the Dark Lord something he wished for - pressing your eyes shut, you threw your fingers into your mind, mercilessly shredding the string of thoughts before the next could appear.

The silence fell overhead like a heavy, suffocating cloud. The same black guilt that crept into your head and trickled down to your heart at the beckoning of the sullen silence the sleepless nights so often cultivated was now shared between your friends.

"And then I think about you guys..."

"You don't have to worry about us," Susan told you softly and kindly, but it had the opposite effect. "I do, though!" Your timbre began to grow along with your rising determination and frustration - no one seemed to be listening! - "I have to worry about you! And about everyone! We all have to know how to protect ourselves and each other from Vol-"

"Stop!" Hannah ordered, but you stubbornly pressed, "It's just a name! Voldemort!" Hannah's angry hiss smothered the name from the ears of passers-by, but those listening to the conversation caught its utterance. The locket panged at the name, rustling softly out of tune with your steps, but before you could properly take notice, the pitched, chirpy voice behind you stole your attention. 

"Excuse me?" All three of your heads flung back in unison, meeting Umbridge. "I'm sorry, Miss Potter, I'm sure I misheard. I'm sure you weren't spreading lies to your classmates regarding a very much dead Dark Wizard."

Surprise had momentarily toppled your battlement, but brick by brick, defiance had begun the reconstruction. "But he isn't dead, I saw him. I fought him."

The condescending titter that fluttered through her throat irked you further. Her mouth wound in a semi-circle of patronization, and her brow pressed and lifted so high in incredulousness that they were nearly hidden in the mousy brown swirls that hung neatly across her forehead. "Now, Miss Potter, you should know better than to tell lies, especially about something so grievously serious."

"I know it's serious, that's why-"

"Break period, to my knowledge, does not take place within the halls. Go on now," she said lightly, not looking at you but the group of students that you hadn't even noticed were gathering, "I'm sure you have better places to be." They reluctantly peeled away but walked as slowly as possible, their heads turned nearly all the way around. She looked back to you, her smile sitting on her face like an upside-down frown. "I understand that you might be a tad excitable given your... circumstances. But you needn't be. The Headmaster of this school has likely been filling your little head with all kinds of falsehoods, but the Ministry-"

"Professor Dumbledore has not been-"

"Do not interrupt me!" A crack had permeated her benignant mask, but with a mollifying breath, the same syrupy sweetness smothered her face once again as she wove her fingers around each other and continued, "But the Ministry assures you that that certain dead Dark Wizard is still indeed dead."

The locket burned against your skin with sympathetic anger, fueling your impulsiveness and amplifying your voice to a near shout, "Voldemort is alive!"

Like whiplash, muted chatter and stifled shrieks met your words as they traveled through the corridors, leaving behind an oppressive hush in their wake. The power of that name acted as a wandless hex, freezing every foot to the ground and bewitching all eyes to your frame. A phantom chill shook Susan, and Hannah's hands clapped to her ears as though she could expel your voice out of them, while Seamus had tripped over his own feet, nearly taking Neville down with him; but their focus never left you. Even the flames of sconced torches quivered in terror, causing the shadows that painted the rough stone walls to shutter as well. Fear had wreathed its rigid, gelid fingers around every throat - except for Umbridge. She hadn't flinched, her lips remaining in their poised position. The disquieted flickering of the flames stretched and darkened the shadows off her high cheekbones and soft chin, pantomiming an ominous scowl across her still face. 

"10 points from Hufflepuff. I warned you about interrupting." She returned her gaze to the sea of perturbed and petrified faces that surrounded you. "I assure you all that the Ministry is and has always been ever vigilant of the comings and goings of the wizarding world, and the Ministry would like all of you to know that there is absolutely nothing to fear. Nothing has changed-"

"Yes, it has!" you recklessly shouted over her, your wildly churning heart beating in unison with the locket's own reverberation, echoing every thought back to you like a feedback loop.

When Umbridge's neck snapped back to you, the once dull features of her face sharpened as they contorted, ripping the frilly veil of geniality to shreds and leaving the tattered pieces at her feet. "Detention for continued disobedience! You will not interrupt me when I am speaking and you will not continue to flagrantly spread these harmful lies-"

"I am not lying! The truth-"

"THE TRUTH IS THAT YOU ARE A LIAR! ANOTHER WORD AND YOUR DETENTION WILL BE DOUBLED!" A shade of pink that matched her cardigan suffused her complexion as her near-to-bulging eyes bored down at you. You only bit your tongue and swallowed the simmering words upon it when you felt Hannah tug on your robe sleeve, anchoring you back to earth. Instead, you allowed your eyes to say your words for you.

Umbridge glanced around reluctantly before unfurling the tight fists at her sides and instead running them soothingly over her skirt. She cleared her throat with a flutter and folded her hands back over each other as she spoke in a clear voice to the stagnant bodies clogging the hallway, "I do not mean to insult this school, but it is very clear that some questionable attitudes have been fostered, and I, on behalf of the Ministry, will be sorting these out for all of your benefits. And if anyone comes to you with heinous fibs regarding any reborn Dark Wizards, please, my office will always be open to talk. Now, off you go, all of you."

With the flitter of her wrist, she shepherded their presence from the corridor, and obediently yet at a trickle, feet dislodged from the cold ground and fell back into their paths, but this time huddled together in hushed talk, necks bent and eyes pinning to either you or Umbridge. Your own pace was heated as the wish to finally free yourself from the cramping confines of the dungeons nipped at your heels, but despite the distance you had purposefully created, the call from across the corridor dripped into your ears like honey, saccharine yet viscus, "My office at five o'clock tomarrow, Miss Potter."

Chapter Text

        The occasional breath of air that would trail through your hair and the sea of grass you traversed with playful fingers were brief reprieves in the late summer heat. As soon as you stepped outside of the castle, you had unpinned the top three buttons of your blouse, allowing the chain of the locket to wiggle freely with your steps. The locket still laid warm against your chest, as though it had spent the morning lounging in the sun instead of festering below ground.

The residue of agitation tarried on your bones as an escape from the dungeons seemed futile; the sky above you was the same shade of stultified grey as the rough-carved stone walls that had entombed you. You were only able to cherish a trace of solace when you shifted your head and took a moment to gaze at the Quidditch pitch in the distance. 

The sight conjured a comfortable smile - that was just as quickly stolen when you noticed Hagrid's hut. The windows were black, the chimney cold, and the pumpkin patch that grew beside the door only half their usual giant size and bespeckled with brown spots where slugs were finally allowed to nibble their fill.

He wasn't ill in bed, he was gone. For how long? And how much longer? But the looping thoughts were severed and set aside when you found the throngs of bodies that stood in their usual spot on the outskirts of the forbidden forest. Filling your lungs to burst with foliage-steeped air that rustled through the forest, you dove your hand into your bag as you approached the tangle of Slytherin. 

Malfoy was snickering on the outskirts of the small group. His grin died when he felt his shirt sleeve being tugged, but as soon as he glanced over his shoulder, his knitted brow unraveled, and his annoyance was forgotten as he found you. "Here," you said, filling the gap between you with his Potions textbook. As he took it, your complexion darkened with embarrassment, "And... thanks," before swiftly turning your back and retreating, refusing to see what face he might have worn. Deafening your hearing was much less simple, and behind you, you heard the Slytherins mutter, "What was that about, Draco?"

His reply was without its usual confident pomp, instead coming out stumbling and a shade of abashed, "It- it's what prefects do. Helping the less fortunate, that is."

Professor Grubbly-Plank was holding her hand above her horn-rimmed glasses against the glare that illuminated the clouds like sheer, grey curtains, watching for the few students that dotted the field between the castle and the forest when you approached her. "Where's Professor Hagrid?" She lowered her arm. "Professor Hagrid is on vacation." 

You made no attempt to hide your disbelief. "Vacation? Why? Where?" 

"Those are questions only he can answer, though I'm sure you can assume the why." 

"When will he be back?" 

"Students aren't privy to the private lives of professors. He will be back when he's back. Alright, everyone here?" She returned her attention to the class to count heads, leaving you less than satisfied, and clapped her hands together to summon everyone's attention. "Alright, let's get started." 

She put her hand on one of the trees that created the boundary of the forest, just below one of the small branches that jutted from the bark. To the class's astonishment, the small branch began to move, crawling onto her hand. She held it in front of her, "Does anyone know what this is?"

"Twig, Professor!" Malfoy said under his breath, making Crabbe and Goyle break into cackling fits.

"Bowtruckle," you answered over him.

She nodded toward you, "Five points to Hufflepuff." After the brief explanation, you were given pencils and paper and a Bowtruckle of your own. He sat content and still on your finger, nibbling away at a woodlouse while your eyes flickered from him to the paper. Your scathing assumptions of Grubbly-Plank's lesson were irritatingly thwarted; though you'd never say it, you quite enjoyed the class, appreciating the peaceful interaction with a magical creature that didn't leave you battered in some form. Once his food was gone he began to saunter off your finger, forcing you to grab more to keep him in place. 

After class, you turned in the labeled sketch and parted with your little Bowtruckle. On the way back to the castle, a voice appeared above your shoulder, "You want to know where Hagrid really is?" Your feet rooted to the grass before twisting around - you found Malfoy alone, a mysterious simper resting comfortably on his pale face. Only a few inches separated your chests, the shadow he case engulfed your frame as he almost leaned over you.

You took a step back before interrogating, "How would you know?" But the answer came on its own; his father was a Death Eater. 

"Your large friend is an example of why you should be careful who you associate with these days. Rather giant dangers to be with the wrong people, and certain protections to be with the other." As abruptly as he had appeared, he stepped past you and continued toward the castle. Your fist caught the back of his blouse, and he didn't look unpleased as he looked over his shoulder. "Where is Hagrid," you demanded firmly. 

All he gave you was a casual shrug of his shoulder. "Ah, but I've been helping you out a lot recently. Giving you advice, lending you my textbook. Now you want top-secret information too? But what have you done for me lately?"

"I haven't hexed your skin off." But he only turned his back, forcing your fingers to coil tighter around the fabric to keep him in place. "Wait! I'm, I'm sorry," you finally said, enticing his attention again, his smile far wider now. "What do you want?" He hummed in thought, theatrically resting a hand on his chin. The amusement he was enjoying measured in equal parts to your misery. He dropped his hand and tucked it inside his trouser pocket. 

"Library, monday. By the Charms section, during lunch." All the questions you threw at him glided right past his frame as he slipped from your grasp and sauntered back to the castle with the confident strut of a tomcat. 

~~

        "No!" Hannah declared, her voice amplified around her as it echoed off the towering ceiling that capped the Grand Staircase, exasperating her outrage and turning a few heads. You shushed her, to little avail.

"You're seriously considering it?" Susan reiterated with confusion. 

"But if he knows where Hagrid is, it's worth the risk, isn't it? And he isn't so bad this year..." 

"He's the same snake-tongued, big-headed, ferret-faced-"

"Only a few hours ago he was yanking our seats back," Susan pointed out, her residing anger plain through her bitter expression.

"Parkinson did that. Technically Malfoy didn't even have his wand out." The crowd you flowed with paused as the next case of stairs swung back toward your feet.

"He sat back and enjoyed the show! He's a prefect and all he did was smile like an idiot!" Hannah bit back, hardly taping her towering voice as you all gathered on the staircase and climbed down while it craned toward its next destination. "Yes, but... he let me borrow his Potions textbook..." Your tone was unsure even as you spoke it, left unable to parcel out some evil ploy, plot, or scheme in the gesture. 

"That's why you failed your potion, because he jinxed the book!" Hannah deduced wildly. You soured. "No, that was because of the second biggest..." lowering your voice a few more cautious decibels, just in case he might hear and descent down upon you like a giant bat, "git in the castle. I even gave it back to him and nothing happened."

"Why would he even know anything more about Hagrid's whereabouts than you would?" Susan pointed out. The answer that sprang to your mind was unfortunately detained here, the lock on your tongue that Lupin had forged remaining unbroken, 'Because he was being truthful when he told me things were changing in Diagon Alley. Because his father is a Death Eater.'

"If you go, we're going," Hannah said as you began to descend the Marble Staircase. "Alright, but don't blame me if you have to go to Charms hungry..." The conversation was forgotten when a group ahead of you on the stairs caught your eye; they all turned to peer around at the same time before whipping their faces away when your eyes met. Their heads leaned together, reconvening with a flurry of muffled chatter that lost its clandestine shroud with the help of the echoing hall. 

They weren't the first gaggle of gossiping gawkers you had encountered outside the dungeon - your exchange with Umbridge seems to have restruck the death knell that had rung through everyone's ears only a handful of months prior; "Voldemort's back."

Susan glanced from the tightly knitted group to you and bristled. "People believe everything they read," she commented audaciously loudly. A girl pried her face away from the others, retorting, "And some people believe everything they hear."

"But just because you get your information from the Daily Prophet it makes it true?"

Her eyes flicked to you as she said, "Better a newspaper than a liar." 

Hannah threw her shoulders back and near-shouted, "I'll have you know I'm a prefect-" Susan sputtered an uncouth laugh, surprising you both. "I'll have you know I'm a prefect," she parroted in a deep, commanding voice. "Well it's true!" she defended, though smiling wide herself.

"I believe you." Luna's voice almost caused you to trip down the stairs as its sudden appearance triggered a jarred jump in your steps. She stared down at you from a few steps above, her wide eyes glimmering beneath the countless candles that sat on the enormous candelabra above, the radishes that hung from her ears still swaying with her past stride. "You-Know-Who is back, and you fought him and escaped him." A few snickers came from the bodies that shared the stairs, none so louder than the other Ravenclaws. She aimed her lantern-gaze at them. "You can laugh, but people used to believe there was no such thing as Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and many lives were lost because of it!" The snickers intensified to full guffaws. 

"Thank you, Luna," you said over them, "I like your earrings." The grateful smile you gave her was reflected back at you. "They're radishes, to keep away the Blibbering Humdingers. They were featured in the Quibbler I gave you last year."

Her smile grew when you replied, "I remember."

In the Great Hall, you were ambushed by Cedric and Maxine, both appearing thoroughly disgruntled. Your friends, able to predict exactly what was about to occur, dislodged from your side, shuffling over to the trestle table with a few curious glances on their way. "Detention?? All week???" Maxine's aghast exclamation held a lilt as though it was a genuine question that pleaded for a certain answer. Cedric's shoulders were dropped dolorously while his face was molded by poorly stifled disappointment. The memory hit you with a gasp, "Quidditch tryouts! Oh no, I'm so sorry."

"We need the whole team there if we're going to recruit a new Chaser," he stressed. "We haven't played for two years, we need all the practice we can get in."

"I'm so sorry," you echoed helplessly.

"Just, try and ask her if you can get Friday off. Please. This coming match is really important."

You had never seen him so hassled; the crease between his brows had found its way beneath his eyes as he stared down at you, and his hair now gathered like a stormy ocean of chestnut, stirred up by his stressed hand continuously raking over it.

"It's ok if we lose our first match, it won't decide the entire season. We can lose to Ravenclaw so long as we win against Gryphindor or they lose to Slytherin," but he didn't seem placated by your logic. "I know, just... the win is necessary."

"Why?"

His hand again found his head, his fingers gliding through the tresses, streaks of golden light playing across the wavy strands as he looked away. "Is there any way you can try and get out of detention?"

He might as well have asked you to fill in for Chaser yourself. "I'll try..." you said delicately. His arm fell in tune with a sigh from his lips. "Please do whatever you need to. I'm gonna catch up on some studying, but do whatever you can. We need you there." With a weary smile, he wandered off with Maxine giving you one last look of "make it work!" before following hot on his heels.

As soon as Cedric left, the twins took his place. "We heard you're in a bind with Quidditch and detention. Could get you out of it for only a few Sickles." Fred pulled out a brightly colored candy box. Written across the face in curvaceous handwriting was 'Skiving Sweets.'

Remembering your ghastly trial session with their Nosebleed Nougat, you swiftly declined. With a shrug, the box disappeared back into his pocket. "Come O.W.Ls you'll be singing a different tune." 

You settled into a spot at the trestle table like a puzzle piece. "What's with Cedric? It's just a game," Hannah remarked.

"Probably stressed that it's his second to last year and Hufflepuff hasn't won the cup since their old captain," you told her. 'And next year would be his last.' The thought dropped from your head and into your stomach, wriggling around your insides. You glanced back, watching him disappear into the entrance hall; his head was low and at an angle as he listened to Maxine's ravings. His robe billowing after him like a flighty shadow was the last you saw as the ajar door consumed the rest of your view. 

Ernie dropped himself into the open space across the table only to throw back his shoulders and announce unnecessarily (and unappreciatedly) loudly, "I believe you, (y/n)! My family has always been supporters of Dumbledore!" The eyes of the neighboring tables weren't the only ones that found your frame, and every one shrank you further as you suddenly desperately wished to vanish.

"Thank you, Ernie," you murmured without a fraction of his ardor, "but I'd rather not talk about that over my dinner plate. Rather hard to enjoy it when I'm being treated like an exhibit."

"Well, did you have to say You-Know-Who's name so loudly...?" Hannah said in a withered voice, causing Susan to fall back into the same argument from the dungeon, "She was right. People need to listen and know what's going on."

"People may be listening, but perhaps too much," she gestured motionlessly to all the twisted torsos and craning necks. 

"It's never too much! Even if they won't believe, they have to be reminded! My aunt told me all about the Second Wizarding War. No one listened until it was too late!" Her voice abruptly fell, almost as though she was trying to lose her words within the surrounding conversations, "I lost almost all of my family because no one listened, and I won't let that happen again. To anyone."

Hannah stammered silently as though she were choking on Susan's words. "...I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, but we do have to do something." Hannah nibbled on her lip anxiously, the hovering candles above reflecting in her perturbed eyes as she looked between you antsy, "Yes, you're right, but how?"

You were sitting on pins and needles as you listened to them, wishing you could spring up and tell them everything. You knew how. But you couldn't say it. Again, the truth was forcefully swallowed, where it sat heavy in the pit of your stomach. Christmas, you would have to wait til then to beg the Order to allow you to include your friends (Sirius would be easy to sway, if he needed swaying at all, but the others...) "We'll think of something," you told them solemnly. 

Hannah rested her cheek on her hand, letting out one last dolorous sigh, "And this had to happen with the year O.W.Ls started?"

When dinner was over, Hannah and Susan melded into the ocean of yellow hoods that shuffled into the kitchen corridor while you were forcefully sucked into the adjacent dungeon corridor. Your knuckles rapped against the same heavy wooden door that Dumbledore had burst from its wrought iron hinges the year prior, though you had the feeling that no one was going to come to your rescue this time.

"Come in," she chimed in a bouncy, sing-song lilt. You were immediately assaulted by the boisterous, bubblegum pink that washed the stone walls. A flurry of pitched meows erupted from the ornamental plates that lined the wall behind her, housing portraits of kittens and cats of every breed, each with a pink or blue bow. Professor Moody's various instruments and magical artifacts were replaced by a severely benign assortment of decor; at the corner of her desk was a turquoise vase of stiff flowers that were coated in a plasticky sheen, and near every surface was dripped in lacy doilies. From behind her desk, she was seated on a comfortable armchair that was clothed by powder pink upholstery, and hanging beside her were curtains laden with ruffles and splattered with white dots. They were drawn shut to hide a window that wasn't there. Not to be outdone by the acute ornamentation of her room, her robe hoarded at least four shades of pink, with a wild purple making an exotic appearance. 

The sole reprieve was the hearth that crackled merrily against the wall, banishing away the dungeon chill at the door. The mantle held a few more flower vases, with a runner cladding the length, spilling off either side like two frozen, lacy waterfalls.

You stuck in the doorway until her greeting pulled you in. "Good evening, Miss Potter."

"Good evening, Professor Umbridge..." you returned tentatively, shutting the door.

Your place seemed to be at the simple wooden desk that sat in the corner, with a blank piece of parchment resting over yet another bone-white doily. Sitting down, you asked, "Um, is there any way I could have Friday off?" She smiled pleasantly and tilted her head curiously, her eyes transfixed on you. 

"What for, dear?" Hope miraculously blossomed from the bog of despair. "Quidditch tryouts, I'm Seeker for my team and they really, really need me there, and I was wondering if there was any way that I could-" She giggled and shook her head. "Oh my no, absolutely not."

She chuckled lightly again as you deflated, and said, "This is a punishment you've earned for spreading disgusting, fear-mongering lies, Miss Potter, and punishments are not adjusted to best fit the guilty party's convenience. No, you will be here on Friday, at five o'clock, just like today and just like tomarrow, and the day after that." She offered you a smile, and you just redirected your vision to your parchment. You expected this, yet it still stung. 

"You will be writing lines for me. As you can see, I've already provided your quill and paper."

You picked up the quill, twirling it slowly in your fingers. It was as black as ink, the details of the tuft lost in the opaque color. It seemed to even drink in the light from the hearth. The tip was unusually sharp, honed to a point instead of rounded like all of the other quills you had used before. The quill was long, its tip just as fierce and sharp as a dagger, while the plumage was trimmed and neat, like the hilt.

'Lines? That's all?' you thought as you inspected the quill. It would be better than gutting flobberworms at least. You reached for your bag to grab an ink well, but she called, "Oh, you won't be needing any ink."

You sat back up, looking at the quill, then to her. "What do you want me to write?"

Her smile stretched, nestling so comfortably into her plump cheeks. ''"I must not tell lies," will do."

"How many times?"

A warm sigh drifted through her pinched nose, and she reclined in her chair, her fingers entwining together comfortably over the papers before her. The tight mousey curls hardly moved as she lulled her head to the side, a natural smile finally settling beneath Umbridge's cold eyes. "Until it sinks in, dear."

Spilling out of the room, your weeping hand was shoved in your robe pocket. Your heart throbbed, and the tears you defiantly held now tumbled freely down your cheeks. Moaning Myrtle was mercifully absent from the first-floor bathroom, the complete solitude allowing your resilient front to shatter into heaving sobs that shook your body, forcing it to crumble to the ground. Your knees tucked to your chest as your torso hung, raining tears onto the cold tiled floor. 

Your knees were sore and freezing and your stomach was cramped painfully by the time you were sure every drop of angry water was shed. The cold water, which was the only temperature this bathroom had to offer, that trickled into your cupped hands was thrown onto your face before you wiped it dry again with your robe's sleeve. After a final inspection, you finally treaded into the kitchen corridor. Standing in front of the barrels, you took in a string full of air, steeling your singed nerves one last time before sliding inside. The black sky that tinted the windows gave you no indication of how much time had passed, but Hannah and Susan were still up, among the few bodies either draped over their study notes or homework. Cedric was among them, sitting crouched over the table beside a half-asleep Zacharias, who was hoisted upright only by his hand.

"There you are. Been hours."

"Took you half a giant's essay. How'd it go?" Hannah asked. You kept your raw hand in your pocket and simply shrugged, saying, "Alright." Every lie came easier than the last.

"What'd she make you do? Scrub the entrance hall without magic?"

"Trapped with Filch in the dungeons?"

"Lines." They traded a silent exchange as their surprise mellowed relief.

"Oh, well not that bad then. With the color her face had turned, I thought you'd be raking the grounds with your bare fingers."

Cedric might as well have appeared in a puff of smoke. "Did you get Friday off??" Again you felt like crying but fortunately, the well of tears was dry. After a deep breath, you simply said, again, "I'm sorry." His head dropped and Zacharias, disheveled from sleep but now wide awake, groaned. "All you had to do was not scream He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named's name!"

Cedric rounded on him, instantly silencing him with a single look. Running a hand through his hair, he kept his eyes on the ground as he said, "Just, try and keep your nose clean from now on, alright?"

"Yeah," was all you could say.

Chapter Text

       Adopting the still stoicism of a statue, you constricted the fibers that knitted the muscles in your raised arm as you wrung the trembling from them. Umbridge stood up from behind her desk and tenderly slid her fingers beneath your own, reading the carved lines before inspecting your eyes just as closely. What she saw only made her treacly smile sweeten further. "Tut tut tut. Still hasn't left an impression, has it?" She waited for a response, but you kept your lips pressed to a knife's cut. Umbridge nodded understandingly.

"I suspect it will soon. "

With every exchange of good evening and good night, the blood ran quicker and the healing slowed. The professors laden your days with more schoolwork while the aching of your hand ruined your nights. By the end of Thursday, "tell lies" was engraved into your flesh, and the rest of the words were puffed lines beveling the skin. 

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

Friday you sat down at the usual spot and picked up the jet quill. Blood trickled almost ticklishly down your hand as wounds reopened. "I must not tell lies" traced across your skin as the quill scrawled the parchment, imprinting a reflection of those sobbing red lines that dripped with black hatred from your heart. Cuddled beside your heart, the locket imbibed every frigid drop. 

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

Written on the paper and your skin, the blood that wasn't drunk by the quill ran but your eyes stayed dry. You hadn't cried since the second night and would make sure of that. No sharp inhales, gasps, or any other displays of pain. Not a single whimper fled from your lips. All of this was a waste of her time. Purely skin deep. 

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

Umbridge glanced up from her papers and said, "Alright, let me see." You got up and offered your hand. She took it by the fingertips, sure not to touch the blood. "Yes, I think you've gotten the message." She stared up at you from her seat, her cold eyes suddenly alive with a sight that grasped and prodded like hands. "It hurts, doesn't it?" Her voice came soft and tender, the façade of sympathy betrayed only by the tincture of gratification. You said nothing but could tell that she saw the truth. She nodded, finally letting you go.

"You may go now. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Hours of tossing and turning followed, fueled by futile attempts at finding a position that didn't trigger the bolts that shot through your wrist. The sleep you finally scrounged gifted no solace, instead transmogrifying your bed into a door that fell open beneath you, dumping your body into a different bedroom. A bitter chill crept with ease on the back of every gust through the window frames, rattling the glass in their poorly fitted frames, and billowing through the heavy curtains like the skirts of sleeping ghosts.

A cold, skeletal finger of winter traced up your spine, and a shiver twitched your muscles similarly. The pajamas that you had fallen asleep in were poor protection from the cruel environment you had awoken in. Awoken? You looked at your hand, opening and closing it. You then shifted your attention to the window, where you saw the white, bright sky shining above a busy street. Taking a step back, you turned back toward the room.

The bed that rested against the wall was small, the varnish either paled or worn off, with one stunted leg propped up by a few scraps of folded paper and cardboard. A simple wardrobe sat on the opposite wall, looking similarly worn and gloomy, and beneath the window was a simple wooden desk that dredged up memories of Umbridge's office. Your hand subconsciously tucked itself into your other.

The door was quietly opened - so quietly that you wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't seen it - and a young boy slipped inside. Your voice stayed in your throat when his eyes swept over you sightlessly and returned to the precious item protected in his hand as he sat down atop his threadbare and seamed blanket. 

The discomfort of the weather seemed lost on the boy as he handled the brightly colored toy soldier. He had a head of tight black curls and was dressed in a dark dress shirt and pilling vest. His legs were curled beneath him on the bed, gifting all of his attention to the little tin toy.

You weren't sure how, but you knew that the nipping cold was easier to ignore now that he had acquired this colorful treasure. Your eyes settled on the toy, and suddenly you could understand why, your thoughts in synch, lockstep; its little arms could articulate in simple yet amusing movements, and the paint was still pristine and bright, without any dents or nicks. He rarely came into possession of new things - every article of clothing, ill-fitting pair of shoes, even bed and board, all hand-me-downs from some uncouth slob that never minded their belongings. 

The poor muffled blaring of sobs behind the door stole your ears, but there was always crying and screaming and wailing and shouting in this hobble - for anger or sadness or attention or shallow injury, it all sounded the same, grating his ears like auditory sandpaper. But today he was content with his new pretty plaything - until he heard the hammer of footsteps. Wrenching his eyes off the miniature soldier, the doorknob wriggled helplessly before a heavy rapping hit his door. The tether between you two caused you to jolt in tune with him at the slamming.

"Tom!" an angry voice shouted from behind the door. You glanced back at him warily as you suddenly knew that the boy had no fear, as she knew better than to try and strike him again - the memory of her burned hand almost caused a smile to break his face, and though you felt his joy, your own grimaced. But regardless, he acted swiftly, jumping off his bed nimbly and lifting the floorboard in the middle of the floor, dropping the toy inside, alongside the small hoard of other likely nicked objects. He fell back on his bed and the doorknob coincidently fixed itself, allowing her access.

The woman stared down at him heatedly, "Where's it, Tom." Her breath reeked of alcohol all the way from where you were standing. The small girl was standing in the hall behind the matron, her little hands balled on her dress. When they caught eyes, she visibly flinched. As she should. Tom flicked his eyes back at the woman.

"Where's what?" Tom asked innocently. His act of ignorance was so authentic you might have believed him if you hadn't seen him hide the toy with your own eyes. He had turned into another child in the blink of an eye. But she knew better. 

"Where is Molly's toy. She told me you stole it."

"I don't know," he said naturally. She scowled at his frank speech. "What did I say about tellin' lies??"

"I don't recall you ever telling me anything regarding lies," Tom lied blithely, the elegant grin on his face now colored a mocking shade. Her nostrils flared and her hands curled, but she instead threw them at his wardrobe, yanking it open. But he knew better to keep anything in there now. She twisted her face back to him, her eyes narrowing. 

"So. You weren't playin' with it before I came in?"

"With what? I have nothing." He lifted his empty palms to show her.

"Ah, so you were just sittin' there on the bed starin' at the wall?" She had caught him, causing a crack to spiderweb across the icy surface of his façade. His smile dropped and his brows pursed together ever so slightly in chagrin. "Where is the goddamn toy, Tom!!" She blared back at him, stomping over to him, but before she could step onto the loose floorboard that hid his treasures, her foot caught on the air, spilling her onto the ground hard. Splayed on the floor, their views were swapped as he now stared down at her coldly, his hands still folded, a smirk subtly pulling at the corner of his lips.

"You, you freak," she groaned, crawling backward away from him. The smirk vanished, and something heavy was born in both your chests. 

"Why can't you just be normal like the other damn children!" She ungracefully scooped herself off the dirty floor, seething between her teeth, "You goddamn liar." And in perfect synch with the slam of the door, your eyes flicked open. Like a curtain being ripped aside, the world was shifted upside down, the brick and austere painted wall replaced by the familiar sight of the dormitory ceiling. Your hand ran across your face, and despite the goosebumps that beveled all across your skin where the soaking cold had lingered, your fingers trod across a thick sheen of sweat.

You hardly noticed the lockets piqued heat against your own feverish temperature. You methodically peeled yourself off your sweat-soaked bedsheet and opened your bed curtain an inch, peering at Hannah - who was still just a lump of blankets - then to the window, observing the chary light that tepidly diluted the black night to a cool blue. The dream had left you more exhausted than if you hadn't slept at all.

You cupped a hand around the locket but felt only the heat that must have been incubated during the night. You could have sworn that it was beating like a second heart only a moment ago. Your fingers coiled around it. 'I was just imagining it.' It was your own excitement, the fear that still gripped your heart when you awoke. Awoke. Yes. You awoke. It was a dream, a terrible, awful dream about a boy with a very common name. 

"The journal is dead. I killed it," you whispered to yourself, but the sickening nostalgia that clawed its way up your throat betrayed a more salient truth. You attempted to smother it with more words of affirmation, "It's just a dream..." 

        "There is no such thing as just a dream! As you will be learning this year! Good day to you all! And welcome back to Divination!" Trelawny's clasped hands spread across the air with the grace of a bird stretching its wings. The hearth behind her danced and spat, cooking the already sweltering attic classroom. Your sleeves rolled past your elbows, and your robe was a puddle of black under the chess table you sat at.

"I have been following you throughout your journeys this summer, and am pleased to see all of you safely here, as I knew you would be." She drifted across the classroom, the colony of dust motes moving similarly through the golden streams of sunlight that were quartered by the thin window panes.

"This year we will be parceling together and decoding the hidden yet never the less powerful, ominous power of our dreams!" The Divination textbooks were all peeled open across the assortment of tables. Beads of sweat sprouted across your brow, and you gave a wistful look to the teacups that were displayed in the china cabinet.

"Dream interpretation is a most important means of clarifying the future," her voice dropped its translucent hue for a moment as she said in a flat tone, "and will very likely be on your O.W.Ls exam." She cleared her throat, regaining its hazy quality, "Not that tests and exams can determine whether or not you have the Sight. Certificates and the like play no role in our sacred art. Now, let us dip our ethereal toes into the foggy waters of dream-seeing by flipping to Chapter Three page twenty-four, and taking out our dream diaries."

You flipped some pages and read aloud when called upon "-and the repetition of certain objects or feelings within your dream-" but mid-class when you began writing heartily into the diary, Trelawney watched you happily, not knowing you had completely rejected the topic of the class, and instead began the introduction paragraph for your moonstone usage essay.

~~

        Slicing through the air, your arm outstretched, inches from the Snitch, but just before you clasped your fingers, it darted off and out of your grasp. You swore and pursued. Though the Seeker gloves effectively hid the cuts, the pain still stabbed like needles through your fingers. But you stubbornly kept your wounded hand welded to the broom through the cutting pain, reopening the slits all over again.

You zipped through the outskirts of the pitch, the bright morning sun stabbing over the horizon, crippling your vision. Your mind wandered off with the vanished Snitch; the weekend had slipped through your fingers, consumed voraciously by lost Quidditch practice and homework. Tomorrow would be when Malfoy expected you in the library. You weren't sure which you dreaded more, being shoved back in a room with Umbridge for hours, or facing whatever task Malfoy had in store for you.

A second, minuscule sun glittered below you halfway across the field. One eye squinted and the other pinned tight, you wove through the Chasers and dipped the tip of your broom, but the Golden Snitch absconded from your reach when you knocked shoulders with the new Chaser, Summerby. "Sorry!" you sputtered out, righting the tilt of your broom.

"I-it's ok!" he stuttered back, gripping his broom with hands and knees for dear life before flying back up. "The goals are up here, Summerby!" Zacharias chastised from above.

You clapped your hands against your cheeks, the supple dragon leather ringing against your flesh. Lowering your torso back to the broom, you took off again. The mild sting stole your attention from the constant ache in your scar and hand. 

Hedwig was loosed from your arm, through the owlery window. All windows were doors for her, not just for gazing longingly through; you envied her for that. You hardly were able to keep your promise to Sirius, so caught in the chaos of the first week that you nearly forgot to write him. What you poured through your quill had amounted to a list of complaints, but you tried to add as much color as you could muster near the end. The notes you wished to purge onto paper - the draconian detention you were subjected to, the return of these strange waking dreams - were all too risky to mention. Even if you didn't need to worry about the letter falling into someone else's hands, Sirius was too impulsive; the last time you were straightforward with your anxieties, he had appeared suddenly at Hogsmeade.

You leaned a shoulder against the side of the owlery window, staring out as Hedwig disappeared, wishing for wings of your own. Across the top of the forbidden forest, two black wings sailed a skeletal body through the sky before diving back into the canopy. A thestral. You tore yourself away. 

When you dipped back into the common room, you entered a muttering fray. Ernie ran up to you, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah, and Susan following on his heels. He shoved the Daily Prophet forward with a mien of silent outrage.

"The hell're you doing with that?" you questioned.

"Read!" he managed to command through a twisted mouth. The headline shouted in big letters, "MINISTER RESPONDS TO HOGWARTS PROBLEM!" before rippling into an accompanying headline, "STRIKING SOLUTION TO HOGWARTS HEADMASTER'S HUMILIATING HICCUPS!"

High Inquisitor Appointed!

Inside Information!

You yanked the paper from him and opened it with a crisp clap. Your eyes narrowed with every word they absorbed.

"The Ministry is growing uneasy with the goings-on at Hogwarts," says junior assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. (You realized he was the only Weasley that had not popped in at Grimmauld Place.) Addressing these concerns, new legislation has been passed regarding the running of Hogwarts in an effort to lift up the failing standard of the school and pick up the slack for Dumbledore's numerous failings. Unprecedented power has been handed to the newly created position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor, currently filled by the former Madam Undersecretary of the Minister and newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dolores Jane Umbridge. In another stroke of genius from Minster Fudge, educational Decree Number Twenty-three gives the High Inquisitor power to inspect her fellow educators in an effort to ensure the quality of professors. 

"Mad, they're all mad," Justin said.

Though the lines were fading, they cried a phantom ached.

~~

        McGonagall was stiff as a stone statue for most of the class, only her robes swishing around her legs and wrists, like any stray movement might crack her. The source of this petrification was found in the corner of the room clutching a clipboard and pink quill. Without passing you on the stairs, Umbridge appeared in Charms, already seated with her clipboard, grinning the same grin. Flitwick was not as cold nor limber as stone - where Mcgonagall gave Umbridge all the hospitality as she would a spider on the wall, he donned a suit of courtesies and wielded a chipper sword of amiability. Flitwick had conjured a plump purple pillow for the seat of her chair and offered a cup of tea, cookies, and a stool for her feet. But she responded the same as she had in Transfigurations, with the same pinned smile and scribbling behind the clipboard.

The next day, Snape acted as though he was unaware of her presence completely (which wasn't too hard to believe since she was drowned in the shadows that habitated the corners of the gloomy classroom) as the papers soared through the sky and onto your desks. "Though not as abysmal as my previous class, only a handful of you were acceptable, most poor, and the rest failed miserably." Your paper was christened with an excessively large black P. You scowled and shoved it into your bag.

Hearing a pained groan in front of you, you glanced up and saw Ernie's paper, which had a giant tea stain on it, below the red T sprawled across the top. "Perhaps if we focused more on our actual school work and less on extracurriculars," his black eyes found you for a slit moment before returning to the class, "then I'd expect passable results."

By the time you had transported the Strengthening Solution into the flask and placed it on Snape's desk, Umbridge was missing from the corner she was tucked in. You found her again in Defense, where chapter two, Common Defense Theory and Their Derivation, awaited you.

Thankfully, she was absent from the four corners of the Divination classroom. Your dream diary sat at your elbow, full of made-up jargon. It was the simplest assignment, as you blissfully hadn't dreamt since that night. Threading your fingers across your forehead, you tried in vain to scramble the memory.

You knew everyone expected you to list long harrowing stories involving Voldemort, but you wouldn't give them the satisfaction - even if he was a common resident of your real nightmares - and instead wrote the most benign things you could think of; Bowtruckles inviting you into their treehouse, unicorns trying to sell you a stolen cauldron, Helga Hufflepuff's mute portrait coming alive and telling you a funny story about a badger she knew personally. 

Lifting your head from your diary, you heard the trap door creak open. Umbridge daintily walked in before taking a seat and watching Trelawney, who stared right back, her disconcertment exacerbated by her amplified eyes through her magnifying glasses.

Umbridge spoke first, "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge... How can I help you?" she replied tentatively. Umbridge smiled wider, pressing her lips thinner and narrowing her eyes ever so slightly, "Have you not read my letter?"

"That- I," she raised her chin and straightened her back but looked none the more confident, "I was very busy the other night."

"Ah, of course," Umbridge tilted her head and said in a cruelly amused lilt, "but didn't predict my coming?"

Trelawney's lips disappeared in the deepness of her scowl. With a brittle titter, Umbridge continued, "Well, nevertheless, I'm simply here to observe. Don't mind me, please. Continue."

"Yes, well, um," she cleared her throat, taking a deep cleansing breath of the dusty air and sweeping back toward the class, "I would like you all to open your dream diaries and split into pairs, and we will be taking turns-"

"Ahem."

"Taking turns deciphering," she tried to speak again, this time with some exasperation grounding her misty voice, but again "Ahem" chirred through the room. Trelawney twisted to Umbridge. "Is there something you'd like to say?"

"Oh no, not at all. I'm only observing. It's just a little stuffy in here, is all." She shifted back to the class, but kept her eyes on Umbridge, "Yes, well, please take turns deciphering each other's dreams." Lavender and Parvati nearly spilled from their seats toward you. You had purposefully taken the table furthest from them this year. You jumped out of your seat as well, yelling across the room, "Neville, wanna partner?" He flinched at his name being shouted but nodded frantically and hurried over to you. 

Umbridge strolled around the room, taking an exceptionally long pause to stare at your diary before moving on. At the bell, she walked over to Trelawney, and despite your curiosity, Umbridge spoke behind a cupped hand in a hidden voice to Trelawney. She glanced toward you from the corner of her heavy eye, shoving you down the trap door.

"Totally nanners."

"Lost her marbles," Susan and Hannah commented in turns as they followed loyally on your trail. You whipped around, "It's worth it! ...but if I'm not out in two minutes, I suppose it might be wise to pop your heads in..."

Hannah and Susan stood like sentinels at either end of the library door. Wand in hand, you passed the rows of shelves cautiously while the books soared like birds above your head, crisscrossing and flying down the alleyways of towering bookshelves before fitting snuggly into their nooks. Your wand hid behind your back when you caught sight of Madam Pince sitting at the desk, the large plumage of her quill dancing merrily above the ridge as she jotted. Down the transfiguration section and to the left, you found Malfoy leaning against the table with his arms crossed. He seemed surprised to see you that actually came. Your wand slipped back into your pocket but remained in your hand. "So, what do you want?"

"Giants essay. I'd like to see yours." You blinked, your turn to be taken aback. "But it's not done yet."

He narrowed his eyes judgingly. "It's due Tuesday and you haven't finished it?"

Your face reddened. "Neither have you."

He sighed. "Very well. I'll take what you've got."

"I got a P on my moonstones essay. Don't you have anyone else to copy?"

"Potions isn't history. Crabbe and Goyle have the brains of giants themselves. Zabini doesn't let me peak at his anymore and Pansy is in the same position I am. Do you want to know what's going on with your big friend, or not?"

"Won't Binn know you cheated?"

He laughed. "He hasn't found out yet. I'll change some words around. That ghost's brain is as dense as his body." Malfoy had caught it, the tiny hint of a smile that flickered over your face before vanishing just as quickly. You dug into your bag and sat down, pulling out the rolled-up parchment. 

Malfoy's heart fluttered when your elbows brushed, even the contact of mere fabric was enough to startle the jittery bird inside his chest. His brain was as cohesive as static, so he could only write down words without processing the sentences they constructed. He arrested his untrustworthy eyes to the essay, but his complexion betrayed his meticulously manicured, coy demeanor. The banter he had been ruminating all weekend on, the smiles he had practiced in the mirror, all of it was lost now that you - the real you, not the you he constructed in his mind's eye - were beside him.

In an impulsive act of bravery, he raised his vision. The deluge of golden sunlight poured through the library windows in languid ribbons, resting over your parchments. You had begun to carve out the tail end of your essay, prying open your history textbook to the bookmarked page. His gaze fled back to the safety of your parchment before being reeled back to you. A patch of light was touching your cheek, setting ablaze to the strands of (h/c) it draped across. A minuscule family of dust motes swam dreamily through it, like ethereal sparkles drifting around your face. He swallowed harder, his quill stilling. 

He sank like a stone within the tranquility pools of green, a comfortable helplessness enveloping him. The effect still held him bewitched when you snapped them up, catching him. Malfoy's breath was caught in his throat as his heart lodged into it. "What?" It was happening again, the distrust sharpening your gentle features. For a moment, his words were scattered to the wind.

"You... You misspelled this," he pointed, glancing from the paper to you to see if you bought it. You clicked your tongue, marking the error, and mumbled a "Thanks." He smiled more comfortably. "You're welcome."

From behind the labyrinth of shelves, Susan and Hannah watched, but their poised wands sagged by what they saw; yours and Malfoy's faces diligently buried in your homework. 

You sat up and stretched your arms above your head, sucking up a gulp of air and letting it stretch your lungs before exhaling, deflating your muscles in tune as you stretched the stiffness from them. You glanced at Malfoy just in time to see him hide his cherry face in the fringe of his silver hair. His complexion was colored healthily for once, and you wondered if the hue was from his hand pressing against his cheek as he copied. 

"So, where is Hagrid?"

He kept his focus on the paper as his quill scratched the closing string of sentences. "The answer is right under your nose."

In an instant, your wand found your hand, and you flew from your chair, threatening in a hissed whisper, "I'll burn that paper if you think you can trick me-"

But he simply rested his finger on the header of your essay. Giants.

Your anger was gone as quickly as it came. "Giants? He's with giants? What's he doing with giants??" Malfoy dotted the final sentence before resting his quill and crossing his arms against the table, simpering up at you with an air absent of the usual odious edge. 

"You asked where, not what." He rolled up the parchment and gathered his stationery.

"But-" You could do nothing but watch him saunter away, pausing only when he passed your spying friends long enough to exchange sour glares. 

Hannah and Susan flooded the table while you put your ink and notes away. 

"What happened???" 

You gave a grave answer, "Giants." 

(A/N) - I hope you don't mind excruciatingly long chapters because that will be a trend this book... Not gonna lie, the last half with Malfoy was an impromptu addition, but I feel like it was needed. And I hope the "dream" at the beginning wasn't too stilted, but if so I promise It's integral to the plot. Ok, sorry sorry, enough justifications (´ヮ `;;). Anyways, I've finally finished writing out the standing skeleton for Order, so onto building the chapter skeleton for Half-Blood Prince ( ` ∀´ )ノ!! 

Chapter Text

       "Giants once had clans spanning in patches throughout the entire world. But by the end of the war and the beginning of the 20th century, they were nearly driven to extinction. The surviving clans are primarily located now in small numbers throughout the Eastern Mountains," you vaguely recall Professor Binns had taught as he hovered in front of the blackboard, the pallid delineations of his features sharped by the dark board. Knowing where Hagrid was had hardly dulled the edge of your worries, your imagination only tunneling on a specific word "giants."

Draped over your homework in the common room, your legs waved languidly in the air as you thoughtfully brushed the quill's plumage across your bottom lip. Every table was packed with studying bodies, and you were initially within the studious fray, but with your elbows constantly battering into others as you tried to write, you eventually conceded the battle for space. Gathering your stationery and textbooks, you retreated to the hearth, setting up a little workstation before laying down and returning to work.

Beneath you were your herbology notebook and paper on self-fertilizing shrubs, but by your elbow were three textbooks, each on a different subject you planned to delve into once this one was finished. The foot-long parchment was only filled halfway, however, and the march down the paper had been a slow one, eating more and more of your time while other assignments hung as precariously as an anvil over your head. But with giants stomping around your skull and shaking up your thoughts, it was harder than ever to focus. 

Your distrait disposition was merely one in a trend among the fifth and sixth years, and Umbridge only ever pressed her thumb on the bruises left by O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts.

"What!?" Pushing your heavy head up off the pillow, the heel of your palm rubbed your bleary eyes. Hannah was sat off the side of her bed, the only signs of sleep in her pillow-mashed hair while her wide eyes were transfixed to the rousing paper her hands clutched.

"Wazzat?" you slurred sleepily.

"New wardrobe regulations," she groaned miserably. Wincing against the intrusive morning sunlight that poured in a deluge through the half-moon windows, you turned toward your nightstand, finding the same piece of parchment.

"And it's up to prefects to enforce it. Merlin, I don't want to have to prattle at people for not having straight enough ties and wrinkled robes." The tips of her fingers found her mouth - she had picked up a new habit of taking her stress out on her poor fingernails.

Just as promised, passing Umbridge in the hall meant being strangled by your tie, having the hem of your sweater stuffed into your belt, and every button threaded. With the sway of her stubby wand, those without stockings had their socks lengthened, and boys had their belts shrunk. Summer had just hit its peak, and all robes were to be on and pinned shut at all times.

Most professors turned a blind eye in classes, but Trelawney's temper was higher and hotter than her sweltering classroom; every provocation would set her on the edge of tears - today, Neville's head and torso lowered as his arm raised, confessing to forgetting his Divination textbook. 

"Of course you have!" she raged, her words striking him like a lash. "And I knew you would! I am not so blind as some may imply and insinuate and assume! That is exactly why I have extra textbooks!" The bottom drawer of the china cabinet sprung open with a clatter, shaking the teacups on their saucers, and one of the books that were lined up inside zipped through the air - nearly taking off Dean Thomas's head - and thunked Neville in the chest, tipping him off his frilly ottoman. The watery sheen that glossed her eyes glistened sharply in the reflection of her enormous spectacles. She spoke in a wavery voice, "Page thirty-five Chapter four, Emotions Past and Future, read the chapter and then pair up and continue to unveil each other's dreams..." before throwing her hands into the torrid air, the long, sheer sleeves of her robe glowing in the beams of light that blazed through the window. "Perhaps I can be trusted to instruct that much, hm?!"

Neville recounted his anxiety-riddled dream to you; being chased by garden gnomes into a patch of wild Devil's Snare. You listened halfheartedly, nodding in feigned interest and sympathy as you wrote down that he was eating too many root vegetables. 

The tip of the castle mirrored the bottom; the Potions dungeon was nearly as perilous as the attic classroom. Snape stalked around the dungeon like a Dementor, his black robe chasing after his heels, his hands held pensively behind him as the class restewed their Strengthening Solution. Where Trelawney was a blathering mess, spewing her feelings onto anyone who would listen - primarily Lavender and Parvati - Snape imprisoned every emotion within him, and even soaked up the negative emotions around him, absorbing them all into his black void. Resting behind his back, one hand held the wrist of the other, and you noticed the grip was tight enough to wrinkle the fabric.

Cauldrons steamed and hissed and bubbled, every surface a different hue of the same color. Your wand swam through the viscous traction as you sprinkled in the salamander blood. Setting your wand aside, you allowed it to simmer and took a moment to look at the others, pleased to see yours was similar to every other cauldron. At least he couldn't single you out this time.

He restlessly paced in front of the class. The heels of his shoes clacking softly against the stone floor informed you of his movements even as you focused on your potion. When they finally stopped, you glanced up, finding that he had teleported before your table

Snape's black eyes hadn't greeted your own, instead leering into your cauldron. "A perfectly average concoction, exceptional in no way at all; not its failure nor its excellence. Congratulations, Potter, for finally catching up with the class and brewing something that is not an imminent health risk to all those inside this room. I can concede, mediocrity suits you better than utter failure ever had." 

Umbridge's lessons were starved of even a kernel of useful knowledge; which is not to say that you hadn't picked up anything from the new Defense Professor - "I learned everything I know from my teacher, so you have yourself to praise, Professor Snape," you said amiably, wearing a mawkish smile borrowed from Umbridge's wardrobe. The class fell silent, all except for your friends, who groaned beside you. But you kept your disposition pleasant. You hadn't said anything rude.

Snape's cold glare chilled further in icy anger, seeing only those green eyes that sparkled so familiarly with impetuous relish. He spoke in a tense whisper so quick it was like an incantation, you hardly caught it, "Think you're so clever, hm? I'm sure your O.W.Ls will surely reflect this, and your usual poor showing will not reencroach." He raised his neck and stared down at you from behind his avine nose. A sharp smile relaxed his stone-etched expression as his thin lips curled with devilish delicacy. His fingers threaded behind his back, and he spoke loudly and clearly, "I am indeed your professor, so an extra credit assignment on the integrant qualities of the ingredients within the Strengthening Solution, and how magic binds and creates the resulting potion should be simple for someone of your intellectual means, no? After all, you are my student, and such an answer would come swiftly from me."

"Sounds good," you replied, though your disconcertment leaked through the new cracks in your confident mien. "Perfect, then. And any extra points you would have been rewarded, of course, will instead be detracted if your assignment is incomplete for whatever reason. It will be due the first Monday after the Christmas break, though I will accept it earlier. I very much look forward to reading it."

After he stalked away, his mood seemingly lessened, his stride smoother as he continued down the row. You leaned into Susan, whispering, "Do you know anything about the stuff inside a Strengthening Solution?" But the look she offered you gave you your answer. You turned to Hannah, who tilted in the opposite direction in her seat, purposefully busying herself with tidying her leftover potion ingredients.

~~

        Either morning or afternoon, Cedric had hoarded all the time with the pitch he could, so another free period was absorbed into Quidditch practice. The spongey, sodden dirt that hid beneath the grass hungrily sucked at your beaten Quidditch boots. The sky was vacant, all color and light choked to death by knarled fists of clouds that taunted a storm all day. You nervously squeezed the handle of your broom as you trudged alongside your teammates, sharing the same disconcerted glances that Cedric refused to regard. His own shoulders were consciously poised in an (ineffective) effort to inspire confidence. 

The first raindrop tapped Heidi Macavoy's nose. The Keeper raised her head, but only saw the ocean of black above her. "Cedric, it's raining," she began, but with his vision stubbornly welded to the pitch, he said, "We've practiced in the rain plenty of times before."

"Yeah, but the sky is basically nonexistent right now."

"The castle gives off enough light to see with."

"Not when the rain starts up, Cedric. Professor Sinestra said there would be a nasty storm today," Tamsin Applebee added. But Cedric didn't slow down, even as the scattered raindrops grew to an even shower. "We should at least give it our best. They don't cancel matches due to storms, so we don't cancel our practice," the rare appearance of the stern Quidditch Captain put an end to the protests. 

By the time everyone reached the pitch, curtains of rain had already drenched their robes. The ground fell from beneath your feet as you rose toward the void. Shouts were commanded but lost in the chaotic beating of the torrent. Your teammates lost their form, made into only yellow blurs that cut through the gloom. The tiny, wet bullets assaulted your face while the fingers of water they left behind built a translucent tint over your vision. 

The Golden Snitch was hopelessly lost in the dark hail. The forbidden forest melded with the sky, making up and down near impossible to distinguish from this height. Hogwarts castle was your lighthouse, though the little dots of warm light that the multitude of windows radiated were easily mistaken for the missing Snitch.

Faster you went, flowing with the prising current of wind, circling the pitch in a useless loop. You couldn't encroach on the pitch with the sheets of grey blinding you. Orders were shouted out by a voice you believed to be Cedric, but the rain devoured your hearing as effectively as your sight. But when you saw the two streaks of yellow that collided into one before sinking too quickly toward the ground, you followed. Maxine and Summerby were entangled on the ground, their brooms forgotten a few feet away. Maxine groaned miserably while Summerby was an orchestra of apologies. Cedric was already jogging toward them when your feet touched the muddy ground. 

"We can't see anything, Cedric," Zacharias complained, his water-logged robes draped over his narrow frame like fur plastered to a wet cat. Cedric had no retort this time, his veneer of confidence evaporated, stripped bared by remorse. Summerby slung Maxine over his shoulder and helped her back to the castle while everyone trudged miserably behind them. The Snitch was left to rein free that afternoon.

Everyone except for you and Cedric had dragged themselves into the changing room to shower off the caking mud. Cedric loitered in the locker room, sat heavily on the bench. His hair was plastered to his forehead in hazel commas, his skin glistening and pale from the same cold rain that saturated his Quidditch robes. His head sunk under the weight of self-reproach, hanging between his rigid shoulders.

Forgetting the heavy, soggy robes that hung uncomfortably on your own shoulders, you sat down beside him, enticing him to peer up. When he saw it was you, he raised his head. "I'm sorry. I should have listened to everyone."

"You didn't mean for anyone to get hurt," you told him. He shifted his eyes to his fingers, which were fiddling with one another on his lap. "No, but someone did and others could have. I should have considered the possibility more than I had. I'm the captain, everyone's safety is my top responsibility."

"Maxine will be ok. We haven't played for two years, so it's expected we'd be practicing harder than before. And we all know how much you want to win the Quidditch Cup this year."

He looked up at you again. "The Cup?" he said dimly, his brow fixed together in genuine confusion. You tilted your head with equal puzzlement, "Yeah. We understand how much it means to you." His lips fell apart for a moment, and color returned to his complexion. Then a mix of a sigh and laugh slipped past his curling lips. "I'm sorry. I've been too crazy about practice." He paused for a comfortable moment, simply taking you in as his endeared grin expanded. You couldn't help the warmth that sprung to your cheeks in reaction, and it was your turn to shyly toss your gaze away. 

Then he stood up, and you were relieved that he appeared reinvigorated, saying chipperly, "Come on, you're soaked. Hit the showers before you catch a cold and we definitely lose."

The four tables matched in borders of black; the sight of every student cloaked in their robes and hats was usually only seen at the beginning and end of year feasts. Your finger was hooked over the knot in your tie, loosening it before your face could turn blue. You chucked an angry eye at Umbridge, who was the only professor to not be enmeshed in conversation. She seemed quite content simply enjoying her dinner, as though natter would add an unnecessary spice to her meal. Your own plate tasted better when you spotted Maxine down the table, fresh from Madam Pomfrey's and chatting heartily. 

The ceiling of the Great Hall was packed with stars, polished to a shine by the afternoon shower. They sparkled like sea shells in the ocean of jet, and the refreshed moon stood above all heads like the guiding eye of a lighthouse. Golden plates and platters of scraps, half-full goblets, and empty seats were left by the time dinner had come to an end. 

"I got told off by a seventh year," Hannah was recounting dolorously in the entrance hall, "for asking him to pin his robe." Ernie had lost his lofty airs, his badge now weighing his frame down, "I'm very certain I got jinxed by a second year who hadn't tied his shoes properly." You felt for your friends, but also silently understood their attackers, wishing you could relieve your tension by snapping at someone as well. 

"Hey! (y/n)!"

You lagged behind, spotting Fred standing alone by the Marble Staircase. He waved his arm at you, coaxing you over. He waved his arm, a hidden wink in his mischievous smile. You told your friends you'd be back and flowed against the current of students. His hands were held behind his back when you approached. 

The first thing you voiced was the striking peculiarity. "Where's George?" He swung softly on his heels, his hands interlocked behind his back again. "Gathering the others."

You paused. "The others?"

Fred put his finger in front of his lip, leaving you with a "Wait here," before disappearing. The crowd grew from there; Dean Thomas came over with Lavender Brown, and soon the Patil twins were escorted over by Lee Jordan. "What's going on?" you asked. Dean shrugged. "I don't know, but I have a good feeling about it," he smirked.

To your further surprise, Maxine was the next to be herded into the nook of the staircase, and after her, Neville was followed by Lee Jordan, Fred, and George. The last students through the entrance hall trickled behind them, splitting as they treaded up the Marble Staircase, down the dungeon entrance, or kitchen corridor.

"You're probably wondering why we've assembled you here." George weaved his hands behind his back, matching his brother. 

"This better not be about your Skiving Skittles or whatever," Lavender griped. George pointed an indignant finger at her, "They're called Skiving Sweets, and you'd only be so lucky to be involved in that budding enterprise."

"We would like to invite you to a very special evening planned and coordinated by yours truly." Fred and George threw arms around each other's shoulders, hands resting proudly on hips

"We will be doing what our mischievous forefathers dreamt of doing, but never had the will or the way."

"The skill or the scheme."

They announced in unison with matching smiles, "We will be taking a dip in the black lake."

A pensive silence followed, but Maxine was the first to break it, taking a step forward. At first, you thought she would declare their insanity, but she said instead, "Between N.E.W.Ts and Quidditch, if I don't decompress I'm gonna crack."

"Brilliant! Always the innovator, Maxy!"

Dean Thomas shrugged, folding his arms. "Might be nice to let loose."

"N-no way," Neville started, but his protest was unheard. Lavender looked at Parvati, and the two decided together, "Why not!" Dean poorly suppressed his smile at that.

"You know what would happen if we get caught, right?" you asked.

"Fabulous question!" George exclaimed. "And the answer is; we don't plan on getting caught."

Fred explained, "Mrs. Norris and the prefects don't leave the castle. That only leaves ol' Filchy, but we've memorized his schedule, and he'll be on the opposite end of the castle for an hour and won't be on the grounds for three hours. Plenty of time to dip out and in and be in bed by the time he comes sniffing around."

Flexing your prickling hand, you finally shrugged, "Alright." Neville looked around fearful, his allies dwindling. "We'll be caught!"

"Not with us leading the venture. Times a-wasting Neville, let your hair down! The water will be refreshing."

"Plus the girls." That only made him wince harder. Fred waved a beckoning arm, "Alright, well the rest of us, follow me, and stick to the shadows." Neville begrudgingly followed, unleashing his doubts into the ears of anyone who would listen.

Out of the castle and across the grounds, you saw the black lake shimmering beneath the moon. The real task began on the lapping shore of the black lake; Fred and George were unabashed as they peeled off their robes - then sweaters, and then unbuttoning their blouses. Slowly but surely everyone followed their lead, shedding robes, keeping eyes on the ground. You wore a bathing suit in front of the entire school during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, why did this feel any different? But it did. A thought never entered your mind to remove the locket, sure that would strip you naked most of all.

The black sky and ground fused into a single void, the hovering fireflies like shy stars as they blinked and vanished. The moon seared white-hot through the velvety darkness, mirrored flat on the surface of the water, shattering and reforming with the occasional ripples. The lake edge lapped into the grass, engorged by the evening shower.

You glanced up momentarily, glad not to be the only one in plain undergarments. Fred and George, clad in boxers now, grabbed their wands. "Impervius!" 

"It'll keep your underthings dry."

"Couldn't we cast this on our uniforms?" you asked shyly. "Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" Wands in hand, the charm was cast, and finally, all there was was the water. Fred ran and leaped in. The black water crashed against him before resettling. Ripples marched across the water before his head broke through, resurfacing with a flurry of laughter. "Temperature's just right!"

Lavender went to the edge, dipping her toe in only to retract it. "It's cold!" George appeared behind her, "That's why you have to jump in!" he said before picking her up and throwing her in. She screamed and landed with a loud splash. George jumped in after her and she splashed him, "You absolute troll!"

"Screw it!" Dean leaped in next, followed by Parvati at the beckoning of Lavender, with Padma joining her sister. You stood by the edge, trying a toe. It was cold. You felt bad for Lavender being chucked in. "There's still time to go back into the castle. No one will know," Neville tried to reason with you, though his eyes were rooted to the ground. 

"This is bad, really bad," he whimpered. His cowardice stoked an impulsive fire of confidence that chased away the shadows of doubt. You took his hands, locking your arms together. "This is fun," you assured before allowing your back to fall toward the water, pulling him in with you. Both of your frames disappeared into the darkness of the waves. The chill invaded your muscles - except it wasn't as cold as the last time you were inside it though. You broke through the surface and took a gulp of needed air. Neville came up after, his robes plastered to his wading arms. 

His breath was ragged and panicked, his wet hair now stuck above his owlish eyes, and suddenly you regretted ignoring his wishes and forcing him to join you. You were about to apologize, but he spoke first in a tremulous voice, "It is bloody cold," a small smile chasing his words. Your grin reappeared, expanding toothily.

A few fireflies flew over the water, creating little shimmering clones on the black mirror surface. The lake turned tepid against the skin the more you swam, and you were much more comfortable being clad by the black water. Your body floated with freedom as much as buoyancy. "That's a nice necklace," Neville said suddenly. You thanked him, but wished you could retract it when he continued, "It looks like something my grandmother would wear." Though his smile was sincere, you couldn't help but take the compliment with the sour aftertaste of an insult

Then a scream pierced the still air, "SQUID!" It was George, looking terrified. Then Lavender was pulled under. You gasped in fear, conscious of the wand that sat yards away, with the rest of your pile of clothing. The wild thoughts flashed across your mind like lightning bolts; if you could swim and grab it in time; how you'd even battle a giant squid - then your own ankle was grabbed and you were yanked under the surface. 

Fear fueled your attack, and you jutted your leg out, hitting something hard. You were released upon impact, resurfacing with a scared gulp of air, and saw Lavender, perfectly fine, hitting Lee Jordan. Fred appeared beside you, rubbing his head. "Bloody hard kick, (y/n)." 

Laughter and splashing filled the calm night air. Dean Thomas was playing chicken with Jordan Lee against Fred and George. Maxine was swimming laps while Lavender and Parvati floated placidly, pointing out constellations. 

Time passed amorphously, but eventually, the water was traded for land, where everyone chatted happily with each other as they collected their clothing and casually redressed. You wafted your wand around your hair, drying the sodden tresses with the cone of warm air that was exuded. You only noticed the conversations had died when the charm ended, and a tiny bird of panic was birthed in your chest when you heard the grass in the distant darkness crunching wildly, the sound only growing closer and quicker.

"OUT OF BOUNDS STUDENTS! BREAKING CURFEW!" Filch bellowed. In a mad frenzy, everyone came alive, dashing back toward the castle. Dean hopped helplessly as he struggled to pull his pants up, but soon enough he was bolting with the others. "STOP! HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" The darkness was an ally, hiding you from the irate caretaker, and once in the castle, everyone scattered in different directions, pantomiming the chaos of a fallen bag of marbles. Filch could only growl angrily and pursue blindly.

Your slick, grass-covered feet slipped out from under you, but the pain in your knees was easily ignored as you quickly picked yourself up and began to run again. "GET BACK HERE!"

You heard the thundering of Filch's heavy footfalls behind you, but he seemed to be chasing a pair of wet feet that slapped against the Marble Staircase. But the illusion of safety was fleeting as you were suddenly grabbed, "What do we have here! Lumos!" From the tip of his lit wand, you were face to face with Malfoy, the light glittering off his prefect badge and illuminating his pale eyes like two silver moons. 

"Not so fast!" Filch's voice broke the spell, and to your relief, your jerking arm slipped right from Malfoy's laxed fingers. You didn't stop in the common room though, and ran right through the dorm to your bedroom, which was thankfully empty. Just like Malfoy, Hannah was on patrol, freeing you from any questions regarding your disheveled state.

The afterimage was seared into his brain; the light of his wand glistened off your wet shoulders, and shone in your eyes, as wide as a startled deer. Your robes were held against your chest, but he could still see the straps of your bra pinned against your slick, (s/c) shoulders, framing your sculpted clavicle. His heart banged wildly in his chest, his thoughts still jarred by the wild discovery. His hand on your slick, bare arm, the deep shadows that carved the peeking cleavage-

"Malfoy!" Filch barked, dragging Neville along by his collar. Malfoy blinked and looked over, his brain lagging. "Did you see anyone?! Faces?! Names?!"

"N-no..." he lied, "no, they ran past me, didn't see them..." He glanced at the terrified Neville, his uniform dripping on the ground, sagging and clinging. He was shaking like a brittle leaf in the whipping autumn wind.

"To Madam Umbridge with you!" Filch barked, and Neville's face was ashen with fear, only managing a whimper as he was again dragged, this time toward the dungeon corridor.

Chapter Text

        The chary light was gloomy and grey through the half-moon windows of the dorm. Even the grass that bordered the frame seemed less green, as though the vibrancy of its color had faded overnight. A satisfied grunt reverberated behind your lips as you stretched raised your arms above your head and wrung the sleep from your muscles. You had made it through the night; no menacing Filch kicking your door in or Umbridge leering down at you with thinly veiled vindication behind her taut smile.

The dubious integrity of Malfoy's verisimilitude was solidifying; if you were to get caught, it would have been by his word. Hannah was still snoring lightly - splayed in her bed, a foot hanging off the ledge - while you dressed. A skip bouncing your step, you coasted into the common room, the most pressing issue on your mind being your impending breakfast.

But the airs beneath your feet popped, sending you crashing back to earth when you saw the purple paper that had appeared on the notice board overnight. The parchment dwarfed over the club tryouts sheets and deadline warnings, reading in large, shouting letters;

JOIN THE FIRST-EVER INQUISITORIAL SQUAD!

Aid in the noble pursuit to cull the innumerable instances of rampant delinquency that continues to inflict Hogwarts. Come to The Defense Against The Dark Art's office at 4:30pm for further inquiry. Awards additional credits and the possibility of a recommendation to the Ministry of Magic by High Inquisitor, Dolores Jane Umbridge.

Signed, High Inquisitor, Dolores Jane Umbridge.

Your fists were thrown at the paper and your foot met the wall, but no matter how hard you yanked and pulled and tugged, it stayed on the board and intact. Red-faced from exertion, your arms finally fell with defeat, releasing it. Abandoning the empty common room and the eerie notice, you tried to reassure yourself, 'That had nothing to do with me.'

The morose mood of the previous afternoon had reared its soggy head again overnight, leaving the grounds a soupy mess. The grass was flooded beneath your feet, a hidden ocean of mud that pooled around the greenhouse. The dense humid air had evolved to mist before thickening to a drizzle so thin and light it felt like tiny wet flies bumping into your skin. It succeeded in giving you a hat of tiny drops of water, and cladding every inch of your skin in these minute beads, easier felt than seen.

Somehow by the time it took you to reach the greenhouse, you had gotten mud on your face and the back of your robe, with even a few flecks spontaneously appearing in your hair. Your friends faired similarly, and once inside the glass walls, you help scour each other, faces all red from the invisible brushes. The moisture was not as easily escaped, however, as the air of the greenhouse was heavily steeped by the damp wood and soil, and as thick as the mud outside.

The smocks you wore were poor armor against the mud the rain brewed, which sprouted like weeds from everywhere. Hanging in the corners, basking against the glasspanes, and hidden beneath the work benches, overnight it seemed some of the plants had grown an entire pot size, their leaves extending in almost lounging positions with a level of comfort that left you envious.

"Stormworts only grow during thunderstorms and only on the bark of Woodweir trees," Professor Sprout explained. Across the trestle tables were fat logs clad in thin burgundy bark that wore patches of lichen, saturated and spongy from the rain. White mushrooms covered the logs, their caps flipped upside down with water well in the center like beseeching palms. She instructed everyone to delicately pluck the cap off but preserve the stem so she could grow more for Snape's personal ingredients cabinet.

Carefully, you held the stem in one hand and the cupped cap in the other, gently popping one from the other before putting it inside the burlap bag you were given. Being light of hand was no issue for you, and you continued across the log, gathering up the caps so efficiently that your focus was allowed to drift.

Why hadn't Malfoy tattled on you? A similar instance had happened your first year as well, and he used that as a way to turn you into a house elf, but he hadn't approached you to rebroach that sort of deal. He easily could have cursed or hexed you in the library, but he hadn't. Another cap was popped off a frilly stem. He was acting strange this entire year, all this vague talk about teams and changes. "Things are changing." Did he include himself in that? The memory of him holding your hand through Diagon Alley, laughing and talking to you like you were normal. 

The stem snapped in your hand when Sprout's voice pried you out of your own head. "Gentle, dear, gentle!" Tipping the water off the cap, you glanced over your shoulder. You hadn't seen nor heard Neville in the greenhouse; he had the presence and pallor of a ghost. "I-I'm sorry," he said, sounding on the brink of tears. You could only see his back, but his shoulders were sagged like two invisible boulders hung on them. Sprout looked more confused than bothered - Neville always being among her best students, and this lesson could hardly be considered a difficult one. But she put a sympathetic, soily gloved hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright, just try and pinch instead of pulling. Keep trying your best." Even as she walked away, you watched him snap another stem in his shakey, gloved hands and whimper piteously. 

After handing in your stuffed mushroom bag, you wandered over to Neville. His complexion was slick, more so than just the sticky humidity that clung to every surface. His face was exceptionally pale, ghostly with his distant eyes, not quite seeing what was currently in front of him, fixated instead on what was behind him. Neville's shoulder buckled beneath the hand you placed on it in a horrible flinch. He only flicked his dark eyes at you to throw them back down again.

"Are you ok...?" you asked in a private tone, but his mouth only twisted into an angry frown. His gloved hand hovered just above the table, his fingers curled inward.

His voice stuck in his throat at first, gagging on his words til he finally croaked, "I told you it was a bad idea," before peeling himself away, dragging his feet across the greenhouse as though the bag in his hands weighed a ton.

Hanging up your smocks on their pegs, Susan asked, "What was with Neville? Think he's sick?"

"Probably sick over O.W.Ls," Hannah said empathetically through the finger in her mouth, which always happened when O.W.Ls were brought up around her. The phantom letters, I must not tell lies throbbed against the back of your hand. Your own hand coiled into itself.

"More mud!" Filch bellowed, wielding a mop like a polearm at innocent by standards. "Bloody, ruddy, muddy feet trampling all over my beautiful floors!!" Ducking beneath a mad thrust, your own mucky footprints marked every step in your speedy journey, inciting a deranged roar from the caretaker. You could have cleaned your shoes, and normally would have, but at present, you took his raged blathering with a dose of satisfaction.

The sky was fatigued, and afternoon arrived as dark as an evening without a sunset. Rain slamming against the window, winds howling furiously. Thunder groaned sudden and fierce, chased by lightning that ripped apart the enshadowed clouds. On your way to Divination, Fred and George dropped at either end of your shoulder, whispering into your ears, "We saw the notice on our board. She must have got him but he clearly said nothing or we'd all have been pinched." 

"He came into the tower last night a sobbing mess, wouldn't talk to anyone."

"Dean says he was sniffling all night long, poor lad. We won't let her get away with whatever she did to him. This means all-out war.

And as promised, dung bombs started appearing in the halls between classes, fogging up the corridors; stink pellets carpeted the floors and were sent hailing from the top of the Grand Staircase by unseen figures; broomsticks had mysteriously become enchanted to soar through the halls, weaving through open windows and back inside; Exploding Snaps were set off just outside the Defense classroom; suits of armor would burp and fart when passed by, all instances with no bodies to pin it on. Peeves was inspired by the havoc around him, joining in by upturning ink wells through the halls and painting with the feather end of quills naughty words across the walls.

"You may think that you are very clever," Umbridge said at the start of one class, staring just over your head, "But I assure you, us adults are far smarter, and with every little prank you play, your punishment is escalating accordingly." Her lips curled as tightly as fingers into a fist and dug shadows into the corners of her plump cheeks.

"Chapter Five, Foundational and Functional Practices of Magic. Please read quietly." 

~~

        Hannah fell asleep during lunch, a lock of her honey hair resting in her soup bowl, using a dinner roll as a pillow. Nightly prefect rounds and studying were chiseling away at her sleep and by proxy, sanity. You hardly noticed her disheveled nap, hurriedly scrambling through your Potions homework. "Wingardum Leviosa," you mumbled, levitating the heel of bread with your wand under the table in one hand as your quill fluttered across the parchment.

First Hogsmeade weekend was spent on the pitch or (for those sixth years) in the library studying. The match with Ravenclaw was coming up on the horizon like an ominous, black sun. Pulling the warm, enchanted towel from your hair, you tossed your Quidditch robes into the large hamper and redressed in your uniform robes. The final practice before the match had just adjourned, and your team flooded out of the locker room just as the Ravenclaws were making their way for their last practice. Leading the team was a tall, broad-shouldered boy, matching in their own sapphire blue robes, except with the addition of a silver Captain's badge.

"Davie," Cedric greeted surprisingly curtly.

Davie's smile widened, compensating for Cedric's blank face. "Cedric. Saw your team out on the pitch on the way here, it's good you're prioritizing your studies over practice."

"No need to worry about the coming match then, hm?"

"You're assuming we were worried in the first place, Cedric."

"I see. My apology for assuming. I suppose then that you're going onto the pitch now just to enjoy the weather?" Davie smile sat hard and stony on his face, and the two captains stood for a moment in tense silence. Cedric was the first to break the staring contest, and as your team trailed passed theirs, Cho stopped and said, "I'm sorry about him," while the Beaters behind her silently wound up their invisible bats and swung imaginary Bludgers. 

The Halloween feast was a quiet, dreary one. The pumpkins drifted in the sky, lulling above your heads, but the enchanted ceiling above was black as pitch, the only light in sight being the stray bolt of lightning that would light up the clouds from black to grey for a split moment. The pounding of the rain outside was a constant, and thick raindrops were trickling down in translucent fingers from the open windows above. The lantern smiles of the pumpkins seemed to sag this year.

Even the ghosts weren't in the holiday spirit, Fat Friar's song not nearly as soulful as any year prior, and Nearly Headless Nick floated above the seat at the corner of the Gryffindor table. The Bloody Baron was scolding Slytherin for any uncouth slip-up in their dinner table manners, while the Grey Lady was nowhere to be seen entirely. In the small glances you allowed yourself, you noticed that Cedric had almost fallen asleep multiple times, his head swaying just to be caught before it dipped too low toward his plate. When you turned and peered down the table at him again, you found he was missing. Without a word to your friends, you got up and dashed into the entrance hall, where you found him. He was peering over his shoulder, drawn by the slapping of your feet echoing throughout the hall.

"Are you ok?" you asked. He just smiled a tired smile and said, "Of course. I've just been a little worn out lately, and with the match against Ravenclaw coming up, I should conserve my energy. Go back and you enjoy the feast, alright?"

~~

        A fat, lumbering penumbra of archipelagic clouds hung low and foreboding as they slowly crawled. For the first time, the Nimbus Two Thousand hung heavy in your hand as you followed your team onto the field, the suddenly lush weight conjuring the memory of the Firebolt that had stayed cruel behind the shop window. Although all of the practices in the dreary downpour would prove advantageous given the current wet weather you would be playing in, the wind would still be favoring the taller Cho.

On the field, Cedric and Davie bridged the gap between your huddled groups, marching forward and clasping hands, giving a few brusque shakes before peeling back. One by one the Quaffle, Bludgers, and Golden Snitch were released, while broom handles were stationed impatiently between knees. It wasn't until Madam Hooch's whistle cut through the wet air that every broom was loosed like arrows to soar into the sky.

Rain lashed at your face, beating against your ears and smothering Lee Jordan's blaring commentary while your concentration deafened the rest. The wind raked across your face like a cold wet claw, and the bullying winds tried to shove you to the side like a temperamental child - but you pressed back. You had to focus on the game, to keep your vision precise and pointed, but memories were freely trodding into the forefront of your mind, replaying before your eyes.

"I can't do it alone. We're Team Hogwarts." Cedric's arm hooked around your waist, the comforting sensation of warmth that steeped from his skin into yours reinvigorating your sore, tired muscles. As you hobbled along, your pace made slow and methodical by your injury, the residents of the baleful maze that still held you captive had shrunken to insignificance by his reassuring presence. The only place in this maze where you felt safe.

As the Beaters had promised in the locker room corridor, the Bludgers constantly flung toward you, reminding you of Slytherin's offensive defense strategy, dogging after the bristles of your broom as it flew through the pitch, forcing you toward the stands. Your slick fingers slipped back on the polished handle as you pulled it upwards and soared just over the heads that were smashed into the stands, whipping up a wind that kicked up scarves and enticed a chorus of "Oooo"s and a few fun shrieks. The raindrops littered your vision, hanging on your lashes and hindering the sight of the tiny gilded ball. You weaved through other bodies across the field.

"Lies! Every word! Poison in your ears! Please, sweet girl, you have to trust me! I've only been protecting you, like I protected your parents-" The moment Pettigrew's hairy, clawed hands reached out had finally broken the invisible barrier that stayed Cedric's temper, triggering his muscles like a spring trap. His wand jabbed Pettrigrew between the eyes like a sword, holding him at bay with a silent promise attached to the tip. 

Cleansing your head with a firm shake, you tried to refocus. The Golden Snitch seemed forever lost, hidden somewhere behind the endless sheets of rain. Cho had begun to chase on your heels - her only competition now would be grabbing the Snitch, not finding it - so you decided to use her strategy to your advantage, falling back to her every now and then to keep the Bludgers at bay.

A yellow streak far smaller than your teammates shot across the grey backdrop. Your broom latched on like a shadow, mirroring its erratic movements. Cho hadn't seen the Snitch, but she reacted to your reaction as quickly as a mirror reflection, falling in beside you. Your eyes were fixed in the same direction as your figures crisscrossed in the air, vying for the best position with the fidgety sphere. Faster, you had to go faster. She was always close, disappearing only to reappear ahead of you. Your teeth gritted together, pressing your torso against your broom, your outstretched arm on the brink of separating from your shoulder.

But the excitement had curdled sickly inside your stomach when you saw the stuffed stands. The comforting hand that fell on your shoulder caused your panicked breath to hitch in your throat like a hiccough. Snapping your head upward, you saw Cedric, his face a visage of contagious confidence. "Breath deep, in and out." You did as instructed, the warm exhale streamed past your lips in misty plumes against the wintery atmosphere. Cedric smirked, and said, "See? You're a dragon."

The wind slapped you suddenly, viring you off in a different direction; but the Snitch was carried away as well. You flew with the current of air, cupping your hand, and just as Cho's arm came into your peripheral vision, the Snitch was pushed into your own by the wind.

Hands swarmed you from all angles like a Kraken assaulting a ship, some slung over your shoulders while others were shoved in front of your nose. "My name's Ernie Macmillan. A pleasure to meet you." You tentatively took his hand and he gave it a firm shake. "Alright, alright, let her breathe. She's just a first year." Looking up, you found a boy with a head of chestnut hair brimming his black pointed hat leaning his tall frame over the table and prying the arms from your shoulders. He caught your wide-eyed gaze, gifting you a smirk that colored your complexion and heart a shade of the future to come. "I apologize for them, we're usually a lovely bunch."

"And Hufflepuff caught the Snitch! What a sudden win to a tense game! And thank Merlin we can get out of the bloody rain now- What'd I say?! The game's over, Professor!"

The stands burst into cheers as you raised your arm in triumph. Your and Cho's descent were just as in synch as you were in the sky. Both feet found the ground, and she said with a tinge of disappointment on her face, "Good game."

"Good game. And good luck against Gryffindor," you told her, but she was peering over your shoulder with a brow quirked quizzically. Before you could turn around, you saw the arms that appeared from either side and crossed around your torso. You were pulled into Cedric's chest, feeling his face pressed against the side of your own from above your shoulder. 

"Brilliant," he murmured into your ear. Releasing you, he allowed you to twist toward him before cupping your hands into his own, arresting your tongue with the intimate gesture. His broom was abandoned at his feet, and the clouds might as well have parted, as his smile was as bright and warm as the sun itself. 

The cheering faces and the disappointed faces were all forgotten, along with the brooms that were tossed in jubilation into the air or thrown onto the muddy ground in anger. The cold rain and wind had vanished with them, the warmth that was incubated within his sweaty palms radiating up your arms and dispensing throughout your entire body. Your heart fluttered in your chest as wildly as the Snitch in your hand. Cedric's chest and shoulders expanded with the deep breath of the damp heavy air, filling his lungs as much as it had his courage. It wasn't the Triwizard Tournament, nor the Winter Ball, but he couldn't wait yet another year.

"(y/n)," he took a brief moment to simply savor the sound of your name on his tongue, leaving you cruelly on the edge of his words, "would you be my girlfriend?"

"Of course," you voice instantly and flatly, answering as though it was the simplest question. It hadn't quite hit you exactly what had transpired until he leaned down, placing his lips ever so gently against your own. The stand erupted a second time, and team members went quiet before joining in their hoots and hollering, hands clapping spiritedly. 

You threw your arms around the back of his neck, standing on the tips of your toes as you imprinted the sensation of his lips on yours. Your fingers wove through his sodden hair, releasing the Snitch, which flew back into the air above your heads. 

The common room was abuzz, confetti littering the ground and in plant pots. The plants didn't seem to mind though, swinging their green limbs dozily with the energy. Fanged frisbees soared menacingly above heads, stashed butterbeer and confections from Honeydukes were sprawled across tables, along with nicked food from the kitchens. When not holding your hand, Cedric kept his arm around your shoulders or arm. So many years he had waited to be able to freely touch you, and he seemed loathed to snub the privilege now that it was finally given to him.

While he was happier than you had possibly ever seen, beaming brightly through his rosy cheeks, you were quiet, made a bashful mess by his generous affection. His attention was intoxicating - drowningly so. Cedric's popularity hadn't helped; students you had never met came up to give congrats and start conversations that you felt lost in. Your own friends could hardly get a word in, Cedric's entourage crowding you. 

Cedric noticed your taciturn shift, asking "Want to get some more sweets from the kitchens?" 

"Yes, please," you said gratefully. He leaned down and planted a 'see you soon' kiss onto your forehead before unsnaking his arm, releasing you to get the air you clearly needed. You stumbled out of the barrels, laughter still on your lips as you tip-toed to the kitchens painting. But the sound of heavy sobs reverberating through the kitchen corridor door paused your travels.

You opened the door and peered out. You almost missed Neville's curled figure as he had lodged himself in the corner between the Marble Staircase, swallowed near whole by the shadows that dwelled in the nook. His hand was wrapped in his robe, tears cascading down his reddened cheeks. You jogged over to him, kneeling down. He looked aghast to be found, tucking his swaddled arm into his chest. "I'm sorry," he said dolorously, as though discovering him was some inconvenience to you.

"Neville, what happened??" He remained silently, but the situation pieced itself together instantly as you noticed the hidden hand that was cradled carefully. Anger, concern, and sadness all filled you, but you found strength as you took your own hand out to show him the still-raised surface. "It's ok, it happened to me too." The reassuring gesture seemed to only entice the tears to fall heavier, however. "I'm scared to go back into the tower. If someone asked or saw- I hate how weak I am. I wish I could have defended myself. I wish I could be strong like you."

"I'm not strong-"

"Yes you are!" he shouted as if your denial was an insult. "Fighting basilisks, dragons. Battling You-Know-Who! I'm envious, I could never do it... Even if I wanted to... I'm so-" You took his freed hand in yours. "It's ok. You're right, we have to become stronger. Everyone does. And I have an idea how," you confessed. His sobs were finally quelled as he gazed up at you with curiosity and memorization in his wide, glossy eyes.

The clapping of feet against the marble floor gathered your attentions, both of your necks craning to see the approaching figure. It was Malfoy's long, willowy silhouette that met your collective gaze. At first, you weren't dismayed, having faith in his sudden and miraculous change of heart - until you could make out his face in the dim torchlight, his snowy features all contorted into a sneering rictus of hatred.

"10 points for breaking curfew!"

"What?" was all you could say.

He tilted his head, face frozen with sardonic confusion, "And 5 extra points from Hufflepuff, purely because yours is the last face I wanted to see tonight." You stood up, standing in front of Neville protectively. "What is wrong with you? You've actually been bearable lately-"

"My mistake!" he bit back through gritted teeth. "Clearly kindness isn't something you respond to. Clearly, you're too dense to see the nose in front of your bloody face, and clearly, you refuse to listen to anyone who wants to help you see it!" 

"See what!? All year, you talk but never say anything! You sound insane!" His jaw clenched tighter. You could see that he wanted to say something but held every word back. The emotions swept over him like a crashing wave of arctic water; he knew you first, had helped you first, but Diggory is the one by your side. When he grows taller, Diggory grows even more, and just when he becomes prefect, Diggory becomes Headboy. Captain of the Quidditch team, Headboy, among the top on every exam - he didn't even have blood purity above him - he could never win. And the vulgar audacity of that lug to put his filthy lips on you! It wasn't fair! Even when he tried, to help you, to be nicer to you - even when it earned him strange looks from others - you still disregarded him! Nothing was fair! You needed him! Not that pretty idiot! Diggory couldn't save you from what was happening! From the burgeoning rein of Dark wizardry! Only him! He wished he could scream it across the damn Hall and have it echo until it was finally drilled into your thick skull.

All these thoughts stayed hidden within him, however. His jaw locked together, but his eyes were silver windows, flickering with shadows of something - was it only hatred? Fear? Solicitude...?

Instead, he vented the building steam by shouting, "Why do you care anyways!? Shouldn't you be suffocating yourself against the face of that idiot!?" 

You fired up at the sudden attack, effortlessly allowing the pivot in subject as you took the bait. "Cedric is smart, kind, handsome, and everything else that you aren't."

His eyes widened and his face curled somehow further in rage, each word an arrow that effortlessly pierced the surprisingly delicate flesh of his heart, rending the already bleeding organ, a strange sense of betrayal twisting the arrowheads. His pale face was colored by his anger, his eyes glistening with held-back tears. "I hate you," he finally spat. 

"Why didn't you report me when you could have if you hate me so much?!" Again the truth was on the tip of his tongue; because he heard the rumors of the detention; because he didn't want you in the mits of Filch; because his brain stopped working properly when he saw you, the fear on your face; because your slicked wet hair framing your face reminded him of when you pulled him onto the shore and said you didn't hate him.

"You are exhausting!" he finally exclaimed, his emotions lagging his brain.

"Sad you weren't invited? Might have had a bit of fun that wasn't at someone else's expense for once," you nettled in a small, taunting voice. His face burst with chagrin. "I should have! I should have reported you! Let you face the consequences of your actions for once in your life! Precious Potter, all eyes on her. Maybe if you tasted even a crumb of your actions, you would behave. Well, I'm done helping you-"

"Helping?!" you said incredulously, but he only continued, "I won't be doing any more favors for you in the future."

"Good," you bit back, "Do me one better and leave me alone entirely." A cocktail of emotions flushed through his face, and his moist eyes were shining now in the wavery torchlight. Straightening his back and lifting his chin in an effort to hold himself above you as well as hold back the welling tears, he replied, "I'm sure you would like that. But as I said, I'm done helping you, so instead, I'll start by taking 55 points from Hufflepuff for your little stunt in the lake."

"You can't take-"

"Backtalk, 20 points. Actually, all members of the Inquisitorial Squad can in fact do that, and for your uneducation I'm taking another 10." Your mouth only gaped, before clamping shut, and silently and you turned to Neville, helping him up. He glared through tears at Malfoy, and said, "You better take 20 from Gryffindor as well, because you're nastier and more horrible and mean and ugly than a Blast-Ended-Skrewt!"

Neville gave his farewell in the form of a rude gesture. Regaining some courage and color to his face, he continued past him and up the stairs, leaving Malfoy momentarily gawking at him in shock. Unlike Neville, you wouldn't even spare him one last glance, only silently disappearing back into the kitchen corridor. Malfoy could only stare at the door, his fists in helpless balls at his sides.

No, this wasn't his fault, it wasn't. It was yours. If you had just listened to his advice, if you had just paid more attention to him, if you had just smiled and laughed along with his teasing- if you had just felt the same way he did- and his hot tears of frustration and forlorn finally spilled down his cheeks as he simply stood in the entrance hall.

All alone.

Again.

(A/N) - Releasing this early, I'll do the final edits tomarrow probably. Should be fine, surely only be a few grammatical errors (;; ͡ᵔ ▽ ͡ᵔ )ゞ  

Chapter Text

        Festive decor had infested the Black manor, starting in the drawing room before making a slow crawl through the entire estate; tinsel traced the banister in silvery spirals, and wreathes crowned the blackened paintings while garland ran along the ornate crown molding like fuzzy overgrown caterpillars. Little Father Christmas hats sat atop the severed house elf heads, and poinsettias spilled from the severed troll leg at the base of the staircase. Homey quilts and afghans were slung over the antique sofa and chairs, and mistletoe sprouted from the serpentine necks of the foyer chandelier and off the twin lanterns, washing out the dour green of the decrepit wallpaper. 

The drawing room was lit by the hearth and twinkling lights of the Christmas tree as much as it was perfumed by them, the smokey wood and fresh pine creating a redolence of the season. Mundungus had dragged the tree in one morning, leaving a trail of shaken pine needles in his path. It stood against the wall beside the hearth, its patchy limbs magically restored with fresh greenery and soon after filled with colorful bobbles, paper chains, and strings of popcorn. 

You were sitting with one of the sofa's pillows guarding your rear from the hard lacquered floor and your legs tucked beneath the coffee table. In one hand a quill fluttered, and by bent elbow were twin towers of stacked books, each one holding some tangential relation to the Strengthening Solution - from history textbooks that mention its creation, to herblore books that included a few of the ingredients, a couple on Potions theory, and even a spellbook that included the Fortification Charm. Your dutiful quill jotted down every word of information you could reap from the infinite pages.

Ginny sat beside you, her own focus similarly pinned to her winter break assignment, which took up far less space on the old table. Your research was only hindered by the pain that dully radiated through the side of your forehead, but it was forgotten (along with the homework you had been bent over) when Lupin stepped into the drawing room. "You still want to participate in a meeting?" 

"I do," Ginny said, half teasing and half serious. He gave her an amused smile and raised an eyebrow. "Of course. Once you've got your mother's permission." Ginny deflated at the very idea of asking her. You peeled yourself from your work and followed close on his heels. He stopped in the hall, saying in a voice quieter than needed, "I want to apologize. In truth, I've been worried that Sirius has been seeing too much of your father in you, but I may have been projecting James's recklessness onto you as well. It wasn't fair of me."

You didn't know what to say. "It's alright. I was perhaps maybe a tad reckless in third year. And the year before..."

His peppered mustache lifted, tired but happy, before turning back to the dining room. The table was already filled with bodies; Moody hunched across from Charlie and Bill, and in the middle sat Tonks in front of Kingsley. Mr. Weasley was beside Mrs. Weasley, who appeared non too happy, keeping her eyes on her conjoined hands. Mundungus was twisted in his seat, a ragged arm thrown over the back of his seat as he inspected the china cabinet while Sirius was at the opposite end of the long table. Snape's was the only figure missing.

Sirius seemed none too displeased by this fact, appearing perfectly contented as he waved you over. You gladly accepted the invitation and sat down. Lupin himself sat beside Tonks, folding his hands in front of himself. "The meeting is now in session. So, what would you like to know?"

"What's going on with-"

"No questions regarding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Mrs. Weasley said preemptively. To their surprise, you finished your question by saying, "Hagrid." They blinked at each other, seeming not to have discussed this beforehand. 

"Hagrid is on a mission," Lupin said carefully.

"I know, with giants. But what to do with giants? Is he ok? When will he be back?" They again swapped glances, this time with anxiety.

"How did you know that?"

"Malfoy told me."

"His father may be a Death Eater, but giving such information to your son?" Kingsley murmured with thinly veiled disdain.

The soft padding on the stairs was lost on most ears, but Mrs. Weasley caught the faint sounds. "If I find that contraption in front of the door again..." she muttered as she stood up and stomped out. Charlie shrugged, turned to you, and said, "He's treating with the giant clan. He'll be back when he gets a response on whether they'll accept our offerings." The information from Professor Binns' class that was forcefully extracted from the very back of your brain was lamentingly scarce. 

"Why?"

"Because You-Know-Who is doing the same," Sirius gave. You twisted toward him, owlish. "He wants giants??"

"He had them last time," Tonks added. 

"And that's the last about any Dark Wizards," Mrs. Weasley ordered as she slid back inside, "Do you have any other questions?"

Your hands threaded on your lap as you chose your words with delicacy, "My friends, they want to help. Susan's aunt is in the Ministry - Amelia Bones. And Cedric, his father is in the Ministry too." Another silent exchange was given, though less ambiguity seemed to be floated around. "Amelia Bones is a good woman, one of the few left in the Ministry, but we can't trust just anyone that's a part of the Ministry at this moment."

Your face fell, your fingers entangling tighter, but Sirius, eager to hand deliver the good news, continued for Lupin, "But Dumbledore seems to think your friends are trustworthy enough. That boy, Diggory, at least can keep a secret," he finished with a big grin. 

"Put nothing in writing, say nothing near any professors or other students," Lupin advised gravely.

~~

        The kindling of merriment of the holiday was snuffed in a gust by the muttered news that later would become Daily Prophet headlines; Sturig Podmore's arrest at the Ministry of Magic for trespassing and attempted robbery and subsequent entombment in Azkaban, and Broderick Bode's death, Ministry worker sent to Saint Mungo's only to then be strangled by a Devil's Snare. Whispers and murmurs were kept safely behind cupped hands and closed doors, but the name "Department of Mysteries" was mentioned often enough to be recognized.

For a single day the meetings were stayed and the anxieties were quelled - Christmas day had extracted everyone from the meeting room to the drawing room, where you and the Weasley children were on your knees while the adults sat on the couch and chair. Wrapping paper that danced with falling snowflakes laid shredded and scattered around your knees, hiding pieces of lost candy. Your gifts were nearly lost in the flood of mangled wrapping paper; a book and broom compass from Lupin, from Tonks a packet of honking daisy seeds, and the sea of candy around you was from Susan, Hannah, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. The chocolate frog cards that lay scattered among the candy were from Ernie, matching your gift to him; the cards you were in surplus of but he missed. You had even gotten a gift from Moody, a sneakoscope, and from Kingsley, wand polish. 

"Um, there's something I have to confess." On the platform, Cedric's complexion was reddened by more than just the cold as he said, "I may have snuck off to Hogsmeade last weekend. I hope you don't mind, but I just wanted to make sure it was a surprise..." A handsomely wrapped package was held between you. Taking the gift, you observed as the bobbles on the Christmas trees that decorated the paper shook like silent bells in brief intervals. Standing on your tip toes, you placed your hand on the back of his neck, leading his head low enough to plant a kiss on his cheek, setting a brighter flame across his face. 

The pieces of the little Christmas trees along with their fidgety bobbles surrounded the folded scarf. It was transfigured better than the one you had knitted for him three years ago, a strong black wedded to the deep gold instead of the cool grey and yellow of his own. But you could tell by the few misshapen stitches that he had crafted it by hand instead of magic. And, though you would divulge it to no soul, you had caught that it smelled faintly of him.

Now you would match.

You were currently opening a soft present, discovering a knitted pattern. Hanging it from your hands, you were met by a (f/c) jumper with your first initial decorating the front. It wasn't the same dreamily soft fabric as Hagrid's, but it was warm and soft and personalized. You looked up at Mrs. Weasley, who smiled down at you, though tears were blearing her eyes in the light of the tree. Percy hadn't come home, of course, and though she contained herself in front of everyone, the red rings under her eyes belied her cheer. "I hope you like it, dear. Bit of a tradition, I thought you might like to join in."

"One of us, one of us!" George, Ginny, and Fred chanted. Ginny threw her arm around your shoulder, already clad in her own, while, for the first time, her brothers crawled into their own jumpers voluntarily. You burrowed into it, beaming down at the black letter, before turning back to her. "Thank you," you said. Not just for the sweater, but for all of the warmth and love you were only ever an observer to.

Sirius watched you closely as you found the last gift, it was at the back of the tree and obviously broom-shaped. Your fingers swam fervently through the paper, and just as you had hoped but dared not to believe, you held in your hands the broom from the Quidditch store window front, your hands now the iron plinth. "A Firebolt," George breathed, Fred at your other side and Ginny peering past them. 

You regarded Sirius with trepidation widening your eyes instead of amazement. "It's too much-" you began, but he waved a hand dismissively, "How? My golds just taking up space in my Gringotts vault. More than I need."

"Isn't it dangerous to withdraw??" Despite your cautious protests, your fingers were welded to the broom.

"Remus moved funds around. With Kingsley by his side, do you really think even those goblins are going to raise more than just an eyebrow? Enough worrying, it's Christmas."

Eight hands were attached to the Firebolt. Fred and George took turns examining the broom before you took it back, yourself loathed to part with it. So light in your hand, like it was hollow inside. The knot did indeed fit between your fingers like it was molded just for them. Upstairs the four of you took turns riding it through the twin's bedroom. Ginny ended up hitting the wall face-first the first time she sat on it, but by the time Mrs. Weasley had investigated the broom was safely under the bed. And the moment she left, Ginny was the first to pull it back out.

A few more crashes occurred, and the broom was eventually confiscated after a head-sized dent was left in the wall, which all four wands couldn't repair fast enough before Mrs. Weasley came storming in. The rest of the afternoon was shaved away by playing with other gifts until the smell of dinner called you four down. The table was full of Order members, including a few you hadn't recognized - except Snape, who seemed to have abstained from this as well.

China missing from the cabinet was arranged before you, fancy silver platters and plates that had only sat and watched dinner for decades were invited to join in the festivities, creating a bridge of food across the table. Mrs. Weasley was busying Bill's ear over the length of his hair, allowing the twins to fill her blind spot with flung potatoes. One hit Ginny, who quickly added her own carrot slices into the melee. A ceasefire was only called when Mrs. Weasley was satisfied with her guidance regarding their older brother's appearance. Moody sat to your left, hunched over his plate and sniffing suspiciously at his spoon while Sirius took your right. He was chatting jovially to Lupin, laughing through his full cheeks.

Mundungus was more focused on appraising his plate and fork than he was using them to eat. "What kind o' silver's this made from, Sirius?"

"Goblin forged. So, (y/n)," Sirius said as he skewered a piece of chicken, hovering it just below his trimmed mustache as he continued through an unbridled grin, "You and Cedric, aye?"

It was one of the few exciting details of your life that you felt safe adding to the letters, but putting that fact on paper was much easier than talking about it over dinner. "Mhm." You purposefully busied your mouth with a spoonful of mashed potatoes, so he filled in your bashful silence for you, "I believe you mentioned he was on your Quidditch team."

"Captain," you informed him uncouthly through a cheek full of potato.

"I always thought they were already dating, personally. Anytime I glanced at the Hufflepuff table he was always looking over at her," Ginny added. 

"It's quite sad, frankly," George said, pointing a fork at you, "If you had said no, he might have just walked into the Black Lake and never come out."

"Oh please," Fred butted in, "like she'd ever say no. Look at her, just talking about him makes her face as red as a beet." He held a buttered beet up on his fork as a visual aid. You wanted to fling your own beet at him. 

"I like him. He's brave. Standing in front of you when I looked like a lunatic. I look forward to meeting him again." 

"He'll be old enough to join the Order next year," you informed him.

"Ah, ya reminded me." Moody shoved his scarred hand into his coat pocket, retrieving and unfolding a photograph. The ceases aged it like wrinkles. "I found this picture sortin' out my coats. Was hidin' in the bottom of the pocket. You were curious about the old Order, so I thought you'd want to see 'em yourself."

The photo panned along a line of people, all bright and grinning, with some so young you'd have guessed they were fresh out of Hogwarts. 

"Here I am," he labeled himself, though the only difference between the two was a sprinkling of grey in the now ocean. Moody shifted his knarled finger as the image continued to slowly drag, new faces emerging from the side. You would have guessed who the first couple was before he even spoke, the woman was so familiar, you would have sworn you had just seen her on the Hogwarts Express, "That's Alice and Frank Longbottom."

"Neville's parents??" you asked with sparkling curiosity. "They were in the Order too??" He nodded stiffly. "Mhm. Strong, they were. Stood up against the Death Eaters when caught. Never betrayed us. Lost everything but their valor."

"What happened?" you inquired, but wanted to retract it immediately; it wasn't your business what happened to Neville's parents, and the foreboding of his words doused your curious flame. 

"Cruciatused to insanity, poor devils," your enthusiasm withered into black regret, "By Bellatrix Lestrange," he said brusquely, conjuring the black eyes of her sallow portrait. "They live in Saint Mungo's to this day," Sirius added solemnly.

"Ah," hs finger fell back on the photo, "and Marlene McKinnon. Murdered two weeks after this was taken. Got her whole family soon after. And next to her, Edgar Bones. Uncle of your friend. Grand wizard. Probably why we found just bits of him all over the house." Before you could digest what he had said, the image continued, though you wished it would halt; two figures were conjoined, his arm around her shoulder, hers on his waist. Silent laughter was shared among them, permanently on both of their lips from a joke that must have just been given. The same oblivious bliss that the others wore was forever on their happy visages. 

"I'm sure you recognize them," Moody said solemnly. Your taciturn disposition was spread to Sirius, who was silently staring at the photo. Moody suddenly pointed a scarred finger to the figure revealed to James's right; a pale, skinny man who had an arm flung over his shoulder by a young man with straight, jet hair that framed his handsome, grinning face, "And Lupin and Sirius, obviously. Ah, there's Hagrid. Really hasn't changed has he?"

Moody's stories and the names attached became lost in your mind, swept away by the thoughts that every smiling face was so close to death and ruin. They had no idea what would come - would they have been so happy if they had? Everyone in that photo was alive, and now are dead, scarred, or in Saint Mungo's...

You then looked around the table at all the happy faces, and saw the photo replaying before you; Kingsley and Arthur were in a conversation while Bill and Charlie were talking to the twins, Ginny and Tonks giggling at each other, and Lupin and Sirius were looking at the photo with Moody now. All you could see was sweet obliviousness teetering on the edge of death. The food turned to stones in your stomach. You felt sick. 

You stood up, drawing curious eyes. "Everything alright?" Lupin asked. "Yeah, I'm just not very hungry. I'm gonna go to bed. Goodnight."

The door opened again when your foot fell on the first step, and you heard Sirius ask in a tone softened by more than just his mother's portrait, "Was it the picture?" You stepped off the stairs. "How're you so sure it won't happen again...?" You didn't need to lower your voice, it was so fragile already it came out in a whisper.

He took a step toward you. "We're better prepared this time. We know who we're up against now. No one really knew back then what he was capable of, even his own followers backed out when they saw the lengths he'd go to. My brother was one. It's different now. Everything is different." He put a hand on his chest, "I failed them, but I will never, ever fail you. And once he finally shows himself and the Ministry sees proof, they'll be begging for forgiveness."

'Will there still be a Ministry by then?' you thought, but couldn't speak, scared the hard words might break his newfound delectation. You couldn't spoil that. Instead, you forced a smile.

"Yeah."

~~

        A Wizard Chess board laid between you and Sirius in the dining room. He leaned forward, his arms crossed in front of him while he hovered above the board. When he gave the command, the black knight waltzed across the checkered board to stop beside your pawn. Your head was propped by your hand.

"What do you want to do after the war?" Sirius asked, waiting for you to move. Your eyes scoured the board, narrowing as you thought. "After the war?" you echoed before giving your command, watching your pawn move across the board cautiously, as though he knew he was walking into his death.

Sirius gave the order and just as the pawn seemed to have predicted, he was brutally beaten to pieces. You swore beneath your breath, the hand that propped against your head balling, your brow knitted tightly. "Yeah, once Voldemort's kicked the bucket. What do you want to do?" You finally looked up at him. "Dinno. Haven't really thought about it. More focused on the former half before the latter."

"Well, I've given it a little thought. Well, maybe a lot of thought, if I'm being honest. I've found thinking of the future is the best way to pass the time. I thought it'd be nice if we could both leave this place and live together once you're out of Hogwarts." You lifted your head, beaming now. "Yeah... yeah!" you said, your enthusiasm building.

His smile was brightened by your own. "It won't be stuffy, lots of windows and sunlight. No Kreacher or cobwebs or screaming paintings. Just us. London or somewhere countryside or by the sea. Your choice."

You ruminating on that sunny thought. Never seeing the Dursleys, no Voldemort looming over. You gave your command to the chess board, less stressed than before, but your pieces weren't as confident as they trembled. "Any thought of what you'd like to do when you graduate?"

You tilted your head, your finger tracing your lip. "I haven't, no. Haven't really had the chance."

"Well, your father was an Auror. Splendid as well." You kept your eyes on the board. The idea of dealing with figures like Voldemort for the rest of your life was not an appealing one. "I'm not sure that would be for me."

He watched you, and said quickly, "Well, whatever you'd like, you've got plenty of time." He gave his command and finally, his queen lept across the board and savagely beat your king. He tried to put up a fight but was ultimately bested. You groaned loudly. "Every time!"

Lupin appeared behind you, hand on the chair, he leaned toward the board as he inspected the game. "What's the score?"

"0-5," Sirius informed him. Lupin regarded your dolorous mien with nostalgia. "That brings back memories. In the Gryffindor common room, everyone huddled around you, each taking turns. That was... until we found out his strategy."

"What is it?!" you asked. 

"He plays impulsively, pure offensive. Puts his enemy on the defense, but if you pay attention, you realize he has little to no security at all." Your eyes scoured the board to confirm while Sirius complained, "No fair!"

Lupin smiled wider, "And after James learned that, no one lost to him since." Even he had to crack a smile at that, perking a brow, "Well, if you're so confident Remus, care to play next?"

Before Lupin could reply, a black figure slipped in through the door. Snape's eyes bounced between Sirius and Lupin, ignoring you.

"I am here on Dumbledore's orders. I'd rather speak with her alone," he said. "Of course," Lupin nodded politely before leaving. Snape watched him go before turning back to Sirius expectingly. Sirius stood up and rounded the table, but stopped at your side, hovering there like a guard dog. 

"I'm her godfather and this is my house. I'll go where I please inside of it, thank you," he retorted. Snape freed his captive disdain, allowing it to curdle his face into a sneering grimace. "If you are so desperate to feel involved, then by all means." Sirius didn't let it show, but those few words were enough to boil his insides with frustration and shame. 

Snape finally gave you his attention, acting as though you had only just arrived. "It is the Headmaster's wish that you begin to study Occlumency this term."

"What's Occumancy?"

"Occ-lu-men-cy," he stressed condescendingly, his sneered lips articulating the words. "The defense of the mind against external penetrations. Dumbledore would like you to learn to guard your mind against these intrusions you've been experiencing. At the start of the term, you will be having private lessons once a week. No one is to know, least of all Dolores Umbridge."

You perked up. "So I'll stop getting those dreams?"

He placed his fingertips together flat and pointed out in front of him, steepling his hands in front of his black cloak. "Dumbledore also believes the pain you have been receiving via your scar should decrease."

"Yes, great," you said enthusiastically, "who'll be teaching me?"

"I will," he said delicately, as smooth and soft as velvet.

A hand fell on your shoulder. "No." This seemed to amuse Snape, as his lips curled ever so slightly, "I'm afraid you have no say in this matter, like many before it."

His fingers dug into your shoulders. "And why can't Dumbledore teach her!"

"Because he, like many of us, does not have ample amounts of leisurely time. I understand your situation is rather unique in this, however." Snape's words were like flaming arrows, and every one of them hit their mark, searing Sirius's chest.

"And you have enough time between your tea parties to give extra lessons??"

Snape perked a brow, "Though I am left envious at the freedom of your schedule, I will indeed have enough time once the semester has resumed. I assure you I did not beg for this job." It was Sirius's turn to throw a weapon, "Oh no?" Snape's eyes flashed dangerously for the first time as he saw the hidden meaning instantly. 

"No, I did not," he stressed through pressed teeth, his voice growing smaller yet stronger. "If her ineptitudes in Potions are any indication, I have quite the uphill battle and I am not looking forward to rolling that boulder up that hill. She is very much like her father that way."

"But looks so much like her mother, don't you think?" It was Sirius's voice that took its turn becoming a fold of silk concealing a blade. Snape's nostrils flared, his hand traveling to the pocket of his cloak. His black eyes consumed Sirius. But you were only left confused by the exchange. Why was he so mad?

"Perhaps I should consider your slip of the tongue as a symptom of solitude. It can't be fun, hiding in your mother's house."

"Watch your slimy tongue in my house, Snivelus!"

You stood up, "Sirius, calm down."

"And did you realize, Black," his soft voice easily spoke over yours, "that Lucius recognized you on the platform??"

"Oh, Lucius had? Tell me, how is he these days? Any new information during the last tea session with the other Death Eaters at his manor?? Or are you too busy running in whichever direction he points you towards to attend?"

''You wish for me to regale you with tales of the outside world? Why don't you step outside and find out for yourself? Or do you just prefer allowing others to risk their skins while you sit comfy and cozy?"

"I wish that you, Snivelus, will know what I'll do to you if I catch even a whisper that you've done something-" 

"I think," his voice towered over his, the silky veil torn from it, "by now you've already realized how much like her father she is!" His eyes scraped over the two of you - your fist knotted in Sirius's blazer in an attempt to stay his flaring temper. "Two dim-witted apples off the same bullheaded tree!"

It happened smoothly, like a series of dominoes falling into each other, one reaction after another. Sirius pulled you back behind his extended arm, taking a few steps in front of you, and shoved his other hand into his pocket, producing his wand out just as Snape had.

"Sirius!" You rounded his arm and got between them.

"Get out the way, (y/n)," Sirius muttered to you. "No! Put your wands down, both of you!"

"Why don't you listen to her, Black. You wouldn't want to get yourself hurt. You've coward from danger so effectively til now, why change?" Lupin opened the door, drawn by the voices, "What's going on???" but rage had blinded and deafened the two men.

Sirius's face contorted with rage, "Once a Death Eater always a Death Eater!" he shouted back.

"Sirius!" Lupin barked in the doorway, drawing your attention, but Sirius and Snape's eyes were knotted to each other.

"And how would you know that? Can you somehow see out of the walls you're hiding behind!?"

"Enough!" Lupin grabbed Sirius's arm, but Sirius's ears were still deaf to his friend's chastisement. He did, however, hear the screaming that blared out. "OUT! OUT WITH YOUR STINKING HIDES! OUT BEFORE YOUR HALFBLOOD STINK CLINGS TO THE CURTAINS AND THE RUGS!" Sirius broke the silent stand-off first, looking over his shoulder, and out the open kitchen door. He swore loudly and strode out.

"YOOOUU! FILTHIEST OF ALL! UNSCRUBBABLE STAIN! LIVING MOCKERY OF MY NOBLE FOREFATHERS'-"

"SHUT UP YOU WRETCHED WOMAN!" Lupin went out next to help him close the curtain. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT - UP!"

Snape casually stared out the open doorframe, regarding you in words only as he lowered his arm and said, "The lessons will be in my office. Six o'clock sharp. Be late and miss it," before striding out, allowing it to swing closed behind him.

As soon as you heard the front door shut, Sirius and Lupin could be heard in the hall. Their arguing was muffled by the door, but as you padded closer, you caught, "You can't just whip your wand out at him!"

"I don't trust him!"

"But Dumbledore does! And you have to trust Dumbledore!" Then softer, "I know what you're thinking, but there's no logical reason to distrust Severus. He knows she's not Lily."

"I know that," Sirius said, sounding annoyed, but also tired. 

"I miss them as well."

Sirius gave no reply.

(A/N) - Miiiight be taking a mini break while I release a new fanfic. It's relatively short, around 9 chapters I believe, but there might be longer gaps between uploads, but maybe not as well. I'll be working on both at the same time, but the other story will be my focus so depends on what I can do. Everything's already written out, just needs scrubbing and cleaning.

Thanks for reading <(_ _)>!

Chapter Text

        There it was. Just a few more steps. The floorboards beneath your feet shifted with every one of those few steps, morphing into straight blocks that striped the floor in the periphery of your eyes. The tenebrous floorboards became cold and stiff as tile, and the blackened paintings shrank and budded with every passing. Soon the walls too were armored in hard rectangles of black, the frames blanching into white grout tracing the squares, and all four surfaces fused together as a single black tunnel. All of the tiles were sucked into the end of the hall like a consuming void; a silver doorknob now pierced through the gloom, exposing the door. 

That opaque, never-ending darkness was the door, and now the doorknob extended like the hand of an old well-loved friend, beckoning for your own. Like a moth captured by the light of the flame, desperation became wings on your heels, and the pounding of your heart reverberated off the door, each throb a knock. You were close, so close, your hand reached out, fingers stretching-

"Hoo!" Hedwig's shout broke you from the dream. Your faces were inches apart and her wings were spread, flapping wildly as her claws grabbed at your chest. In a panic start, you fumbled out of bed, sending Hedwig back into the air. Groaning, you pushed yourself up, tangled like a snake in the blanket. That dream again; every time you broke from it you remember more and more, visual recollections clinging now to the feeling of longing and maddening avarice that held you in its hand.

The hall had changed... Your forehead panged, the ache dispersing your concentration. solace was that lessons soon would be corking these dreams and the aching in your head. But even that was chased by the memory of who your teacher would be. Running your fingers down the length of the smarting scar, you redirected your attention to Hedwig.

"What's wrong with you?" you huffed at her. She had settled on your pillow, her amber eyes narrowed. "Hoo!" she shouted again, and you realized her mysterious ire was tied to your chest.

Your fingertips found the locket next before fleeing back, repelled by the scolding heat they met. Carefully, you slid the chain above your head, mindful of the hot locket, and draped it onto the nightstand. When you reached out and touched it again, it was abruptly as tepid as your own skin again.

The locket suddenly looked malignant in the gloom, like a living creature; a round bug waiting to sprout its tiny golden legs and scurry off the nightstand and hide under the bed. But, no matter how hard you stared, it didn't, just laying there where you put it.

You felt your stare being reciprocated, accompanied by a silent voice that whispered for you to put it back on - how comfortable the weight felt around your neck - but the calling was made fainter with the distance. Breaking your vision, you instead focused on the darkness around you. You weren't sure what time it was, dead of night or dawn of the morning or midday, but your room was softly lit by the wan orange light that slid through the crack in your bedroom door. You got up, peered out the door, and was lured down the stairs by murmuring. Stepping into the drawing room, you found it still limned in the sunset of festive cheer.

Mrs. Weasley was unraveling the string of popcorn from around the tall Christmas tree that Mundungus brought, shed needles now carpeting the floor below it in a green carpet. The little faeries that broke the soft shadowy pockets as they drifted about were flashing much more tiredly than at the start of the month and hung lower in the air. Tonks was standing on the sofa, vanishing a green caterpillar of garland. She teetered momentarily but miraculously kept her footing. 

Peering over her shoulder, she smiled brightly, "Wotcher, (y/n)!" Mrs. Weasley glanced over and gave you a similar smile. "Good morning, dear. Since you're up, grab your wand and help clear the rest of the garland. I'm afraid Tonks might fall and wake up Mrs. Black."

Yawns and footsteps down the stairs informed you when the morning had ripened. You joined Ginny, George, and Fred behind Mrs. Weasley like a row of ducklings into the kitchen for breakfast.

~~

        The necklace was missing when you reentered your room, but a strange sense of relief was conjured by the empty space where the chain once coiled. All that remained was the memory of a broken locket, that though likely once a handsome article was now just a dozed snake jeweled over a drab yellow egg.

The black and yellow scarf around your neck replaced the missing necklace nicely, and any lingering feelings you may have held were quenched by the memory of Cedric that resided within the stitches. The Firebolt was bundled in your school robes, ensuring its safe travel. You had unwrapped it a few times just to gaze at it, reminding yourself that it was indeed yours before folding it up all over again and prying away to continue packing. Mrs. Black's raving and Mrs. Weasley's shouting were nearly indistinguishably, a mash of static behind your door. You relied on Ginny to relay her mother's words back to you. 

You rested your trunk and Hedwig's cage at either end of Sirius's door. It had been closed for days, the rare appearances at dinner growing shorter as the days slowly widdled the week down. Sirius had fallen into a worse gloom than six months ago, all of his ardent joy inversed into a black depression. You knocked on his door, and upon receiving no answer, you tentatively opened the door, peering in.

The only light in the room was the sliver of hallway light that peered in with you. Sirius was sitting on the edge of his bed, already turned toward you. His shoulders were slumped, his hands loosely laced together, his dress shirt untucked, the cuffs unbuttoned and fanning his wrists. His mustache had expanded across his chin, and his hair was unkempt, combed only by his fingers.

Even with every wall painted in the stark darkness, you could tell that the room was larger than Regulus's. The bed extended into the center, and its wardrobe twin stood tall against the adjacent wall, but the sheets were burgundy instead of green, and in place of the blackened paintings, muggle posters were plastered about; bands you recognized and others you didn't, a scantily clad muggle, and a few motorcycles. Hung proudly above his bed was a Gryffindor tapestry, the old golden lion embroidered in the rectangle pond of crimson still roaring as fiercely as it had when Sirius was your age.

He put on a weak smile. "Afternoon. Need something?"

You stepped in and closed the door before sitting beside him, allowing the darkness he was ruminating in to regather. "Are you going to be ok?"

Though you couldn't see it, you could hear his dimmed smile in his voice, "I'll miss the noise. The liveliness... I'll miss you." You dipped to the side, resting your shoulder against his. "I'll miss you too."

A moment paused, but when he spoke again, his voice was one among the many shadows, "Be careful around him, alright?"

"You said he was a Death Eater...?" Sirius shifted against your shoulder as he turned away in shame. "I shouldn't have said that. It isn't my business to spread." Snape had been among the teachers who had saved you from Barty Crouch jr, and before that, when he still thought Sirius was a dangerous, deranged wizard, he risked his own safety to protect you then too. But the few good memories drowned in the raging sea of bad - the insults and torment, humiliations beyond count. 

"Why would Dumbledore trust a Death Eater...?" you said, and Sirius felt a second surge of guilt.

"Severus was young and has since renounced his old beliefs. His affiliation with Voldemort these days is purely on Dumbledore's orders. If Dumbledore trusts him, so do I, and so should you..." you felt him shift awkwardly beside you again before he finished, "...to a point..."

"Do you really think he'd try and kill me? In Hogwarts?" Sirius stared down at you through the darkness, glad you couldn't see the worriment and despondence in his eyes. He redirected his vision downward, toward where his hands hid, clenching them in shame. Sirius had said those things in anger, to try and harm Snape as badly as he had him, knowing she was the sole weak spot in the man. But the worry did spark from some source within him, from old memories of a gangly Severus and a smaller Lily, of their constant company, and of the jealousies it sparked in James. It was all still there, those precious memories, more visible than the present sometimes. When he turned back to you, he saw James' vague silhouette, when he was younger, much younger. A ghost he would never lose, nor ever wanted to.

"Sirius?" and the illusion was gone, his best friend lost a second time. 

He settled on where your eyes rested, wishing he could drink in the color of his friend's stare. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to worry you, I just have to make sure you're safe." Here in the dimness, the man that sagged the mattress beside you was the same disheveled, whittled husk you had spied tucked timidly in the corner of the Shrieking Shack again. His voice was like a wind, whistling hauntingly through every hole that was left in him by the war and Azkaban after that.

"I will be. I promise. And you too, right?" you told him in your strongest, most reassuring voice. You wondered what face he must have been making, as he replied, "Right. I promise."

        Even after being smothered by Mrs. Weasley's farewell hugs, the initialed sweater clung to your torso like the knitted memory of her loving embrace. Lupin hadn't accompanied this time, only the Weasleys and the Order's hidden entourage. The winds were whipping mercilessly across the platform, ushering every body brusquely toward the train. But the winds and your luggage were forgotten when you spotted Hannah, quickly gathering her in your arms while her own was still raised in greeting. Together you ambushed Susan, who was still saying goodbye to her aunt. 

Before you reached each other, your matching scarves were already billowing in the wind like arms waving in excited greetings. While your friends vanished into the train, Cedric vanished you in his arms, lifting you from your feet for a moment in the fervor of the moment; all abashments were forgotten amidst the anxieties of the brewing danger that lurked in the periphery. After placing you back down, he leaned down and swept his hand across your forehead, kissing it delicately, setting your face afire. "I like your sweater," Cedric said as his hand slipped into yours, escorting you onto the train.

Your hands remained entwined through the train and carriage ride (even the thestrals couldn't douse your mood), and into the castle, where he sat by your side for the first time at the feast. His entourage was sullen down the table, though Maxine didn't seem to mind, enjoying the choice pieces of the feast they neglected. 

You were forced to part after the feast, where you gave your excuses of needing the bathroom and fell into the plan you had carved out over the summer. With the Maurader's map already tucked in your robe pocket, you wordlessly stole Hannah and Susan, and disappeared into the tide of bodies that flowed through the entrance hall, forking into three different rivers - one hugged the wall as it trickled into the basement corridor, one split off to flow into the dungeon corridor, and the thickest was traveling up the stairs. Aside from the confused looks they swapped, both followed loyally up the Marble Staircase. And when questions were raised, the vague answer "Trust me," was fortunately enough. Some of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws turned their hands as they noticed you three cutting through them hastily. 

"You lot lost?"

"Switching Houses?"

But thankfully no prefects were among those, and when you parted from the blue and red crowd on the second swing of the Grand Staircase, you retrieved the Marauder's Map from your pocket (gaining more questions) and led them to the third floor, where a door was already waiting.

When you opened the double doors, a small sofa that could comfortably sit three waited inside. You plopped down and gestured for them to do the same. Susan and Hannah swapped questioning glances and did as such, and from there, their infinite patience was finally rewarded. The truth came out in a long string of thoughts; the Order, of Hagrid's disappearance, and the true events of your summer all ran together. They hung enraptured on every hurried word, their earlier confusion kindled into harrowed engrossment. 

Then, you showed them your hand, the thin lines that nearly blended into your skin, where "tell lies" stubbornly persisted. Susan fired up before your recounting of detention even finished, "Why didn't you tell us??"

"I was... embarrassed," you confessed, your complexion darkening slightly. Hannah leaped to her feet. "We have to tell Professor Sprout!"

"What could she do?" you asked calmly.

"Well, Professor Dumbledore then!"

"He's busy with the Order. Only we can do something. Us." You got up and turned toward them, your robes hanging off your expanded arms like black feathers on a bird, "We can use this room to practice defense spells. I used it as a shortcut to Divination third year, but last year it turned into a training room for the tournament. It changes into whatever room you need it to be. Today I needed a private room to talk to you both in, but it can turn into anything. I want Neville to join too, but it'll stay just the four of us. So, what do you think?"

Hannah turned her attention to the interior of the peculiar room while Susan asked, "What about Cedric?"

You had already thought about that, long and hard. "Headboy, Quidditch Captain, and N.E.W.Ts. He has enough to worry about. The last thing he needs is more of his time eaten up."

They exchanged a look, and grins began to grow. "A shared secret could be rather fun. And, it would be nice to learn a few things this year," Hannah said.

"Beats my idea of trying to pilfer the restricted section of the library," Susan added. 

~~

        Adjacent to the tapestry of dolorous Barnibus and past the thick brick wall, four wands were alight. The room had changed since you three had stepped into it, four quintains now lining the north wall. A single bookcase stood beside the door, thin but full of tomes and spellbooks of every grade range. A lantern swung from the ceiling, and brazers hung in the corners, giving ample light. The quintains spun around dizzyingly, their little target hands scorched by the impact of the spell.

The next week, you were checking the map as you climbed the stairs, already noticing something was amiss. When you rounded the corner, you saw Ginny standing beside a repentant-looking Neville. "The room just appeared, and Ginny saw, I-"

"That room really was buggy! It was a bathroom a few months ago!"

"Ginny, this is-

"Neville already told me," you threw a glare at him, and he melted away instantly, "and I want to join! Defense is useless now and You-Know-Who's out there!"

Susan and Hannah came up behind you. "Well, you did say it was to teach us how to defend ourselves. What's one more person?" You paused, and said, "We'll vote. Who wants her to join?"

Your hand stayed down, along with Hannah's, but Susan and Neville's went up. But the fifth hand broke the tie - Ginny's. "Looks like I win."

The news of the Gryffindor's Quidditch match against Slytherin was on everyone's tongue, but you hardly heard a word of it, your nose either in textbooks, an essay paper, homework, or in the Room of Requirements. But you heard enough to know that Slytherin had won, and by a wide margin. 

You were already in a sour mood the next time you approached the double doors. "No," you said immediately, the map now crinkled in your fist. "Please? Me and my dad are very supportive of anti-Ministry actions. Hopefully, someone will overthrow the evil goblin slayer, Cornelius," Luna petitioned, her moony eyes unrelenting.

"Should we take another vote?" Ginny suggested, her hand raising. She nudged Luna, who stared at her before tentatively mimicking the motion. 

~~

        Despite the unexpected vote-rigging of the past day, you left your bed in a much different mood than when you laid down, floating on your feet as you got dressed, a spontaneous tune on your lips and the dull aching in your scar unnoticeable below your mysterious jubilation. This lofty attitude had enticed you to sleep in, and when you finally pranced into the Great Hall, the answer to this unasked question rained down along with the morning paper. The storm of muttering that came over the hall was peripheral to your ears, which were more preoccupied with your spontaneous humming than the clatter of papers.

"Mornin'," you said. Only Cedric returned it, though his voice sounded as though your greeting had simply echoed off the walls of his mouth.

Ernie had one of the many Daily Prophets in his hands when you sat down and grabbed a bowl and bronze jug of milk. You noticed his knuckles were white as he read before you even spotted the ravaged faces that were clustered on the cover. Beneath the headline was a row of mugshots that shifted and sneered and jeered - but the face in the center dampened those around her. Her tangled mass of hair could have passed for an ink stain during the printing process, and her sallow skin looked sickly even in black and grey. Then those round black eyes - the color captured perfectly by the ink - touched your own. As though she was waiting for you to notice her, her grey lips cracked open and untethered her sanity in a scream of jubilance and rage in turns before baring her teeth in a sneer of a smile. 

The storm of conversation did not start and end at the House tables, and on the dais Dumbledore and McGonagall were whispering to one another while Flitwick was abstractly adjusting his falling glasses, and Professor Sprout's breakfast slid off her fork from her mouth, now agape in surprise instead of hunger. 

"MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN! TEN DEATH EATERS ON THE LOSE!"

"Ministry fears Black may be a rallying point for loosed Death Eaters!"

"The Ministry confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the late hours of yesterday evening," Ernie read aloud - to the table or merely to himself without realizing - in a vacant voice. "Minister Fudge has said regarding the breakouts, "We do not believe that this incident is unrelated to the break out of Sirius Black only two years ago. The only person to escape Azkaban, may I remind you. We think it is likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader.""

"Black's behind this?!" Hannah eeped. Your fists were angry brambles on your lap. The Ministry was turning a blind eye, and by not listening to Dumbledore and clenching their hands, these criminals had slipped through their fingers! And then they blame Sirius!? 

"But- How- The Dementors...?" Justin stammered. You remember the attacks from last year. 'Last time they had the giants,' Tonk's voice sounded. "They never truly belonged to the Ministry," the thought simply slipped out, chilling everyone's blood further. Subconsciously, you reached your hand up, but your fingers only found your chest. That's right, the locket was gone... Only then did you realize that despite all the bodies around you, even Cedric's, you felt all alone. A locket-shaped hole in your chest remained after you lowered your arm.

~~

        Bellatrix's face followed you through the castle, appearing just behind your shoulder. How was Sirius taking this? You hoped they knew better than to share the paper with him this morning... Let him find out during a meeting, where he didn't have to learn that the Ministry was blaming him. Climbing the stairs, a set of footfalls that trailed after your own finally penetrated your commiseration, halting your trek. Peering over your shoulder, instead of a brittle nest of jet hair nestled atop a sallow face, you spotted the streak of Zacharias's towhead, and long leg as he flung himself behind a statue.

"I saw you," you said banally, in no mood for shenanigans. A moment passed before he stepped out dignifiedly despite the embarrassment that dusted his cheeks.

"Why are you following me?"

"Every week after dinner Hannah disappears, then Susan, and then you vanish from the common room. Hardly conspicuous, always just a few minutes apart."

"What do you care, you're not a prefect."

"No, but it's a prefect that's leaving the dorm after hours as well, so I hardly think that matters. I want to know what you three have been doing."

"Why?"

"Because I want to know what could be making you risk the team the next game! You know if Filch or Umbridge finds you, they won't let you play."

You bristled. "I'm careful. Filch and Umbridge'll never catch me." 

"I don't care how careful you think you are, I'm not going to let you cost us the game! Get back to the common room now!"

You raised a brow playfully, a smirk now on your face as your hand slid into your pocket. "Think you can make me?"

Zacharias dove his own hand into his trouser pocket, aiming his wand at you. "I will if I have to!"

"Oh, will you?" Your wand was out before he could open his mouth again, and his wand was flung from his hand. He tried to lunge for it as it rolled down the corridor, but you were faster, the next spell cementing his foot to the ground.

Zacharias and his hissed insults were both left behind you as your cloak tumbled in the air after you as you ran ahead, sure you'd disappear behind the door before he could catch up. But after jogging rounding the corner, when you unfurled the map, your brow furrowed tightly together and you double-checked. Dashing up through the corridor and up the stairs, you were stopped by the wall of bodies that knotted inside the hall. Hannah and Susan stood in front of them, molded by the same confusion as you. At your approach, the double doors formed themselves, shifting the bricks and splitting the wall. 

They all twisted around and stared, eyes widened by amazement and disbelief, before turning back to you. They were like a band of wayward cats; Ernie, Justin, Cho, Lee Jordan, Anthony Goldstein, Fred and George, and a few faces you recognized but took you a moment to recall their names; Padma's sister, Partvati, Angelia Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet. 

"So it's true!" Justin exclaimed.

"No no no no no no," you began, but paused, hearing a mismatched storm of footsteps. Zacharias appeared from the corner with only one shoe. His eyes found the door that rose from the ground and expanded out, a curved archway through the brick. He pointed an accusatory finger and shouted, "I knew something weird was going on!"

"Shush!" you hissed before begrudgingly slicing through the crowd and flipping open the doors - which were now much bigger - and leading them in, shutting it before anyone else could happen upon them. Fred and George held their heads up as their eyes scoured the large room, "Whoa, this was a broom closet when we were runnin' from Filch."

"What is this about?" Zacharias had shaken off the mirth of this mysterious room first, his own gaze more in suspicion as he too took in the interior. "You're gathering people? Why?"

"I wasn't gathering anyone. Neville was followed by Ginny, who then invited Luna-"

"I heard through Luna," Cho chimed in. Luna blinked her wide eyes slowly. "Was this a secret?"

"Got a training program going on?" Lee Jordan inquired, jutting a thumb at the quintain, which now marched stilly down the sides, creating a path in the middle. 

"Not for everyone," you snapped. "I was supposed to just be training Neville and Susan and Hannah."

"But we want to learn too!" demanded Ernie. 

"You're a prefect, this is very against the rules. If a teacher finds out, you could have your badge revoked." The threat toward his status symbol had no effect, and instead, he puffed his chest out. "I want to protect the school from the teachers!"

You opened your mouth to retort, but George cut in first, "What about us??" Fred nodded behind him, his arms folded. "Hiding such a source of rule-breaking like this from us?? Downright selfish!"

Your hands found your hips, and for a moment you felt like Mrs. Weasley as you said, "You two get in enough trouble as it is."

"Why did you start this? To pass O.W.Ls?" Terry Boot asked skeptically.

"To help her friends," Susan battled with you, taking a step beside you. 

"She's a very good teacher, we've learned loads" Hannah added, standing by your other side. Susan continued, "And it's a good thing we have, now that there are Death Eaters and You-Know-Who on the loose." A few restless murmurs sparked from this. 

"But wasn't it Black who helped them escape...?" Terry Boot said, though his doubt was obvious in his shakey words. 

"Escaping from Azkaban is one thing, but breaking back into it? No way Black did that on his own," Anthony combatted. "Even Professor Flitwick was rattled after that article. I thought she was bonkers too, but... what if she's right...?"

"You want to see what being bonkers really looks like?" George had his wand in his hand.

"We could give you a first-hand example," Fred agreed, and Anthony couldn't help but stare at their large knuckles and hands as well as the wands in them.

"Headmaster Dumbledore said he was back," Ernie added firmly, his lofty voice for once working in commanding the murmurs to pause. 

Zacharias broke the silence, "Why are you the teacher?"

"Because I learned some spells during the Triwizard Tournament that haven't been taught yet."

"So did Cedric. And he's older. Shouldn't he be teaching this class?" There was some more murmuring.

"She's done more than him! More than anyone in this school!" Every head twisted toward Neville in shock at the sudden outburst. He looked fuming, his shoulder held rigid and high, his face furrowed, "She's defeated a basilisk, Dementors, dragons, and Y-Y-You-Know-Who!" Neville defended bravely. "Death Eaters escaped Azkaban! You can think that's a coincidence if you want to, but those of us who want to protect ourselves will see it for what it is and fight! So if you want to stand up for yourself and learn how to fight, you can stay. If you don't, you can leave." You blinked at Neville in surprise.

"Well said, mate," George chimed in, clapping his hands softly alongside Fred, causing his face to go from an angry red to an embarrassed red.

"And she can perform a perfect patronus!" Hannah spoke up, stirred by Neville. That gathered eyes. "Hannah," you said bashfully. "What? Was it a secret? You spent half of third year with Professor Lupin learning it."

"Really? A full one?" Cho asked brightly.

Your face grew red, "Yes. But I haven't done it in a while."

"You don't just forget that kind of magic. And has anyone actually seen it?" Zacharias interrogated.

"I didn't forget it! And Cedric has, ask him. Anyways, I never said I'd be taking you guys in."

"Well we're not going anywhere," George said simply, crossing his arms just as Fred unfolded his own. "Even if you try and make us," Fred added.

"It would be nice to have a chance at passing our Defense O.W.Ls," Cho admitted. "So long as it doesn't clash with Quidditch practice, why not?" Angelina said with brewing excitement, smiling playfully at Lee Jordan.

"We will do what the Ministry won't!" Ernie declared, his shoulder back and chin higher than ever. "We'll protect ourselves and others against the escaped Death Eaters!" Slowly more and more people were murmuring, their excitement churning at the idea of learning new spells or simply the mischief of running off to a hidden room under the nose of Umbridge. An exercise in freedom and knowledge as well as rebellion. Neville looked proud, smiling at them and then at you. You couldn't help giving him the smile back. 

"Fine, you can join. But we have a system going so we aren't all seen together, and you have to learn and use it. And from now on, no loose lips. No one else can know about this. The more people know the more leaks will start and the more chances for Umbridge to find us. And it'll be a fate worse than her usual detention waiting for us if that happens." A few poor faces paled, understanding the words best. You wondered if their hands tingled the same way yours was.

"Any blabber mouths get to be test subjects for the newest sweets in our skiving box," Fred announced with a wide smile as menacing as it was playful. 

Zacharias stayed in the back, his arms crossed tightly around his thin chest, watching everyone. Once the meeting ended, you believed you were the last to leave, til you found Zacharias waiting down the hall.  He saw you and said, "Where is Cedric anyways?"

You walked past him, and he followed at your side. "Common room still."

"Does he even know about this?"

You stopped, finally meeting his eyes, "He has enough on his plate. And he's not just a prefect anymore, he's Headboy. He wouldn't want to know."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do. Do not tell him."

Chapter Text

        "Reducto!" The burlap stomachs of the quintains were disemboweled, the cottony stuffing that settled onto the stone-carved floor matching the snowy grounds outside. Titters filled the air along with the soft plumes that burst forth, a few clumps landing atop heads. Across the room, poor Neville was shielding his face with his arms in protection from the backlash of his spell - he had accidentally decapitated the wooden figure, rendering the head to a flurry of splinters.

When the late winter weather took a turn, the Room of Requirements followed on its icy heels; an extra set of braziers for each corner of the room as well as a line of torches greeted you fondly that afternoon, every one well fed with healthy fires. Compliments were whipped as generously from your tongue as your wand whipped at the floor, vanishing clumps of cotton by your feet.

"I won't be in tomarrow," Cho told you at the end of the session. "Davie has us doing Quidditch practice that afternoon."

"Got it. I'll have Anthony come in during your slot. Good luck."

"Thanks." You checked the map while everyone passed by one by one. Luna hung in the back chattering away at Justin Finch-Fletchley, "-yet to be formally discovered unfortunately, but my father found a horn from one," she was informing him in a placid voice. Justin was tapping his foot, willing the line to move faster. "Interesting," he mumbled. 

When she came to you, her hand was shoved into her robe, pulling out a few odd items before finding the rolled-up magazine. "Here. Newest edition of the Quibbler."

"Oh, thanks," you tucked it into your own pocket.

~~

By Order of The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts

All student organizations, societies, teams, groups, and clubs are henceforth disbanded. 
An organization, society, team group, or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students.
Permission to reform may be sought from the High Inquisitor, Professor Umbridge.
No student organization, society, team, group, or club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor, Professor Umbridge.

Any students found to have formed, or to belong to, an organization, society, team, group, or club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor, Professor Umbridge, will be expelled. 
The above is in accordance with Education Decree Number Twenty-four.
Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor.

Cedric stood in front of the noticeboard awestruck, his face slack. He had been standing there for who knows how long, still clad in his pajamas, his hair sticking every which way adding to his gobsmacked demeanor. "We can't end on a loss," he said dully. The game against the Gryffindors before Christmas break had ended with their Seeker accidentally flying into the Golden Snitch, getting it caught in his robes before he managed to fish it out and snatch it before you could make it back across the field.

"It says we can reseek permission to re-form," Tamsin Applebee told him reassuringly. He nodded faintly but put on a brave face, "Yeah, I'll talk to her after class. No reason to cancel Quidditch for a third year. Every captain will be clawing at her, no way she can say no." 

Cedric then turned his head to you, his wide eyes taking a puppy dog's visage, "Please, don't give her any reason to keep our team disbanded. Just until Quidditch season is over, afterward you can scream You-Know-Who's name from the top of the clock tower."

Ernie, Susan, Hannah, and Justin crowded around you as Cedric slumped back into the dorm room to get ready for the day. "It couldn't be because of us, surely??" Ernie questioned.

"Oh no, no one told did they!?" Justin exclaimed in a poorly restrained whisper.

"No, we'd be chained to Filch's wall if that were true," you told him. "What do we do??" Hannah asked nervously.

"Disband?" Justin put in tentatively. "Death Eaters are on the loose!" Susan chastised. "Yeah, and we can't let her win. That's exactly what she wants. Any suspicion she has is on words. Rumors. Vague rumors, or we'd have been pinched. She's clearly afraid." The notion was a satisfying one, enough to quell their fears. Neville nearly tripped over himself in the entrance hall, clinging to the railing of the Marble Staircase. "Did you see!? Do you think someone told?!

You snapped your finger to your lips, and his face blanched further, his hand slapping on his lips, and he nodded his head obediently. Still, that was curious. How did she know? It couldn't have been pure coincidence. In the Room of Requirements, Fred and George sat on a wooden bench that had shown up since their last session. George asked, "So, what's the plan, teach?"

"Are we taking a break?" Dean Thomas inquired.

"Disbanding?" Zacharias put in.

You stood before them, scanning their faces before replying, "Well, sunken costs and all that," receiving a wave of smirks and smiles. 

Wishing to arrive early and make a good impression, Hannah and Susan were left lagging behind your hurried heels. In the doorway to Umbridge's class, Malfoy was leaning against the outside, his bag hanging casually off his arm, a semi-circle of Slytherin loitering along with him. As always he was speaking and they were listening, "-never seen Professor McGonagall so mad, Longbottom-" he glanced toward the side and caught you down the hall, and just as quickly Susan was at your side again, warning you, "Don't react."

He spoke louder, looking back to his friends, "The Slytherin Quidditch team was approved as soon as I asked Professor Umbridge. As expected. Wonder if the other teams'll follow. I don't see why the good teams won't, Ravenclaw and even Gryffindor... don't remember the last, suppose they don't leave much of an impression." You shouldered through them, creating a door for Hannah and Susan to slip through. You were just in the doorway when he said, "Probably helps my father's so close to the Ministry. Unlike those filthy Weasleys." As Susan had dreaded, and Malfoy had hoped, you whipped your head toward him, but he pretended to not notice, going on more coyly now that your attention was on him, '"I mean, my father tells me Arthur Weasley's office is tucked out of sight, better to keep him out of mind as well." Pansy cackled and Crabbe and Goyle grunted out their own laughter, but he unabashed looked at you, casually saying as though he was simply glancing by happenstance, "Compared to the power of my father's influence, the Weasleys are a pack of nobodies."

You flared, your mouth opening - his smile expending in tune - when Susan tugged your sleeve, shaking her head toward where Professor Umbridge sat. Her eyes were wide and fixed on you, hidden malice glinting in them freely. Umbridge's back was set straight, shoulders squared, hands folded, her smile poised and expecting.

You bit the words in your mouth, killing them before swallowing them away. Instead, you tore your feet from the doorway and threw yourself into the chair. You continued to hear, "As far as families are considered, they're truly the most insignificant. Aptly named, if you ask me." She could hear his voice as easily as you could, yet said nothing.

"My father was saying just the other day, regarding the new education decrees-" Malfoy was still droning on as you trudged into Potions, trying to winkle a reaction from you. But your mind was on far dire matters. Thankfully, Snape was absent from the classroom when you strode over to his desk, placing the essay paper on his desk. But when you turned around, he was already gliding toward you, his dark robes billowing off his heels.

"Well, it is indeed long enough." he noted with a brow raised lazily before quipping, "Surely every inch was put to good use, no doubt. Brevity is the soul of wit, after all, so I suppose this is to be expected."

And yet, by the end of the class, the paper was slapped back onto your desk as he strolled by, never breaking his brusque stride, the same direction you had put it on his. Flipping it, a rare smile was conjured on your face when you saw the tiny letter grade. It was an A. An A so tiny you might not have noticed it if the ink wasn't blood red. It wasn't as casually written as his P's, looking almost like his hand was strained when he wrote it, likely strangling the poor quill that did the job. Three red slashes across the page, as curt and cruel as the cut of a blade, yet it was as sweet as any cauldron cake.

~~

        Snow crunched beneath your feet, leaving a trail behind you. The whomping willow was shaking the small amount of snow that had collected, flinging the mist of white all around it before settling again. Fog reeled over the surface of the Black Lake, thick as the plumes of breath that billowed before you. The chatter in the halls was that the next Magical Creatures lesson would involve unicorns, and Lavender had said she had even seen their paddock from the window.

Quick crunching footfalls sounded behind you. "Looking forward to a lesson taught by an actual professor?" Malfoy had jogged over to you, his green scarf snapping behind him, his cronies having to struggle to catch up through the ankle-deep snow. "I know I am. Might actually learn something." 

You turned and ignored him, but the silence only fanned his hunger for your attention, "Won't have to worry about that overgrown oaf maiming half the class now. Do you think he realized what a pea-brained fool he was, or did Dumbledore finally have a rational thought for once in his life and sack-" You rounded on him, and he threw his arms up in feigned terror. "Oh no, going to scream at me like you did Umbridge?" 

"Ugh," you turned back around and walked faster. Malfoy picked up the pace and matched it, falling in line with you. "Walking away while a prefect is speaking to you, Potter? That's a punishable offense, and detention would mean you couldn't practice for a week, wouldn't it?" He snapped his fingers, "Ah, but Umbridge hasn't even reinstated the Hufflepuff team has she??"

"If I was going to get detention from you it'd be for hexing your bogies into bats, and I have another year of Quidditch waiting for me so do not tempt me," you said through clenched teeth.

"But then I'd be forced to defend myself, wouldn't I?" Malfoy said with a smile that didn't match his dark words, "I've learned a good number of spells over the summer, much better than bat bogies, I promise."

"I bet you have, and I have an idea where you learned them."

The corners of his lips fell, his grey eyes darkening like storm clouds as his fingers rolled into his gloved hands. "If you truly did, you'd bite your tongue. Perhaps I should assist you in that, hm?"

You stopped and flung around. "You aren't the only one who's been practicing spells." He perked up again with interest. "Oh? Your dog teach you a spell or two, or was it the family of weasels? Perhaps the werewolf? I do hope you washed your hands after lessons from him, though."

With a grunt of exasperation, you dropped down before lunging back up again, hurling a snowball that hit him square in the face with a satisfying crunch. His face momentarily disappeared behind the spray of snowflakes, sputtered, and took a few steps back, falling on his rear. His nose was red from the impact, and the color was quickly spreading across his cheeks. He grabbed a fist full by his side and flung the arm, chucking one of his own. It crumbled and scattered in the air, but gave him another time to pack one, and standing, he flung it. Your arm caught the blow and soon the both of you were bent and hovering above the ground, molding snowballs in your hands only to loose them seconds later. 

A snowball hit the side of your head, scratching your ear with a chilly kiss. Malfoy got a second to the face as he threw another, but this time had the presents of mind to lower his head, shielding most of it in his piled-up scarf, and stayed on his feet. Your arms moved in unison this time, the two white oblong balls smashing each other, exploding and powdering the air when Grubbly-planks voice finally came, "No playing during class!" Out of breath, you silently watched each other.

You moved first, leaving toward the teacher, while he watched you go. Running a hand through his jostled hair, combing the snowflakes that flecked it, Malfoy glanced at his waiting cronies. The grand smile he had no idea he wore fell. "Halfbloods raised by muggles are still as savage as muggles at the end of the day..."

~~

        It seemed like you couldn't escape Malfoy today. "Bottle of sherry in her hand ranting about being sacked!" he was cackling. "Quite the show on the way to history! Blithering professor, though hardly any different, I suppose. I hear wonders about her class. Pity I didn't sign up, but my father would have Cruciatused me if he found out I'd associated with such peusdomagic anyways."

He peered over his shoulder at you and continued, "We don't all have the luxury of just doing whatever we please."

Hannah whispered through a cupped hand, "A teacher was canned??" She whipped her head back to Susan "She has that power?!" Susan, who never approved of Divination, seemed shocked as well. "Who could be next...?"

"Snape, I hope." But you knew your luck was not so good. You stopped suddenly, seeing outside the arched windows that the familiar light in Hagrid's hut was finally alive again.

Without a word you turned and dashed down the hall, forcing Susan and Hannah to do the same. Your fervor hadn't slowed until you reached his door, which you promptly hammered on while your friends caught up. The eye that peered through the crack was sealed shut by puffed blackened skin, the bristly hair that framed it matted with blood that disappeared in the dark strands but appeared oddly slick.

The door opened the rest of the way, and a bruised and battered Hagrid filled the doorway. "Ain' yeh got class?" he asked in lieu of a greeting. "No," you lied blithely. He stepped aside, allowing you and your friends into his hut. "I'll put teh kettle on." When your friends rebuffed the gesture, he only waved them off with a bruised hand, "No, no. It's a'right, yer guests." He moved to the hearth and grabbed the kettle, filling it up before resting it back over the fire.

"Good eye, yeh got. Caught me jus' gettin' in." With a deep sigh, Hagrid slapped a stake to his face and fell back into his patched armchair with a thud that kicked up dust around it. Fang's tongue lulled happily from the side of his jowly face, panting as he sniffed at you. 

"It's good to have you back." He let out a snorting grunt of a laugh that morphed just as suddenly into a pained grimace. "Bloody good ter be back." Hannah squealed when Fang plopped his heavy head on her lap, his drool already dripping onto her robe. She tentatively gave his head a pat, and he gave a happy grumble. Hagrid hoisted himself back up, putting the kettle on and fetching four giant tankards just smaller than buckets and dropped fistfuls of teabags into each. "How's yer classes been?"

"Alright," you replied, watching him pick up the kettle from the fire and douse the water, the steam rising up from the four massive cups. Hagrid handed each of you a tankard, which you had to hold in two hands. He sat back down, slapping the meat back over his ravaged face. "So, um, are you feeling ok...?" Hannah inquired. Susan blew on her tea.

"Righ' as rain."

"Did the treaties not go ok....?" you asked, causing Hagrid to nearly spill his tea as he lunged back up a third time. "How'd ye know bout tha'?!" he exclaimed, panicked. "The Order told me, and I told them. I got permission." He sighed out his anxieties and relaxed again. "Near gave me a hear' attack. This kin'a information can' be droppin' inter the Ministry's ear, yeh know? T'ey tell yeh, aye? Well, no, no it didn'." He regaled you with the details, keeping you on the edge of your seats throughout the tale. Hannah was oo's and awe's, gasping at times, you asked questions, and Susan listened quietly but intently, cradling her tankard to her chin. 

"Dumbledore didn' seem too distraught, but it's hard ter tell wit' 'im. Hard ter think it wasn' a blow though. Anyhow, enough business. How's ter new Magical Creatures teacher?" He took a deep gulp of his tea, but kept a searching eye on you from above the rim. You casually sipped your own. "Ok. Rather boring," you answered tepidly, hoping you successfully masked how much you actually enjoyed the unicorn meeting. One of the unicorns had taken the sugar cube right from your hand. But Hagrid seemed to see the lingering sparkles of that memory through your eyes and huffed through his nose. "Drink yer tea before it gets cold. Righ' nippy out." He shifted in his chair before casually throwing out, "Been thinking 'bout new lessons."

You asked from above the lip of the tankard, "More importantly, Hagrid, have you seen Madam Pomfey about your injuries?"

He shook his black and blue head, "Magic don' work well on me, half giant an' all. Don' worry 'bout me none, I'm fine. Scratches and scrapes is all. Yeh should be worried about yerself." He sat up, "Remus asked me ter tell yeh ter be careful and stay on yer best behavior." Your friends glanced at you over the rims of their cups, and the weight of their stares caused you to slide slightly off the chair.

"Yeah, I will."

        The pittering of rain disappeared as you descended the serpentine steps of the dungeon, leaving only the echoing of your steps as company. You had never stepped foot inside his office before and wondered how many students had. By the looks of it, not many likely had since he had become the Potions professor.

The old iron hinges of the wooden door announced your arrival with a tremulous groan, causing you to wince along with it. Perhaps the noise was a warning, as the moment you stepped in, the first thing you saw was the plethora of specimen jars housing a menagerie of curious flora and fauna floated that stilly in green fluid above a bookcase. The other wall was filled to the brim with various shaped bottles and the colorful potions inside, each labeled by aged parchment with handwriting so small and tightly wound you couldn't make it out in the dull light. There were no lamps, torches, or braziers, only a heap of candles that sat in a fused sallow mess on the edge of his desk, dripping off the side. The light given was scant and sickly, dancing off the vials and making the specimens appear as though they twitched with the shifting of the many flames. 

Snape was one with the shadows, giving you a start when you found him with his hands laced behind him. "Shut the door," were the first words he spoke. You did so, and couldn't help feeling like you were willingly trapping yourself. 

He was half cloaked in the gloom that was cultivated, the drapes of hair framing his face hiding it from the minimal candlelight. Only his nose caught the light, appearing sickly pale in comparison with the rest of his shadow-shrouded frame. "As I'm sure you remember, you are here to learn Occlumency as a way to repel the Dark Lord's Legilimency-"

"What?" Snape already seemed out of patience, '"The ability to look into one's mind, do keep up if you wish to sleep tonight."

"Voldemort's looking into my mind?" you said, suddenly terrified. You never considered that fact. His face curdled at the utterance, "Do not speak his name!"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Has he looked into my mind?" you corrected, yourself a shade of his impatience now.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. It would appear that only emotions and memories have slipped through the cracks between you, and though the Dark Lord himself is aware of some... kind... of connection, he is yet certain of the specifics or severity. But at the moment we can not assume to know exactly what he may know. So Headmaster Dumbledore had decided it would be best to shut this link down before he can find out for sure." Your stomach turned again.

Some... kind... of connection...

"But... has he ever...?" your voice died on your lips, but Snape replied coldly. "While yes, he has thrown the notion around, it would appear he has either been unsuccessful thus far or has yet to try."

"How long will this- Occlamency take to learn?" you asked anxiously. "Occ-lu-mency." He tilted his head, "I have no way of knowing the foundational strength of your mind... though... I have assumptions." Your lips pursed at the insult, but when he pulled his wand out, you tensed slightly. "You may expel my wand from my hand or otherwise defend yourself."

"Wait- How, how does this work again?" you asked, nervous. "I cast the spell and you force your way out of it. Rudimentary. I've, uh, been informed that the Imperius Curse had little effect on you, so this might be similarly easy for you to break from." Your heart shivered when Snape raised his wand again, Sirius's warnings crawling back into your mind. Raising your own, you closed your eyes to escape the sight, though your hand was still near trembling.

"Open your eyes. Eye contact is impertinent to Legilimency."

"Wait!" His face darkened, but he lowered his arm slightly. "What," he demanded flatly.

"That dream, about the hallway... That wasn't a memory, it was a real dream. Why did I dream it? Why does he care about that place so badly?"

Silence, and you almost opened your eyes to see if he had moved when you heard him say, "You may be experiencing his emotions and bits of his thoughts, but you are not privileged to such information. Just because Dumbledore and The Order seem to believe you are responsible, I, with first-hand experience, know better. Now open your eyes. There will be no further delays in this lesson. Deep breath, concentrate... Legilimens!"

Your surroundings shifted, and like the curtain being ripped away from a stage, you were a child again, the same anger boiling your veins as Dusley colored the pages of a book you had borrowed from the library. That scene was torn away suddenly, drowning you in a sadness as deep and blue as the ocean as you sat in your cupboard. No light, locked in. Fear bit deep to the bone when that too was washed away, revisiting the Dementor in the train as it bore down at you. Then the Dementor's wispy, cowled figure was ripped away as well, every page turning with rapid succession, a new emotion coloring the paper - shy joy, watching Cedric fold the scarf you had knitted him around his shoulders, framing his smiling face.

That joy bled to embarrassment, remembering the other pair of eyes were on that scene. The dungeon was around you, except the legs of the desk and the cold stone floor greeted you this time. You blinked ponderously and observed the little dots of wax that had hardened on the floor beside his desk. Your chest heaved with breath, and your back and head ached from the impact of the fall. Your wand laid abandoned beside his desk.

Rolling your head, you spotted Snape's black frame looming over you, "It took you some time, but you managed to push me out. Still, I delved deeper than I should be able to." You reached out and grabbed the wand before pulling yourself back up. Again he raised his wand.

"What did you see...?" You felt brave enough to ask. There was a pause before he answered, "Enough for you to want to focus and force me out of your mind as quickly as possible. Now, concentrate this time. Clear your thoughts, clear your mind, clear your emotions. One-" Taking in a deep, yet tremulous breath, "Two," and releasing the breath, you couldn't help but dread hearing "Three-"

Loneliness. Locked in the library, knowing that anywhere else people would gawk at you, scared, or sneer at you for the actions of a monster. Exhilaration, sitting on Buckbeak. Pain, on the ground in the Chamber of Secrets, Riddle's fist in your hair-

Your eyes ripped open, your heart throbbing in your chest. You were on your knees this time, and for a moment you were grateful to be back in the room until Snape bared into you. His fingers latched onto your arm, roughly hoisting you onto your feet. "Up, now! Are you even trying!?"

"I am!" you yelled back at him, the echoes off the walls lashing at him in agreement. "Prove it! Prove it by withholding these valuable pieces of information!" You squared your shoulders and pointed your wand at him. You'll prove it, but you couldn't purge this anger. He stared at you before saying, "Legilimens!"

Wonderment inside the winding road of Diagon Alley, your head on a swivel. Exuberance when Sirius asked you to live with him. Freedom in the Black Lake, the flashing fireflies, the wide moon like a watchful eye- You were still standing when you came to, your wand still in your hand. You took it for a good sign, until you noticed Snape watched you carefully through narrowed eyes. 

"That is it for today. Practice keeping your mind clear and controlling your emotions."

(A/N) - Very late night upload, please don't mind any errors, my eyes are tired ＿ﾉ乙(､ﾝ､)_ Thank you for reading! <(_ _)>

Chapter Text

        Wand in hand you sat, bent over the Quibbler laid split across your legs. You used the lit tip to turn the page, reading on about an article that was framed around the Department of Mysteries break-in months ago. Mysteries swirl around the Department of Mysteries! Insider info from a reader's cousin's wand polisher who overheard a ministry official's top secret conversation! Above the article looped the image of a black door with a golden plague labeled Department of Mysteries swinging open, revealing a spiraling, writhing void. 

"He was mutterin' to another fellow 'bout wrigglin' brains!" informed our informant, who wishes to remain anonymous, "They latch onto ye and scramble yer mind!" Well, we put a Ministry employee to question regarding the accusations of housing mind-mincing-monsters; "The Quibbler? Bloody hell is a Quibbler?" The Ministry employee initially feigned ignorance of our publication, but when pressed with further questions finally answered, "The contents and purpose of that particular department are confidential, of course. It isn't called the Department of Transparency, now is it? But we assure anyone concerned or curious that the comings and goings are truly of no great interest. Now may I finally enjoy my breakfast in peace? My eggs are getting cold."

Unfortunately, there was no further clarification regarding the recent break-in and death of Bodrick Bode, as the innkeeper of the establishment was promptly called over. Regardless of their cowardly tactics to avoid the truth, the question still remains; what had caused an Unspeakable to finally speak, and why had it cost him his life months afterwards? An anonymous frequent writer to the Quibbler proposes that the Ministry may be hiding the last living septacorn-

You sunk back into the stack of pillows behind your back, reading the article from the top one more time. The heel of your palm tried to rub the sting of fatigue from your eyes. The Department of Mysteries was a mystery in and of itself. The Order wouldn't speak to you regarding it, nor Snape, everything kept close to the vest. With the scroll of your eyes, the words became fuzzier, soon fusing into strings of black. Your lashes weighed down, and with every blink meant to clear your vision lasted longer, the magazine sagging in your hands. The light from your wand dimmed along with your consciousness. You slumped deeper into the pillows, your head dipping and rising lower each time... When you became a member of the Order, you could know though... Just one more year... and you could know everything...

Your eyes snapped back open, and when you refilled your lungs, the air was thickened by smoke. The dim room had the interior of a handsome study, and the only light emanated from the hearth in fits, violently lashing every shadow, running them up walls and convulsing them like blackened, tormented souls.

At the center of the room was a lovely chair, resplendent in black velvet. Your hand rested on the top, the other placed behind your back in a tightly furrowed fist. Your fingers were bone white, long and spindly as pale spider legs, and black dagged sleeves as sharp as knives fell from your jagged wrist. Your skin clung cold against your own muscles, but it was a constant and peripheral sensation that you had long become blind to.

Before you was a man splayed on his knees, his black robes pooling around him. Deep pools of shadow made their homes in the pox marks that dappled his skin, made all the more cavernous by a pallor blanched sickly by fear. His eyes stared only at the carpeted floor, having nowhere else to point them. No one seemed eager to look at this face, it alone was a potent weapon against those who needed to be put on edge and reminded of the jagged valley that always loomed before their toes.

Your voice escaped in a quiet breath, as treacherous and pitched as cracking ice, "And you are sure, Rookwood? Utterly and completely?"

"Yes, Master, I swear it," he breathed to your feet.

You leaned over the man, bending your knees to your usual height, giving you the sudden tangential realization that you were standing far taller than you ever had. But the thought was fleeting as you observed the piteous figure, working the information he had given with the molars of your mind. Your eyes shining with malevolence, you told him carefully, "If you believe you can do better than Malfoy's failure of an Imperius Curse on Bode, then I shall graciously grant you that honor."

Relief visually dropped from his shoulders. "Yes, my Lord, thank you, my Lord."

Your words wafted through your lips in a gust as cold as death, causing the man to shutter as they hit him, "But every great reward carries a greater shadow of punishment. I have already wasted many precious months, and my forgiveness is starting to wane. I hope it is as you say. For your sake." You straightened your spine while the creature of a man begged your thanks, his voice tremulous and his forehead sticky with perspiration wrung out by the hands of fear. 

The longer you were in that body the more the cold sunk into you, and with a brutal shutter, you were shaken awake. Your eyes flew open, your breath poured from your lunges in a gasp. Sitting back up, the darkness was still around you, but this time no fire to beat it back into the corners. You wore a sweaty pallor to match the Death Eater Rookwood's. You could still feel the happiness that reverberated through the aching scar, chased by a wave of disconcertment.

"I saw through his eyes again," you told Snape that night. "What happened," he asked quietly, his emotion unreadable.

"He was talking to someone called Rookwood. Something about Bode, the man that was killed in Saint Mungo's. Lucius Malfoy put an Imperius Curse on him, it must have gone wrong. Now I think he thinks Rookwood might be able to help with whatever he's doing." Snape watched you pensively before finally breaking his silence, "I see. I will relay that to Dumbledore. Now, let's begin."

"That's it? The dreams haven't stopped, they're only getting worse!" He only glowered, reflecting your anger back at you. "Because you clearly haven't been practicing!"

"I have been! But it seems like practicing doesn't work!"

"Because you aren't doing it enough! It's been two months and you've thus far only progressed in wasting both of our evenings! There is no reason why you should be still having these dreams despite lack of trying!" he lashed back, before continuing in a cold tense voice, "Are you taking this seriously?? Do you know what could- will happen if you do not suppress this connection??"

You changed the subject abruptly, "Tell me what's in the Department of Mysteries." His anger flared before being wiped from his face completely. Instead, he raised his wand almost threateningly. "As I was saying, we are beginning. I recommend you ready your own wand or this next session will be yet another waste of time."

~~

        The burlap laid in a pile of frayed threads, and wood chips rained down over the ravaged quintain. "You, er, doing alright, (y/n)?" Fred asked from behind a shoulder. When you twisted around he took a step back, his eyes on your wand; your anger percolated down your arm and through the wood to light the tip a dangerous red glow. 

"I'm fine, it's everyone else that isn't alright!" you snapped your head at a young Ravenclaw boy, who immediately flinched. You pointed your wand at him like a finger, "Your aim is off, the target is hit everywhere but the center." You spun on your heel and your loafers clacked sharply off the stone ground as you honed in on another pupil. "We've been doing this for months but you still can't project a Shield Charm because you'd rather laugh and joke instead of practice!"

The Gryffindor's face darkened with embarrassment and her fingers entwined, her head dipping down to her shoes. "I'm sorry. I'll stay after alone tonight and practice," she replied sheepishly, dousing you with a sobering bucket of remorse. Your hand lowered, and before you could apologize for venting your frustrations, Zacharias said, "What does it matter? We're just here to pass the time and thumb our noses at Umbridge." 

"No," corrected Cho, "We're here to learn defense spells for the exams."

"No, It's to protect ourselves from the teachers," Ernie contended.

You fired up again, "It's neither! It's to protect ourselves and others against Voldemort!" Before the name fully left your lips, their faces crinkled like crumbled paper in preparation. A few hands clapped over ears and others groaned, but all flinched, and afterward, all were silent. The fires that were built around the room felt as though they burned with a cold light.

But you held firm, "If you're here for anything other than protecting against Voldemort," you raised your voice above the second chorus of winces and hisses, "then you're wasting your and everyone else's time." You glanced to Ernie and Cho, who both looked away. 

"What was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named like?" a small voice spoke, breaking the silence. It was Colin Creevey who stared you bravely in the eyes. "Yeah, you never told us what happened last year," Thomas Dean said. You turned toward them, but then another from behind said, emboldened by the others, "What happened when you battled You-Know-Who? What spells did you use??" Every eye and ear turned inquisitive, all attached to you like a theatre screen. 

"Battle?" you breathed incredulously. "I didn't battle him. I almost died." You swiveled your head, sure to look into every eye, "There wasn't a second I wasn't sure I would suddenly be killed. I was tortured. I was frightened. Even now, it's still a blur of pain and tears and fear." Pain and tears and fear you still couldn't escape - not even dreams were safe from his influence. 

"I didn't defeat him. I ran. I didn't live because I'm a good witch, I lived because I was able to protect myself in a single lucky moment, and do not believe you can do more than that. I want to teach you something, because something is a hell of a lot better than the nothing we were given, but nothing I could teach you will be enough against him. The Patronus Charm didn't keep me alive, nor the Blasting Curse. No curse or jinx or hex would wound, stun, or confuse him."

Your lips disappeared in the depth of your frown, and your wand was strangled in your grip. The room was deathly quiet. "Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum are far greater wizards than I am, but if either of them had grabbed the cup instead- If-" The thought of Cedric was far too real, his soft face painted by the white light, dazzling his warm eyes, his hair disheveled but the smile on his face as comfortable as the heat from a well-loved hearth. But his hand had hovered centimeters away from the glimmering arm - away from death. The glow that washed Cedric suddenly became as cold and colorless as a corpse. And if his fingertips had even so much as brushed against the metal- the flash of Voldemort's leering visage appeared before your eyes like a chastising fist, staring down at you with his fist knotted in your torn shirt, the smile as sharp as a knife cut across his face, the eyes stained red by the blood he had spilled.

Tears sprouted forth faster than you could catch them, dropping from your lashes and spilling down your face. Your chin quivered, but you clenched your jaw and acted as though your cheeks were dry. "And if you can't even say his name, don't even think about confronting him."

"V-V-V-VVVVVolde- m-m-mo-mort!" Every head was swung on their necks, and all eyes were on Nevile. He stood with his rounded shoulders hunched up, his hands in balls at his sides and his face red from the exertion of his gathering all that courage, growing redder with embarrassment at the stares. 

"Vuh- V-Voldemort," Susan said, snapping heads toward her next. She was as pale as Neville was red. "Voldemort!" Hannah shouted all at once, trying to force the name out of her mouth as quickly as possible to part with it. "I'll be there next time, you won't be alone with him again."

"I'll be there too," Ginny announced, taking a step forward. "Against V-Voldemort."

"Me too! V-V-Voldem-mort!" Ernie gagged on each syllable, but once it was out, he held his head higher than ever.

"Who would be afraid to say Voldy-moldy?" George quipped. "If anyone here's actually scared of a name, I'd recommend they'd feel more comfortable in Umbridge's classroom studying how to hold a wand." He looked over to Zacharias, who was a cringing mess, holding his tongue for once. "Isn't that right, Zach? You'd have to be a blithering coward to be afraid of a simple name. Your belly isn't as yellow as your hood, is it?"

He scowled at him but when he saw everyone else was looking at him, he tensed every muscle of his body, expelling the name as suddenly and violently as a sneeze. "Voldemort!" The room that was so silent after the first utterance was suddenly filled with it, and voices raised louder and clearer with each iteration. Suddenly the fire no longer felt so cold and the shadows so deep.

"Dumbledore isn't scared to say it, and neither are we!" Fred cheered.

"We're his army!" Colin threw out. That gave the room a pause as eyes glanced at one another, reading the sparkles of pride and courage that lit every face. 

"Yeah, we're his army. He's always gone from the castle these days, we'll protect the school in his absence," George encouraged. "Damn right, we will," Fred said, taking his wand out and aiming it above the door. Letters began to scrawl across the stone, a ghost's nail engraving the title forever above the frame. Your chest swelled with pride, the smile on your face expanding in tune with the words.

Dumbledore's Army.

(A/N) - I'll get to reediting in the morning, sorry for any major grammatical errors you may have stumbled on (◞﹏◟；)  The next chapter is written and edited once, just needs another round and it'll be out soon! This one's kinda short and nothing major happens, so I planned to release them together but I'm too tired ( ´-ω-)ゞ

Thank you for reading <(_ _)>! 

Chapter Text

        The victory against Gryffindor was as gratifying to your team as it was tragic to their own. The usual hardy sportsmanship Gryffindor had always shown waned this year, the handshakes slackened and reciprocated "Good game" told to the ground. It was on the way back to the locker room you heard the muttered lamentation that it was Oliver Wood's last year and he had dreamed of capping it off by planting the Quidditch Cup on his House's mantle. It was a small loss considering his team often shared with Flint's for the cup, so your sympathy wasn't what it might be. Cedric must have known this already, as he gave Wood his condolences and thanks for the challenging game in front of the locker rooms. He was gracious, holding his head high, but his disappointment showed through the pressed frown he wore.

The win was dampened slightly by the news, but you saw the poorly stifled elation on Cedric's face all the same. He had yet to win his team a victory since being captain, and this year it was closer than ever; Hufflepuff was the highest in points - second only to Slyerthin. And if not, he still had one more year to acquire the cup for his team and House. "One more year... his last year..." The thought was pushed to the side by the kiss he planted on your lips once in the locker room, and as you wrapped your arms around his chest, you just took the moment to appreciate he was still here. In your arms. 

Later that afternoon, in the halls, you heard feet slapping behind you and was taken aback to see Malfoy's face pop over your shoulder. The cruel glint was back in his eye, and his smile had returned with an impish fervor, as if all the malice he had been holding back was overflowing now. "Looking forward to the game against Slytherin?" he had asked as mundanely as if you were already in the midst of conversation. "They've already wiped the floor with Ravenclaw, and by pretty wide margins. Did you watch that match?"

"I didn't, and don't need to. I've actually played against them, and the only way those flying bricks win is by cheating," you bit back, turning his saccharine poison into pure venom. But his cheeks only rose, cupped by his wide smile.

"Is that how you see it? Been too busy trying to catch your falling grades to attend a game? Well, they've snagged an excellent new Seeker this year, and he's making all the difference."

"I'll be the one who sees about that. Why don't you leave it to the people who play, Malfoy," you quipped back but the dismissal only grew his smile, and it seemed like he was laughing internally at some personal joke.

"Fair enough."

~~

        Hopping off the final step, you turned the corner to see Adrian Pucey jogging down the hall. You hadn't spoken to him since the Yule Ball, and he seemed in a tighter fervor than then. He slowed to a stop and took a few moments to catch his breath before saying, "Need a favor."

He was speckled by sweat, and you wondered how long he had been running around in search of you. "I need you to absolutely and totally demolish the Slytherin's Quidditch team next match," he finished gravely and bitterly. 

Your mouth fell open at the request and your eyes narrowed incredulously. "You want me to destroy your team?"

"My House's team. I was kicked," he seethed through gritted teeth. That took you aback. "Why??"

The cap on Pucey's temper was beginning to loosen, allowing his volume to rise as he spat out, "Because that rich boy Malfoy bought my spot on the team!"

"Malfoy is their Seeker!?" 

"Has been since after Christmas break, you hadn't been watching the games? It's Flint's last year and he really wants it to be a win."

"You said he bought your spot...?"

A dry laugh escaped his lips, "Firebolts. For everyone on the team," even the sardonic smile fell from his face as he finished, "everyone but me." Your heart chilled before it sank like a chunk of ice. The dread must have spread to your face, because he mustered up a smile and said, "I never liked Flint's tactics, but, well, maybe sometimes fire needs to be fought with fire..."

The very idea left a bad taste in your mouth, "We could never-"

"Right, of course. Yeah, Diggory never seemed the type," thoughts of Diggory only seemed to exacerbate his dreary mood. "Maybe try and end the game as fast as possible? I heard you got a Firebolt too? You've been playing longer, so maybe you could outrace Malfoy."

You put your hand out. "I'll talk it over with the team. Thanks for telling me." A smile finally came to his face and he took your hand, giving it a squeeze. In the common room, you polish your firebolt in bed with anti-jinx polish, and rested it against your bed frame, not allowing it out of your sight that night. 

Striding out of the castle and across the grounds to the pitch left you feeling like a knife gliding through butter. A blanket of mist wrapped around every ankle. The thick air sank in your lungs, and the scent of rain ladened every breath, though the sheet of clouds still settled high in the sky. The yellow and black striped scarves whipped in the sharp wind like banners - except Cedric, who wore the pale yellow and grey scarf you had knitted him for Christmas during third year, the tassels dancing merrily like tiny, fuzzy fingers. "Lucky charm," he had told you in the locker room.

What Pucey had neglected to tell you, was that the team had a set of new Beaters to; Crabbe and Goyle. Two mountains in Quidditch robes, standing almost half a foot above every head, save for Flint himself. Barnibus has failed to teach the trolls to learn ballet, but Flint had somehow trained a pair to fly brooms. Across the field, clutched in every hand was a Firebolt, all identical, all polished, and all imposing. Your team boasted a menagerie of different brooms, some knicked and some polished, and in Summerby's hand was just a second-hand Cleansweep Ten. It wasn't the broom, you told yourself, but the wizard that sat on it. Still, the broom did help... Malfoy stood beside Flint, tall and thin as a spear, you hated that you had to admit he always had a Seeker's build. From across the pitch he watched you, the haughty simper he wore ill-fitting against the excitement that shimmered in his eyes.

Cedric and Flint dislodged from their teams and gathered around Madam Hooch, extending their hands. Some words were exchanged that you couldn't hear, but Madam Hooch had, and a short scolding was given to the both of them. Hand clasping, the flexing of their arms was hidden beneath heavy robes, though the handshake was drawn out longer than usual, a standoff to see who would let go first. Cedric released his grip first, fitting back into his place with your team. You and Malfoy held your own contest, neither willing to pry your eyes off the other; your intimidating glower challenging his deprecate smirk. 

"Mount your brooms!" She placed the whistle in her mouth, raised one finger in the air, added another, and after kicking open the box and unleashing the balls, she threw the Quaffle in the air. Her whistle pried every foot from the ground. Your staring contest with Malfoy was cut short when the Snitch was released, and you hadn't let it out of your sight until it disappeared among the whizzing bodies on the field, a moth lost in the forest. 

Cheers rang out nearly immediately, though you were unsure which team they were for. Your gloved hands wrung around the broomstick. "Not five minutes into the game and they've already scored! Slythein's new Beaters are large, but seasoned Maxine is keeping them on their toes! Oi, keep those bats to yourselves, you trolls- Sorry sorry, Professor!"

'Ignore him. Focus.' Usually, your tension was left on the ground, but the results of this match wouldn't be contained to the field and dinner table afterward - it would follow you like a poltergeist into every class you shared- your broom swung to the side, narrowly dodging a bludger sent your way. Spinning in your broom, you pried your body off it and realigned yourself. 

You glanced nervously to your teammates, watching them weave through the field in cohesive formations... and the Slytherins were smears of green around them. You made out Maxine smacking a Bludger at Crabbe, who was too wide to dodge, yet his body ate the hit easily enough. Then you heard an annoyed grunt in the distance and saw Cedric wobbling on his broom, before veering off in chase of Flint who swiftly chucked the Quaffle right past the Keeper's shoulder.

Lee Jordan's voice boomed through your shattered focus, "Summerby, the shiny new Hufflepuff Chaser, dressed in yellow but green as grass it seems!" Then a pained grunt sounded from across the field, and you spotted the bludger fly off with Maxine going after it, Summerby clearly dazed by the blow. "Ooo! Nearly beheaded, Merlin! Have mercy on the poor lad, he's trying his best!"

Your first instinct was to fly to Summerby, the second was to fly after the Bludger yourself, but the third in the lightning succession reminded you of your goal. End the game early and save your team. So you forced your eyes and returned to the hunt- until the bludger came your way, whizzing by your ear with a gust of wind that send a shiver down your spine. Seeing Crabbe smiling wickedly from the corner of your eye, you were suddenly reminded that you hadn't seen Malfoy among the fray all game. 

Swiveling your head, you found him behind you. It must have been the same strategy Cho has used, lampreying on your bristles until the Snitch came into either of your sights. His hair was whipping around in the wind, the sun shining off it like an extraordinarily pale Snitch. So you flew, faster and faster through the darting figures on the field. He was a surprisingly good flier, almost able to keep up. Almost. His flying was more artful than practical, and when you flew threw the field he nearly collided with his own team, who were going too fast to swerve. The faintness of his angry words was the farewell to know he had been successfully dislodged. 

Lee Jordon's voice was harder than it ever had been to ignore, "Ouch! For Merlin's sake, is this a Quidditch field or a battlefield!?" Flint had turned the heat up for his team; if they weren't willing to spill blood, theirs would be. The crowd was all groans and moans, drowning out the cheers of the Slytherin. The stands erupted a second time, louder, and you turned to finally spot the Snitch, darting over their heads. A few hands flew up, but the Snitch swayed and swished and danced around every finger. 

aid flat, you shot like an arrow, causing the stands to explode a second time in tension this time, but you flew just above their heads, corralling the Snitch as well to flee in the eruption of your entrance. Your hand dove forward but the Snitch slipped low and twisted, flying back onto the pitch. "And again Potter's broom has gained a second tail! Malfoy won't give Potter an inch to stretch! Green vulture-" A second Snitch appeared at your side, his hand outstretched even with the Snitch yards away, willing his arm to somehow stretch. Perhaps he thought he could outrace you, as he likely had the other Seekers. 

You turned to the side, allowing Malfoy a moment's confusion as to why you surrendered the Snitch until he collided with a Chaser, almost unbrooming himself. Shouts were left in your wake, and by the time you honed back in on the Snitch, Crabbe had left the pitch as well, smacking the Snitch.

"Foul!" Lee cried, "Won't Madam Hooch open her eyes?!"

"That's it!" Professor McGonagall could be heard over the apologies, and after the muffling and shuffling, she took over the narration. 

To their chagrin, however, this helped. The dazed Snitch froze in the air momentarily before dropping. You fell after it. The broom easily outraced the small ball, and as soon as your hand closed around it you picked yourself back up and raised your arm. But it was Slytherin applause that met you. 

The sky seemed to have fallen during the long course of the game, the clouds darkened and churning menacing. Even if not seen, the lurking sun could be felt, angrier than before. The humidity left you feeling as moist and sticky as though you were in the clouds, the scent of rain now choking.

The first drop of rain tapped your head as hard as a piece of gravel. Broomed bodies began to descend with the rain, Zacharias among the first to touch down. The moment his foot touched the sandy ground he stomped over to you and threw his broom down. "You bloody idiot! You lost us the game!" 

"What!?" you exclaimed. The pleased expressions that played across the rival team took you further aback. Beseeching the others, all you saw were echoes of the same disappointed look. "I caught it!" you raised your fist to show them, the wings sprouting from either side of your closed hand.

"When they had more points!" Your heart fell in tune with the flop of your arm back to your side. "Their Keepers were damned Dementors how they hovered around the goal, and their Beaters near murdered us! They were ahead by 220! 220!! We had 60! But we were finally on an upswing when you ended the bloody game! - Why didn't you just wait!? Were you not paying any attention to the damned score!??!" When you had nothing to say, he filled in your silence, "Two more goals! Two more goals were all we needed for the Snitch to count and we'd have won! But no! You just had to grab the bloody thing and end the game!"

"How many times do I have to tell you, Zach, it is just a game!" Cedric dropped from his broom mid-air and carried it with him. Zach twisted his head, his lips pressed as he glared at Cedric. "And we lost!"

"Shove off, Zach," Maxine called from across the pitch, "No matter how loud you get, shouting at her won't restart the game."

"We were so close!" he shouted back at her.

"Blame those snakes. One of their Bludgers was swinging their club at me, I could hardly move!" Applebee put in. He whipped his head to him next.

"There's always next year," Cedric concluded solemnly, ending the dispute. Zacharias released the rest of his anger through his throat, picked his broom up, and stormed off back to the castle.

You confessed to Cedric miserably, "He's right, I wasn't paying attention, Malfoy was everywhere, I couldn't get away, and when I finally saw it, I was scared he might get it and we'd lose anyways and- and-" You sighed. "And I'm sorry."

He leaned down and kissed you. You closed your eyes and let your worries dissolve beneath the warmth of his lips against your own, some of the anxieties sapped from you. You rested your head on his chest, and he snaked his arm across your shoulders, hugging you there. "It's alright. I understand. Next year will be ours. I'll make sure of it." 

Your fingers coiled into your palm, a new shade of sadness effusing your chest. Next year was his last...

"I was worried there for a moment, Potter, I must admit, but you really saved our skin!" Flint jeered, dismounting his broom a few yards away. You could feel the muscles in Cedric's arm tense against your back as his fists closed, but Madam Hooch broke in first, "Poor sportsmanship will get points reduced, even after the game, Flint!"

"I was just congratulating their team, honestly, Madam Hooch."

"I don't want to hear your excuses, Flint-" While those two were bickering, Malfoy freely taunted, "Feels mighty good to always be on the winning team. But you're quite accustomed to losing, maybe it's second nature now." Despite the victory, the smirk on his face was now tacked up, his glittering eyes now dull and hard as stone.

Tears brimmed your eyes, and you turned and took a step forward, but Cedric used the arm to hold you back. "Don't listen to that git, he just wants attention."

Malfoy's face flushed with his long-festering jealousy of Cedric, causing his voice to erupt from his throat like a volcano, catching Madam Hooch's attention. "Is that right, Diggory? Didn't your father warn you about associating with undesirables like her?? Perhaps mine should have the Minister sit yours down for a little lesson!"

"Malfoy-"

A slighter shade of red effused across Cedric's complexion, the tips of his ears simmering with the color as the anger that boiled for nearly as long as Malfoy's. "Can't you control yourself, Malfoy? This is a Quidditch field for Merlin's sake, and you won-"

Like a spark finally devouring the wick, Malfoy's ire metamorphized into a fiery explosion of fury that widened his eyes and contorted his lips into a sneering imitation of triumphant exaltation. "I did win! And you lost! And I'll keep winning, while the Weasley's grow poorer and poorer after that lout Arthur is finally fired and Sirius Black gets dragged back to his old home Azkaban! I'm sure the Dementors will welcome him with open arms and lips!" Flint raised a confused brow at him, but the amused smile stayed on his lips.

"That's enough!" Hooch yelled, peeling from a dumbly grinning Flint toward you. "This foul behavior will not be tolerat-"

"Who'll be going to Azkaban first? Sirius, or your Death Eater father?!" you threw back, only spitting an ounce of the black hatred that brewed inside you. Madam Hooch froze at the accusation - a low hiss winnowed through the field, shock sucking every breath back in. "(y/n!)" Cedric gasped, equally surprised and horrified, his scathing eyes now on you. Malfoy's face had blanched to a pallor. He glanced around nervously, finding every head now pointed at him.

"How dare you," Malfoy seethed in a low breath, a silent portrait of Mrs. Black's mad disdain, keeping all of the other words he so wished to curse you with behind his clenched teeth. Solely his wand hand was rolling into a ball.

"Here I had thought you'd learned your lesson about spreading filthy lies," said that pitched, tight voice. Glancing over you saw Umbridge walking from the green stands, her face set firmly. "I suppose I was wrong. Wrong to reinstate the Hufflepuff team and wrong about culling your little problem. Your lies have only become more vile and harmful. Detention. Same time and place."

"I have remedial potions then," you said, exasperated and exhausted, uncaring. She paused briefly, only to inform you, "I will talk with Professor Snape. Same time, same place."

Your hair was still damp when you trodded through the dungeon. The door barring the Potionmaster's office shrieked horribly, giving voice to the scream that brewed in your throat. Snape, as always, was already waiting in the center of the room. "How is it you are so utterly incapable of shutting your mouth? What is so alluring about making yourself a target?"

You opened your mouth to retort but he spoke before you could, "From tomarrow on, your lessons will now be after your detention. And I do not expect to see you nodding off in my class. You will be awake and paying attention because you brought this upon yourself and you will shoulder the responsibility. Do I make myself clear?"

"It wasn't me who-" His voice cut through the cold silent room, slicing off your sentence, "Do I make myself clear!?"

"Yes," you hissed back. Before he could give the instruction you stomped over to him.

"Clear those emotions, or we will have a repeat of yet another failed lesson." Yet your heart was a fist that refused to unfurl and released the anger it clutched so tightly. 

He held his wand out, pointing it at you. In a single utterance, the pages fluttered before your eyes, each word a vision. Emotions ebbing and flowing; happiness panged by sadness. Sirius in the cave, ragged and disheveled. Fear that possessed fangs. The graveyard, hearing his voice for the first time, a reverberation that has stuck in your bones ever since. Then a page was flipped, revealing Voldemort towering over you, his eyes gleaming. Terror, purely wrung by fingers as long and thin and warm as spider legs.

You resurfaced, again staring up at the rough stone ceiling. Tears were already pouring from your eyes. The scar burned against your throbbing skull. Your brain felt as though it had been stirred up by Snape's groping fingers.

"You're crying?" Snape spat with callus disgust, sneering. A welt bubbled on his thin wrist, red as a rose against his paper-white skin. 'Good.' You frantically wiped them away. "No!" You gathered yourself and lept up.

"I told you to control your emotions! Do you think the Dark Lord will care if you cry? Do you have any idea how many people have cried before him, tears of terror, tears of grief for having their family murdered before their eyes? Do you think he cared about them? He killed them without a second thought."

"I know!" you bellowed, the echo chasing your words. 

"Then put the tears away and concentrate for once in your damned life," he lashed, strangely angry. Why should he be mad if you were crying? You felt humiliated enough having him of all people peer into your mind, why did he have to rub it in further?

"I'm trying," you seethed, helplessly wiping at your face, fighting against a relentless tide. 

"Poorly," he retorted, hard as stone. Snape raised his wand, "Be the master of your emotions, do not be mastered by them. Control yourself and have control over others. Three... Two... One- Legilimens!"

You were shoved back into your head; serenity, working in the greenhouse, studying the plant that would eventually aid you in the tournament. Anger laced by concern, splayed on the ground, your wand hanging heavy in your hand after Malfoy's back smacked against the Defense classroom wall. Laughter, warm and sweet as the butterbeer in your mits. That sneering round face that had yet to grow a chin was now sat across the table from you, a handsome smile nestled where a scowl once lived. The feelings you hated drowned you, furling its fuzzy fingers around your heart yet again. You tried to flee but the scene shifted, like following the thread; the Yule Ball, the music in your ears, your feet flying across the floor, his hand filling yours - Malfoy leading you by the same hand to the courtyard - No! 

The lens became transparent, you saw Snape through a haze. Though the projector of the memory playing over his face, you saw Snape gripped by what he saw. He finds this interesting? 

Snape was too engrossed to realize you were aiming your wand, missing the look of focused ire that bore into his sightless eyes. "Legilimens!" And this time it was you who saw. But the visions all flew by so quickly that you struggled to catch it all. The emotions that once lapped at your chest now crashed over your head, dragging you under.

Hatred, old, cold that inspired a shiver through your soul. A man yelling a flurry of demeaning words from the other room at an unseen figure. The unwashed young boy sat in the corner, wedged beside a bookshelf. He tried to ignore it, covering his ears with his hands, focusing on the book in his lap, his lips moving with the words, fixating. 

Hatred that scorched your heart black like the soot-choked walls of a blocked hearth. A dark, gangly teenager's ankle caught beneath him, and all at once he fell to the ground hard, his knees and the heel of his hand eating the majority of the fall. His book skidded across the marble floor, attracting laughter from passersby. "Watch your step, Snivelus," a handsome boy quipped through an easy, lopsided grin. His rebellious black hair swayed like a black waterfall, brushing against his full shoulders as he sauntered past. The first two buttons of his uniform were lazily undone and his was tie missing, but the Gryffendor-red hood of his robe marked him as one among the flock around him.

Hatred that was near to drowning you in its black, tar-like grip. In the courtyard, the skinny boy was hidden behind a pillar, his wand pointed toward the handsome boy, but before he could loose the spell his wand was yanked from his hand and caught by the bespectacled boy that waltzed into the courtyard entrance. His tousled dark hair winnowed freely in the fingers of wind that played through the courtyard. "Look what we have here, Padfoot. I caught a scrawny bird with a fat beak." At the sound of his friend's voice, the would-be target twisted around, and his surprise melted with cruel amusement. The dark youth lunged for his wand, but the other boy's wand kept him at bay like a sword. The grin he wore only ever expanded at his sneer.

Hatred that purred with avenged satisfaction. Staring out a window, an invisibility cloak dropped just as a few shadowed figures disappeared into the Whomping Willow. He stormed down the stairs, his heart thundering louder than his flying feet. The memory flashed forward at the roots of the knarled tree, where the bespectacled boy tackled him to the ground, screaming "NO!"

Then, reprieving oxygen in the bleak landscape; love. The flashes suddenly slowed to a halt, allowing you to take in the world around you. The gawky boy's head hung low over a worn textbook as he pretended to focus on scribbling in the margins. The room appeared to be the Potions classroom, though the man who stood in Snape's usual place was unknown. He was portly, his torso as round as his balding head. His hair had crept down his head, nestling around his ears and teaming under his nose, his grand mustache the size and color of broom bristles. "Now where is Ambrosius, he never misses club!"

"He has detention with McGonagall," the girl sitting beside the boy replied. Only then did you notice her, discovering a near mirror reflection of yourself. A gurgling cauldron sat between them. She brushed a lock of (h/c) hair behind her ear, and you realized the eyes staring at the textbook between them weren't your own. The boy stole glances at her every now and then when he thought she wasn't looking. She caught his eye and smiled kindly at him - a smile you knew he longed to keep in his pocket, to carry with him and admire when he needed it most - and pointed to a passage in the book. His heart beat like a drum, inspired by the melody of her voice, "This note is genius, Severus-"

"ENOUGH!" Your wand flew through the air and fell with a clatter to the floor. You blinked your eyes, suddenly in the same damp and dreary potions classroom again. 

The skinny, lanky teenager was an adult again, standing before you, glaring down at you. Snape seemed to be choking on all he wanted to scream, each a comment on the memories that had been brought by your hands and forcefully flashed before his eyes. Your anger was wrung from you, replaced by fear and regret. Your empty hands made you painfully aware of the wand still very much pointed at you.

He had seen your most embarrassing moments, how was it so unfair you glimpsed his? Yet you felt horrible with contrition. Was it because of what you had glimpsed your father and Sirius doing? And that girl, her face a near reflection of your own, the only memory that wasn't coated with choking hatred. Your mother. All that you had witnessed was so horrible, yet was only a mere glimpse, leaving you wondering about all of the other memories of moments left unseen.

Snape stared at you through an anger that seared his black eyes like baking coles - but twinges wrestled in those fires, heat that burned so cold it would bring a weaker man to tears.

You waited, but he didn't speak. And didn't speak. And didn't speak. The silence was thickened by his brewing fury and tautened by your fear. You finally broke it before the building tension could whiplash and break you, "Professor, I-"

"Out of bounds. You are out of bounds and out of your depth- I never granted you the use of that spell. Never. Do not breathe of anything you have seen and do not come back to practice next week or any day after. Your lessons have concluded. Now get out."

"I'd never- yes sir- I-I'm, I'm really sorry." Snape's stony face began to crack, contorting with the bridled rage that burned through his restraint. He forced himself to bore into your eyes - only your eyes - the green eyes that had taunted him, humiliated him, that he had glared into so many times before - and reimmersed himself into the well-worn shoes of hatred instead of misery. Even still his glower held you, cold and hard and black as balls of polished flint

"Get out!" You nearly tripped over your own feet to regather the wand you had forgotten before throwing yourself out the door and down the blackened hall.

(A/N) - I always thought the song "When She Loved Me," by Sarah McLachlan fit Snape perfectly (//´◡`//)

Chapter Text

       "Good evening, dear," Professor Umbridge greeted from her desk. The single black quill marked your seat, and you took it without pause. Taking the quill without trepidation, you set your bag down. "The same?" Her lips crawled like worms across her broad face, the edges disappearing into the swells of her cheeks. Nestled in her hand before her was her own quill, a vibrant pink length that faded gently into a powder pink. The ink she used was pink so hot it sweltered near to red, and beneath the tip was a fat F. Candlelight filled the room, but it was cold, and the shadows only seemed to match the number of flames, soaking into every pit and pore of the bubblegum-dressed stone walls. The lit wicks danced in her eyes, but her black pupils swallowed any light. "The same."

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

"Focus" Professor McGonagall said, not unkindly. "You've gotten the parts correct, but you should be focusing on the whole." The golden finch sitting on the perch had taken on a golden hue, its feathers reflecting a metallic sheen. The wings once tucked to its sides were now fluttering, as translucent as doxy wings and as fidgety as a hummingbird's. But unfortunately, those were the only likenesses to a Golden Snitch that you could conjure. She left you confounded, turning her attention to the next finch, who appeared to have been accidentally transfigured to solid gold. A Snitch straight out of the Quidditch trunk flew past your ear and hovered around your semi-golden finch. A very much pleased Ravenclaw jogging after it, her hands outstretched. The second the Snitch began to wander off again, you shot from your chair and caught it in a single movement. Turning toward the girl, you slipped it into her palm and watched her skip off to show McGonagall. At least you were good for something. You flexed your hand, the scabs tightening the back of your hand.

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

"Close!" Professor Flitwick peeped, peering above the desk at the full teacups sitting atop saucers that toddled around on unsure legs, slopping specks of tea around its porcelain feet. "Try again!" Hannah's nerves had only made her casting worse - which only made her nerves worse. Her saucer didn't sprout legs as it was meant, but the cup did. And walked right off its little seat and strode down the desk, Hannah following after it in a mad scramble, trying to scoop it up as it dodged her hands. You weren't much better off; she succeeded in at least charming something, you're saucer's legs were so short it couldn't lift the weight of the tea. The poor cup sloshed and dribbled as it attempted a mix of a crawl and waddle. Tapping it again, it became immobile, and you scrunched your face as you tried to think of how to rectify this. The pain infected your fingers to your wrist, a constant in your mind, scratching irritatingly at your focus.

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

"Careful now!" Professor Sprout encouraged as she examined your technique at handling the puffapods. Both hands were needed in the extraction of the puffy pink pod, and simply curling your fingers enticed stabs of pain. The ache slacked your grip, allowing the pod to slip past the ample gap. The puffapod hit the trestle table with a dull thump and a poof of pink powder that exploded in a cloud, announcing your mishap like a celebratory firework. A small patch of bell-shaped flowers was birthed by the death of the pod, and though they were a lovely sight, they also signified that you had failed the assignment. Hannah was watching a little too intently, and in her attempt to not drop her pod, had accidentally gripped it too tightly, causing it to burst in her hand. You escorted poor Hannah to the infirmary to pluck the flowers from the palms of her hands, reassuring her along the way that it could always be worse.

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

"Well?" Professor Binn scolded placidly as he awaited your answer. "Um, creative differences...?" A breeze of laughter met your answer, fanning your embarrassment, the heat coloring your complexion. "Have you even been listening??" You wiped the clue of drool from your bottom lip, nodding your head sheepishly. "Who can educate (y/n) on the reason for the giant wars?" This was usually the best class to catch up on some sleep, but with exams on the horizon, even Binn was becoming vigilant. With the pain in your hand keeping you up later than usual, your sleep was being consumed from all angles. Even after he drifted off to retrieve the proper answer, you never heard it, hiding back behind your upright textbook to catch even a few more seconds of sleep before potions. 

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

"You blithering fool," Snape snapped. It was hard to look at him, having to rip your vision from whatever other object you had nailed it to for a fleeting glance. While you avoided his eyes, he burrowed into yours - only ever your eyes. Blackness stared back down. "Perhaps you've been Confundused before stepping into this classroom, and if so it is a pity because your Wit-Sharpening potion is such an utter ruin that consuming it would succeed in only exasperating your clearly magical stupidity!" You blinked at the vitriol, seeing the poor boy huddled into the niche beside a bookcase putrify into the cruel man before you in the brief blackening of your sight. 

"Do you even have an inkling as to what went wrong??" he drilled, never raising his voice and never needing to. The acidity of his tone was enough to erode your confidence. In truth, you didn't know what went wrong with the potion. Ever since the incident, you truly took the recipe painfully slow, rereading the instructions and ingredients multiple times before dare taking a step. And yet, before you was a concoction that billowed red steam, while the inside was swirled with red and bubbles that popped black. "This was clearly overcooked. Careless, as always." But that couldn't be right. You did pay attention to the heat. Before adding a single ingredient and after every stir you checked, and it had always been perfect.

Jinxed. Glancing over your shoulder, you spotted Malfoy through the cloak of pale steam that winnowed from the lip of his cauldron. But the moment your eyes locked through the steam, you flung back around in retreat. Malfoy's was another face you actively avoided now. You knew Lupin would be disappointed in your actions on the Quidditch field. He told you to be careful, that he trusted you to do so. You weren't a child anymore, to be led by the hand by your emotions. Next year you'd join the Order of the Phoenix, and members of the Order didn't taunt relatives of Death Eaters.

"How dare you," Malfoy seethed through his teeth, his eyes a pale mirror of Mrs. Black's, barring all of the other words he so wished to curse you with inside, as now everyone was listening. Only his empty wand hand was knotted at his side.

Your potion belched, reeling you from the field and pulling you back into the dungeon. With the sway of your wand and a muttered word, the cauldron was hollowed, the speckles of potion the bubbles flecked onto your robes disappearing in time. Certainty toward the jinxer wavered as your attention was then drawn back to Snape, who was snarling further down the table. 

Anger boiled in your veins as if they had been jinxed as well. Your sympathy toward Snape was widdled away by every snide comment and outright beratement, emaciating it back to previous loathing. At the start, you had responded with soft words and quick apologies, but the goodwill seemed to have been interpreted as pity to Snape. Obedience only seemed to hit him like a wave of water, every kindness eroding little bits of his humanity and sharpening his edges.

It was as though he strode to divorce himself from that gawky boy, with his fidgety eyes, constantly vigilant for a potentially hidden enemy. With every insult, Snape got a little taller; grew into that beak of a nose with each blunted word; his hardened tone tempering those black eyes to balls of flint. Anger redrew the memories you witnessed in its own black ink; was the source of this mysterious ire because you looked like the girl who rejected him? Once you allowed the question, more came flooding - was that why he was so fascinated by the memory of you and Malfoy in the courtyard? Did he pull that memory on purpose? Wishing to witness what he never got? You hadn't even noticed your balled fist had pulled the skin of your hand so tautly that the wounds had begun to sob again. 

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

"Very good!" you praised. Spells were flung like a barrage of fireworks, and quintains spun wildly; some burst, raining cotton over heads, and one was disarmed, the two wooden planks falling with a clatter to either side. Every colorful spark of magic hit its mark and left its mark. You purged every woe and worry out through your wand, chipping pebbles off of the boulders on your shoulders. Swinging your arm fluidly, the rest of your body swayed gracefully with the whiplash. You took a moment to peer over your shoulder, taking in the carving above the door. Dumbledore's Army.

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

"May I see your hand?" Professor Umbridge requested sweetly. You did as you were bid. She traced her eyes across every line, like they were cutting the words into your flesh all over again. Her fingers held yours tenderly, her hands deceivingly gentle. The smile across her face fell more naturally as she took it in, before she looked up at you, a satisfied sigh leaving her nose. You hoped your face was a mask of indifference, but you knew her satisfaction stemmed from peaking past it. She held your fingers more firmly, giving them an almost reassuring squeeze.

"Almost there, dear."

~~

        The knarled arms of the Womping Willow were sprinkled with flowers. The peevish tree seemed to find the flowers an irritant, because it fidgetted restlessly, shivering its branches every other minute and scattering more petals into the air like a molting bird. The pretty pink petals took flight, riding on the wind like swarms of butterflies every time the Whomping Willow fidgetted before settling across the grounds or sailing across the mirror surface of the black lake like little boats. A few fluttered through the gaping windows that marched across the halls in the front of the castle, leaving a carpet of petals on the white marble.

With O.W.Ls approaching, there were barely any tables left in the library, but giant gaps were carved out in the bookshelves. Books soared through the library like birds, sorting themselves into their places, and every head not seated was on a swivel, cautious of any especially low-flying tomes. Madam Pinch patrolled through the maze of bookcases like a dementor through Azkaban, clearly uneasy at having her oasis disturbed and her precious possessions taken on mass.

Afternoons not in the classroom were spent within textbooks. Hands bound crampingly to quills, bent backs sore, scrolling eyes strained. Lanterns were the only source of light once the sun fell below the windows. The candles died with the sun, setting as it had, mere stubs pooled around wax in their brass holders. Ghostly fingers billowed from the spent wicks by the time Madam Pinch was finally allowed to shoo the herd of students through the library doors. The bliss of the first, second, and third years who had the common room all to themselves were soon drowned by the bodies that poured through the barrels like a broken dam.

Hannah groaned past the fingertips lodged between her lips, her frayed nerves scorching further. "There's no room left. I told you we should have just skipped dinner."

You stood by the barrels with your textbooks hugged in your arms, taking in the same mayhem; elbows battled elbows at the tables, and at the sofas knees prodded knees. Every plush armchair was laden with three bodies, one snug in the middle with two others hanging from the arms, balancing all of their books in their crowded laps. Your scanning stopped at a beckoning hand - across the common room, Cedric's arm was in the air, his other hand holding the back of a free chair so no one could pull it out and steal it.

You wanted to dash over and give him a thank-you kiss on the cheek, but Susan was staring in the opposite direction. "There's room by the hearth." She had a reassuring hand on Hannah's back. So you waved him off and shook your head, mouthing "Thank you though," before following your friends across the room to the hearth, sitting on the wooden floor among the scattering of others. 

You pulled your legs in front of you, prying open the textbook, placing a sheet of parchment on one page as a makeshift table, and skimmed the uncovered page. A shadow covered you for a moment, obscuring the glow of the hearth that lit the book, and from the corner of your eye, you saw someone sit down beside you. Glancing up, you were met with Cedric's welcome face. "The heat's rather comfortable. And the grounds not so hard as I would have thought." He stared at you and smiled brighter, his complexion glowing from more than just the hearth.

You hardly had any time together since he had finally asked you out on the Quidditch field, so you took appreciation of even the silence as you both focused on your studies, comforted by the tangential reminder that you were close to each other. 

But even these small moments were fleeting. In bed there were no more distractions, and the cut across your forehead singed just as freshly as the ones on your hand. Occlumency was suppose to staunch this pain, but now it felt as though the lessons had only ripped the wound anew. Resting your scarred hand over your scarred forehead, you closed your eyes and took deep, cleansing breaths. You could feel your heart throbbing through both, the pain beating steadily to the heavy rhythm of the drum. You tried to picture Cedric laying beside you, the mental image of him sleeping soundly beside you enough to soothe your heart, and soon the influence of your imagined Cedric led you by hand to sleep, draping a black blanket over your consciousness.

And then, the blackness was pierced by a shining dot of silver. The door, black and plain, its smooth round doorknob just as you've seen a hundred times, yet the sight never lost its dearness. Only now, it was no longer an entire hall's length away - just a few steps. And you took them... and found the path was cold and wet. Each footfall came with a wet slap that hit as sharply as the assaulting odor of copper. Blood. Was the pool beneath your feet your own, or another's? The thought and any trepidation it might have carried only visited your mind, an unwanted guest that was quickly forgotten. This was all that mattered right now. The door. So close you could read the little plague that hung directly in front of your face; The Department of Mysteries.

Your chest soared. Yes, yes. The Department of Mysteries, that's what's so important. It's in here. You stuck your arm out, your hand hovering just above the doorknob - and then your - those fingers flinched back. That can't be right - that wasn't your hand. It was large, the fingers, now curled in trepidation, were long and elegant, but strong. Two wrists sprouted from the hand, one crawling to your elbow, but the other disappeared down a long black sleeve. When you looked up the black-cloaked arm, you met eyes with an already perturbed Voldemort. He stared down at you with a mix of wonderment and fury. His eyes were pinned wide, the rubies bejeweling the center afire as they examined you, seemingly even more confused to see you than you were him.

Voldemort's mouth settled into a twisting snarl, opening as sudden as a dagger's cut - but a scream drowned out his words as a tide of agony swept your legs out from under you. Your eyes pinned shut and you tried again to scream out the anguish, but even your voice was lost as the pain held your senses helplessly in its grip. You hadn't realized you were back in your room, or that Hannah was at your side until her hand latched onto your shoulder, "(y/n)!? What happened!" Rage chased the pain, violent and indignant. You twisted out of her grip and slapped her hand away. "Don't touch me!" you shrieked. It took her a long moment to shake the fright of the vulpine snarl that fury carved onto your face. "I'm sorry... I'll go get Professor Sprout." The tsunami of anger receded as suddenly as it had engulfed you, leaving you ragged and ashamed.

"I'm sorry..." you trickled out, but she was already gone. Your spirit lifted when Professor Sprout (who must have been given prior warning that this may happen) told you she'd take you to Dumbledore's office. He would know how to stop these dreams, he would give you better advice than "simply clear your mind." and "You aren't trying hard enough to erase your emotions." 

"Canary Cream," got you through the griffin door, and up the spiral steps, and through the door, but the face you found itself halted your steps. Countless faces filled Dumbledore's office, hung on the walls and dozing in their frames. Every eye was shut, but a few months hung open, filling the office with soft snores, but every face disappeared the instant your gaze locked with his.

"Where is Dumbledore," you demanded. The red tide of anger was back, lapping dangerously at your heels. Snape raised a brow at the cheek, but said, "Busy. Professor Sprout awoke me on orders from Dumbledore," your heart dropped, feeling a strange sense of betrayal from Dumbledore, "so I will be taking care of any dreams you may be having."

The tears dampened your vision, wrung now by disappointment instead of pain. Snape noticed, taking a step forward, "What happened?"

Your fingers dug into your palm, pulling at the cuts. Your hand hurt and your head ached and your heart panged. "I was in the hallway again. The door was right there this time... I could read the sign, Department of Mystery it said..." Snape took another step toward you, inquiring with disquieted impatience, "Yes, and...? Did you enter...?"

The words didn't want to come out, you didn't want to breathe it into existence. You blinked, fear pushing the welling tears down your cheeks, "He was there, in front of the door, standing next to me, and... our... our hands were one hand..."

"Did he see you?"

"Yes," you choked out. Snape stood as still and stiff as the statue outside the door, again hoarding all information behind the mask he wore as a face. 

Finally, he asked, "The door, was it open?" At least at this, you could shake your head. "I hadn't opened it yet." Yet hung in your ears as heavy as a shout. He mulled for a moment before sweeping across the room, holding the door open. "You can go back to bed."

"Go back to bed?! That's all you have to tell me?! I saw him, damn it! I saw Voldemort-"

"Silence! Do not speak his name so carelessly! Any information that can be gleaned from your dream is better kept away from you. Like it or not, you are my student, and I will not have you flunking your exams because of happenings that you can not possibly hope to control. If you can not return to sleep, then I recommend you use the time to study." 

Your face was beet red when you pried your feet off the ground and stomped past him. Snape followed you down the stairs, and in the hall, the two of you parted down opposite ends. Behind your back, you heard him say, "I will be patrolling the halls for the next hour, and any students I may catch skittering about will find themselves in detention until the Hogwarts Express waits in Hogsmeade Station for them." 

After the overwhelming terror of being caught in Voldemort's snarling glare, and knowing your last day of detention with Umbridge was tomarrow, you could hardly scrounge any fear for his threat. 

(A/N) - It ended up being too long again, so I've split it in two. Publishing both at once. Sorry for the delay, I lean heavily on energy drinks when writing and I gave them up for lent, but it's over now guurrlllzzzzz fingers to the keyboard and eyes to the pages!! (Hope those who celebrated had a great Easter and those who don't had a great sunday!)

Chapter Text

        The beckoning of the heavy black iron ring replaced the polished silver doorknob, but the dread toward the two doors was all the same as you dragged yourself through the dungeon entrance. Passing the marble staircase, your foot caught mid-step, the halted momentum instead flinging you forward. Hands struck the ground hard as they tried to catch you, and you swore mildly as you sat up. Twisting around, you investigated your shoes, finding the shoelaces knotted together.

Your confusion was interrupted by invisible hands that grabbed hold of the knot in your tie and attempted to slide it up toward your chin. Your fingers desperately dug between the tie and your throat, and the mysterious force vanished as suddenly as it was felt, allowing you to tug and loosen the fabric. The sharp clack of loafers on the marble twisted you around again, your hooked fingers still tugging as you watched Malfoy languidly stroll down the staircase. His wand hung at his side, swaying with his stride. "Loose tie. Tsk tsk tsk. Five points from Hufflepuff."

Hopping off the final step with the lithe swing of his thin, long legs, he gave a lazy wave of his wand. In the blink of an eye, your cloak vanished from your shoulders. "And no cloak. Ten more points." You tried to pull yourself up as he approached you, but your strung feet only fumbled beneath you. Your hand dove into your skirt pocket instead, but your caution was awoken when he raised his own wand in response. You retracted your hand.

"She's learning, who could have seen that coming?"

"I'm just trying to go to detention, Malfoy," you said plaintively. A recollection of the frigid ire in his eyes on the Quidditch field flashed before you. Malfoy had been oddly calm since that day, performing the usual teases and taunts, but nothing so bad as he seemed to have promised on the field. Glances lingered on Malfoy just a little longer than usual after that day, but rumors never kept the attention for long, and most people had forgotten after a week. Most. Perhaps that was what protected you from his wrath til now, that word still echoing in their ears.

"-your Death Eater father!"

He stopped in front of you, his black loafers shining in the orange reflection of the dim torchlight. Malfoy's vision fell to your hand, and you hid it behind your back, grimacing at the idea of him gloating over your pain. The shadows danced across Malfoy's face as the flames wavered, writhing in their sconces. For a moment, it appeared as though his grin had fallen but as soon as the light settled again, it was reborn. "I doubt even Umbridge could set you straight. You're so stubborn I bet you could will the sun to never set." His words were shadowed by what you almost thought could have been admiration. He knelt down, resting his arm on his knee, and leaned in, inches from your face.

"No, I know you better. Better than anyone. I know you will mess up again. And I'll be there. I promise you, I'll be the one to catch you, and you'll regret everything."

His threat only sparked a surge of spite, bolstering your impish confidence. "Catch me if you can, Malfoy."

Malfoy studied you for a moment, the shadow of a smile flashing before he stood back up. "I will." You watched him dip back up the stairs, returning to his prefect round, and waited til he was all the way up before you allowed yourself to inspect your laces again. Without a counterjinx, you were forced to use spells to slice the laces and then repair the beheaded segments. 

"Where is your robe?" Umbridge asked when you finally arrived. You opened your mouth but swallowed the truth. "I forgot it." 

"Oh dear. Well, that will have to be five points from Hufflepuff, miss (y/n)." 

Your hand wept and throbbed, but the knowledge that it was over dulled the ache. The year was nearly over, and the idea that you would somehow land in detention again was surely near impossible. You sat with your back against the barrels, the cool wood soothing against your back. You didn't want to speak to anyone right now. When you knew they were asleep, you would crawl into the barrels and then directly to bed.

Resting your eyes, the pain in your hand and head disappeared, but when you opened them again it was stirred by the sound of footsteps. Your heart leaped, Malfoy! but when you looked up you saw Cedric. "What're you doing-" his smile fell, and you realized his eyes were on your hand, which was resting by your side, no robe sleeve to hide it. 

He dropped to his knees. "What happened??" You slid your hand beneath your back, your mind racing through excuses, but they were as cohesive as water in a fist. "Nothing. Magical beasts," you threw out unconvincingly, momentarily forgetting the class was canceled and never held at night. Cedric firmly but gently took your arm, and, secret now out, you allowed him to pull it back out. I must not tell lies, written in your own handwriting. You read the lines as he did, guilt tricking down from your head into your stomach queasily. His gaze flickered back to you, now as hard as if it were carved from stone. The emotions pent up behind his eyes looked as though they might break him if they were unleashed. "Who did this," he demanded in a tight whisper. He expected Malfoy, his muscles already coiled, readying to spring up and hunt him when you confessed, "Umbridge."

Surprise wiped his expression clean. "Umbridge? She... You... She can't-" Cedric dropped your wrist and sprung up, twisting on his heels toward the door. You lept up after him and grabbed ahold of his robe, being pulled among with his bull strength.

"Wait, wait wait! Tonight was the last day of detention! I promise, she won't do it again-"

"She won't because I won't let her!" he fought back. 

"No stop, listen to me, we're already doing something!" you shouted. He finally paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Doing what?"

Inside the Room of Requirements, Cedric slowly rotated, taking in the rows of quintains, the twin bookcases that bracketed the entrance, now double their width, the hanging braziers and sconced torches that provided light and warmth, and stone benches bordering the walls. If the sheer size of the room - which now borded on a hall - wasn't enough to awe, it was all the faces, scattered around the room like a small forest. He paused the circuit in front of the double doors, staring at the engraving, Dumbledore's Army.

"I thought it was just a rumor," Cedric murmured.

"Oh, it's very real, mate," Dean Thomas said.

"Sometimes a rumor is just a crumb that leads to the biscuit," Fred quipped. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked you, a tinge of betrayal wilting his voice. 

"You had enough on your plate, five N.E.W.Ts, headboy, captain, Umbridge running you ragged-"

"You have no idea!" he suddenly burst. "Getting messages in the middle of class to meet her, always pulling me into her office for one reason or another!" He mimicked her pitched voice, acrid smile included, "Mr. Diggory, have you heard or seen anything strange lately? Mr. Diggory, what was Miss Potter doing at exactly 6:45 pm on Tuesday? Mr. Diggory, Mr. Filch tells me the third-floor bathroom was left in a state. Mr. Diggory, please look over this list of wardrobe requirements, Mr. Diggory-" he finished with a deep groan. Everyone watched intently, witnessing the perfect headboy crack and crumble from the pressure. Cedric Diggory was human after all. 

Cedric ran both hands through his hair, his elbows raising as he arched his back with the gulp of air he sucked in. Releasing the breath in a string of air, he dropped his arms, letting them sway at his side before looking back to you. "So," he began, and in a flash the easy grin returned, and with it the perfect headboy, "Where do I sign up?"

Hannah swung on her heels as she waited in the line in front of the door, her nails in her mouth while everyone scurried out one by one. "I can see if I can find the remembrall my nan gave me for first-year," Nevile said consoling to Hannah, empathizing with her ants. "Better than those janky cheat potions that are going around," Cho remarked. Hannah nawed harder, "Yes, that's terrible, all those cheaters... Do you think that stuff even works... Probably not, probably brewed in a dingy bathroom... How much was he selling it for again?"

"A Gryffindor prefect shook them all down and confiscated everything this afternoon," Luna informed her down the line. Her brow was smushed together, but she nodded her head. "They did? That's good. Wouldn't want any cheating to go around." Her voice grew shrill as she continued, "Unfair. Immoral. Yes, mhm, that's right..." Some of her quills were missing patches of plumage where she had absentmindedly tugged them out. The line shortened by one every other minute, until it was just you and Cedric. The map was tucked in the pocket of your cloak, out of sight and mind as you instead engrossed yourself in this extra time with Cedric.

"I know a potion that will help with the healing," he said as you slipped out, the last for the night. "Is it easy to brew?"

"I'll take care of it, I think I have a few leftover vials from potions-" A distant shriek sliced through Cedric's voice. A second passed before either of you could react - and a second was all it took for his wand to poke past the corner.

Like a dropped bag of marbles, everyone moved at once; Malfoy lept from the corridor corner, Cedric spun around in retreat, and you did the same, your feet flying - and so did the rest of you when Malfoy's Tripping Jinx hit your back. The squeal of Cedric's shoes against the ground as he stopped all at once cut through the hall. Without enough time to catch yourself, your knees, and then shoulder, ate the impact as you tumbled across the hall. Before you could lift yourself, the fist knotting around the collar of your blouse held you where you lay. Malfoy hovered over you, but his attention was pointed down the hall, his wand already aimed. Cedric stood a few yards away with his hand lodged in his pocket. You could see the bump where his hand must be wrapped around the wand inside.

"Try it, please, make me, give me a reason, please," Malfoy breathed so low you weren't sure if Cedric could even hear. Cedric was still as a statue, and broke just as abruptly, lunging to the side as he whipped his arm from his pocket. The spell Malfoy had already loaded flew through Cedric's afterimage, but Malfoy never stopped casting, his lips and hand constantly moving as they tried desperately to strike him. 

Cedric had only attended a single lesson as a member of Dumbledore's Army, yet he moved and casted as though he was the instructor. Malfoy's barrage kept him on his feet, and with you in such close proximity, he was only able to fire off a handful of spells, and every one flew just past Malfoy's head. 

The hail of spells kept you on the ground, afraid to be accidentally struck. Cedric's broad chest shrunk as his shoulder swayed to the side, a sparking ball of light whizzing just past, and he whipped his arm back, about to trade tit for tat, when his wand slid from his grip. Malfoy's arm fell, but his scowl lifted with cruel satisfaction as the sharp click clack of heels filled the sudden silence. 

Malfoy dipped even lower, whispering into your ear through the leering grin, "I did warn you, you know."

"Breaking curfew. Orchestrating an unpermitted gathering of students. Using unwarranted magic in the halls. Assaulting a fellow student," Umbridge scolded Cedric as she approached, his wand kept in the hands she held folded in front of her. Malfoy scooped you off the ground by the collar of your blouse, gaining her attention. Her tight features smoothed into a look of exultation, though she kept her smile inward.

She glanced back to Cedric, "And conspiring against the Ministry with a well-known liar. I warned you about her, Mr. Diggory. Your father will be severely disappointed to hear about this." 

Umbridge gave you her focus one last time, allowing herself the faintest of smiles as she raised her chin, satisfaction beaming like a lighthouse. "Lies never pay off in the end, Miss Potter."

You watched the last few caught members being pulled in by the Inquisition Squad; Neville, Luna, Hannah, and Susan. Malfoy never released his hold on you, his fist still balled around the collar of your sweater and blouse, as though you might disapparate if he let go. 

"Expulsion! I had warned and warned and warned. I tried, I really did. For your benefit I tried to help you, but you are clearly helpless. A lost cause."

Dumbledore stood before his desk, his fingers woven behind his back. "Expulsion for being out of their dorms past curfew is not a usual punishment we give, Dolores. Detention is typical in these cases."

"They were-"

"I've heard your story, they were in the halls, running. Dangerous, I agree, but also, not an expellable offense. A warning should suffice in that case."

Her face grew redder with every word. "I have it on good authority-"

"I had heard what Miss Parkinson had to say, and I believe she mentioned that it was a rumor." Pansy, who was hiding in the back, stuttered out, "Well, I heard it from Mandy Brocklehurst who's friends with Daphne Greengrass. Daphne said she heard from Cassius Warrington who learned from Peregrine Derrick that Cottera Pyke overheard Parvati Patil and Lavander Brow whispering in the library about it!"

"Go get them!" she ordered shrilly, but before Pansy could stumble over herself, Dumbledore lifted his hand. "I will not have you ripping students from their beds over gossip."

"That proved substantial!" 

"That proved a coincidence. A remarkable one, to be sure, but one nonetheless. Unless you have greater evidence you have yet to show?" Umbridge was silent, her brewing temper bubbling up and simmering her complexion. Finally, she broke, her voice as shrill as an overboiled kettle, "This castle is more a circus than school! Even the prefects and headboy were among the ne'er-do-well!"

"Our prefect and headboy were there on their nightly rounds, about to send all of their wayward classmates back to bed. And for that, I thank them." Dumbledore smiled and nodded to Cedric and Hannah.

"Of course, Professor," Cedric said in his most even voice, bolstering Dumbledore's lie with easy confidence. Hannah, however, blushed bashfully at the compliment, "Y-yes sir." Umbridge's frown curled near to her chin in chagrin. 

Dumbledore scanned down the row of the captured bodies as he spoke. "You should know better than to be breaking your curfew, and while I understand the urge to do so-" he paused briefly on you "-it is nonetheless disconcerting, and deserving of a punishment."

Umbridge finally burst, "Fifty points from Hufflepuff-" her eyes flickered to Neville "-Gryffindor!" then to Luna "-and Ravenclaw!" and stopped on Malfoy. "And fifty points to Slytherin!

"And detention! All of you!"

Chapter Text

        Professor Sprout had decorated the common room with festive foliage and flowers to hail the arrival of Easter. Honking daffodils lounged on the tables in crystal vases, baskets of spring blossoms that shyly fluttered their petals like tiny butterflies when anyone passed by. Vines of flowering wisteria were draped from the hearth mantle, and a set of toadstools leaned into each other on the curved windowsill, muttering jibberish when they thought no one was listening. Like the rest of the seasonal verdure, the tumble that Malfoy's Tripping Jinx had given you had blossomed great purple bruises across your shoulder and arm. 

Umbridge's malediction of detention was postponed by exam week (a final boon given by Dumbledore likely). And the week flooded by, the days sweeping your feet out from under you and carrying you away with them. The library returned to its somnolent state, only the residential dust motes and the peripheral sound of pages flipping remained. You slumped in the chair, your arm hanging by your side while the loosely held quill dribbled ink. Your vision nestled among the crescent rafters, staring a hole in the ceiling, your mind trudging backward through the past few days. You couldn't parcel out the expressions of the examiners, each as unreadable and passive behind the boggy lense of recollection. You dug the heel of your palm into your eyes. Nerves and fatigue combated one another, writhing and wriggling within your skull while the other swaddled deep inside your bones. A familiar flutter of regret toward not at least investigating that cheat quill flashed across those tender nerves again.

The memories swirled menacingly like a potion fouled by equal parts time and self-doubt. A T felt as likely as an A. Divination you surely flunked, but that fact left you with little anxiety. The classes were never quite as good once the tea lessons were over, and the entire class was cut short regardless thanks to Umbridge. They hadn't found a suitable teacher in the meantime, so all of your classmates likely suffered the same, even loyal Lavender and Parvati as likely to fail as you were. The only certain A you kept tucked to your heart was your Herbology exam and Defense. Where you had a semblance of confidence, Hannah was devoid of any. She was a sobbing mess by the end of the week and still in the infirmary to this day. Cedric qualified for five N.E.W.T.s last year. You weren't confident you got a single O.W.L.

Your neck swung back to the papers before you, the two sets of notes. You would swing by the infirmary to give the second set to Hannah when you left for lunch. She was due back from her rest in the infirmary tomarrow before dinner - just in time for the first night of Umbridge's detention. Subconsciously, your hand flexed at your side.

At least the year was almost over, only homework to worry about now. That, and Friday. Slumped over the table, your arms stretched out, sliding over the pages of homework and pushing aside the inkpot, and wrung the stiffness that saturated the fibers. You had finally been able to carve a chunk out of it without the DA to worry about, but that gave you no satisfaction. A few members found your ear during the week all singing the same desire to persist and defy, but you wisely turned each and every request down. Dumbledore's message was clear. Your hand throbbed in tune with your forehead. Your eye found your wrist, thinking of the hand that sprouted, large and intimidating. Was it truly just a dream? Was that why Snape simply sent you back to bed? 

Yet those memories pried from the greasy head of the wizard himself were infested with an awful paranoia that possessed your innards, squirming them sickenly. Like a cleansing sage, your mind's voice spoke Sirius's words along with him, "...His affiliation with Voldemort these days is purely on Dumbledore's orders. If Dumbledore trusts him, so do I, and so should you..." Sirius encouraged you to trust Snape, and he trusted Snape himself... "...to a point..." 

Hadn't he? 

The seats at the table were promptly pulled back and filled. You glanced up at the sudden distraction and saw the identical faces split across two identical bodies, their twin smiles stamped semi-circles of impish revel. "I'm busy," you grumbled in way of greeting and farewell.

"Yeah, you looked very busy when we walked up," George quipped. You scrunched up your brow, but before you could retort, Fred leaned forward and threw out, "Too busy to watch a show?"

"Real jaw-dropper we've mustered up," George matched his brother.

You could hardly believe your ears. Those two were the genesis of the rebellious spirit of the student body. They still have the stamina to keep going? "You want to be expelled? Didn't you hear the rumor about the new corporal punishment decree?"

"Exactly. Better get it out before the ink on that dries. And no exactly need for us to stay, either. The DA was keeping us, but our business has been booming, and we've decided it's time to move on to bigger-"

"-and better-"

"-things."

You perked a brow, slightly interested. Dragging your finger along the rigids of your scar, you listened. A smile tugged at your lips at the end of it. "An end-of-the-year celebration? I can't wait."

~~

       It looked as though there were twice as many candles in the Great Hall tonight. Stars burned through the black sky above and peered in from the high windows like tiny, far-off candles. Hannah had regained some of her color, bantering with cheeks stuffed to bursting with food as she enjoyed the selection before her, her fork thrusting here and there like a trident. It was as though she had shed her anxiety like a second skin, reborn anew. All down the tables, the trend of bronze dishware, golden goblets, and silver cutler hiccuped at your seat, where a leaf of homework parchment, a quill, and an ink pot took the place of a plate, fork, and goblet.

"Not hungry?" Cedric asked at your elbow. "More for you," you quipped lightheartedly, but he only continued to watch you with poorly concealed concern. The agitation had fizzled around him since Thursday; he had never sat through one of Umbridge's detentions and all week was spent on awfully sharp tenterhooks - but not for himself. Though Dumbledore's grand chair was empty, at least Umbridge wasn't sitting in it. Umbridge was eating by herself merrily, until her downturned eyes flicked up, catching you. You flung your head back toward your paper before shoving that too aside, invading the minimal space and clanking against the plates and platters and pitchers, causing a small pile-up that pushed down the table. "Wake me up before dinner's over," you murmured to Cedric as you rested your head in your arms. The weight and warmth of his hand on your back hung on your eyelids as well, dragging you down, down, down...

Then they opened again.

No, Not again. The black tiles wrapped around you, and gaping only a few steps away was the empty doorway, but trepidation replaced the longing. Glancing over your shoulder, the hall was no longer stretched into infinity, the thin long black tiles that dressed the hallway losing their dream-like quality. Relief flooded your veins at the realization that you were alone, but that gift was revoked when your chin dipped lower, noticing the shine against the black tiles on the ground reflected red on the white grout. The blood. The red trail led down the ground, to the Department of Mystery, a long coaxing finger disappearing into the darkness. The blood was moist beneath your toes, cold, like the water in the Chamber of Secrets. It reminded you of the dream from second year. 'But those were memories. Am I seeing another, did he open the door??' 

"I'LL NEV- AAAHHHHHHHHHHHH-" the voice broke, mangled and twisted by agony. It echoed sickeningly throughout the seemingly ceilingless room, a thousand voices anguishing. Obediently, beckoned by the screams, you took the first step in a leap. 'Sirius!' The cold clear air stabbed into your lungs just as sharply. Faint illumination lit the room, giving a wan light to your path, round ghostly orbs on shelves that disappeared into the black sky above. A one-sided conversation, just out of the grasp of your hearing, was hidden between one of these radiating rows. Screams shattered the air like glass again, the shards cutting your heart. You opened your mouth to reassure him that you'd be there, that you were coming to help, but he spoke first, suddenly only a few rows away. A small bronze rectangular plague read 97. "You may not know it yet, but you will break. With time you will be widdled down and unfortunately for you, Black, I have nothing but time. No one can hear you scream but me, and it is a melody..."

The utterance of "Crucio!" woke you like a shoving hand, pushing you back out of your seat and leaving you sprawled on your back, thrust back into Hogwarts. The shout of reassurance was inversed, a sharp inhale of the smoke and mingling toothsome aromas marinated the warm air of the Great Hall instead filling your throat. The candles dozed above you became bleary stars, the glare distorting the staring faces that hovered beneath them. You heard Cedric clearest, but the visage that hovered above was recognizable even with the sheen of tears his features into smears of black and white.  

"Get up," you couldn't make out Snape's face, but his voice came not unkindly. Long, slender fingers slid beneath your shoulder, encouraging you upwards. You finally moved, the tears clearing from your eyes as they dropped from your lashes like a single drop off a waterfall. His hand bound you to him as Snape led you down the line of staring faces, his pace brisk, the hard clack of his heels taming the buzzing murmur like a whip against a frenzied beast. 

You fell onto the final step of the marble staircase, and he stood before you staring down. He was staring with concern tinturing in the darkness of hatred. His eyes stopped on your exposed scar, your hair pushed back by your hands. Your heart battered your chest.

"What was that about?" he murmured low, watching the scar now instead of your eyes.

It came fumbling from your lips as rapidly as the tears. "It happened again- I saw through his eyes, Sirius, Sirius was being tortured. He was laughing while he screamed!..." More tears spilled from your lashes as your fingers clutched around his robe, standing suddenly and clinging to him as tightly as he held you. He seemed taken aback by this, his anger subsiding as he observed you closely now, his eyes flickering subtly from your face to your hand and back. "You have to do something, please, you have to!" He let go of you and tugged his robe out of your hands, and you felt your heart break further as you saw the cold, oddly angry expression that met you during Occlumency lessons when you had begun to cry.

"It was a nightmare. Exams have exhausted you. Gather yourself in the infirmary. I will handle Umbridge regarding tonight's detention," before sweeping around and continuing on his way, though his steps a little faster than before. But you hadn't noticed, too drunk on your sorrow and fear and hatred.

"Please, don't let him die." Your whimper carried through the drafty hall. There was a flinch in his stride, but it quickly recovered the same. "Go. To. The. Infirmary. I will find you there, or I will be dragging you there." 

Tears dripped down your chin, his black frame disappeared into the darkness that engulfed the dungeon's doorway. Your arms hung helplessly by your sides. Roughly wiping the tears from your complexion with the sleeve of your robes, you steeled yourself. You had no one, but that didn't mean you were powerless. Snape might have been the only Order member in the school, but he wasn't the only one who knew of the Order. You sat on the marble stairs, puzzling a plan with the fingers of your mind, waiting painfully long, hearing the drifting amalgamation of noise from the Great Hall. His screaming echoed in your ears as the reverberations of Voldemort's laughter rang in tune.

Your fingers wrung together as you breathed as silently as a prayer, "Please wait, Sirius. Just a little longer."

Once the feast ended, the noise that leaked from the hall grew as bodies slowly flooded from it. Susan and Hannah were the first out of the door, their seeking gazes latching onto you immediately, but you kept your attention on the crowd that trickled in languorously. "I know exams have been difficult, but you'll feel better if you sit down, Madam Pomfray makes a lovely calming draught," Hannah said, but without a look let alone a word, you broke from them, cutting like a knife upstream the crowd, your eyes bouncing from face to face. Your targets were in the heart of the fray, chatting heartily with Lee Jordan. You snatched George by the sleeve, stopping him, knowing his brother would halt just as suddenly. "Can you do your end-of-the-year surprise now??" you inquired grimly. They blinked at you, then each other. After a silent exchange, George replied, "Depends. Why?"

"I need a distraction." To your delight, their faces lit up with curiosity. "Planning on getting out of detention with a bang?"

"It's so much more important than that. It's dire and has to be now." They seemed to finally recognize your urgency. After exchanging another long look, they then met you again.

"You better tell us after and it better be good."

"How fast can you set it up?" Hannah and Susan's gaze bounced between you.

"Don't you worry about that. Our show'll be in progress before you can pick up that quill."

You finally allowed yourself a smile, your chest swelling with gratitude toward them and their mischievous tendencies. "You'll never know how thankful I am for you guys."

"Oh shush. Say no more. Years nearly over anyways, and bursting tonight means we don't have to finish our homework."

"What was that about? What are they planning? What are you planning?" Hannah ordered when they disappeared back into the crowd. You waited by the wall as the Slytherin line through the dungeon entrance thinned out. When your lips remained closed, she puffed out her chest, announcing, "I'm a prefect! You have to tell me!" You regarded her blankly, finally confessing, "Sirius Black's been kidnapped by Voldemort and I intend to save him or die trying." And you walked off, diving down the now vacant serpentine staircase and leaving her and Susan gaping. 

"Remember to use the Maurader's Map only under the direst of circumstances, and absolutely no adventures. Alright?" Peeking at the map, you watched the twins stomp through the other footprints, already storming around the Gryffindor tower. Down the map, Umbridge was only now striding off the dais. 'This is no adventure. Lupin would understand, he loves Sirius as much as I do, and only I can save him now.' Folding it back, you shoved it into the depth of your robe pocket, tucked beside your wand. 

"What??" Susan uttered, her voice carrying from a few steps above you on the staircase. "I'm going to the Ministry of Magic to save Sirius from Voldemort."

"She's lost her marbles," Hannah announced. But words couldn't deter you. Susan appeared at your side. "Is this about those nightmares you've been getting? Can you please explain?"

"I've been having dreams about Voldemort. Dumbledore says there's a connection between us, and my remedial courses in potion have been Ocla- Occlumency lessons to shut that connection. It didn't work and my dream wasn't a dream. I think it might have been a memory, I had dreams of Voldemort's memories in second year and earlier this year," it came out as a long string of consciousness that had been strangling your mind. 

"...Does this have anything to do with Divination-"

"No!" you cut in shortly.

Hannah paused, "And you're going to save Black from-"

"I'm going to save my godfather," you corrected her, stopping in the corridor with your shoulders back and chin up, staring defiantly. "They lied about Sirius. He's a member of the Order and I stayed at his home over the summer and Christmas. He was framed for the murder of those muggles and my parents. I planned to tell you when I could prove his innocence, but..." You paused, waiting for another challenge from them. Susan's fingers twiddled with one another as she thought, but Hannah stepped forward, "I don't know if you hit your head too hard when you fell, but you obviously believe all," she swirled her hand in the air, "this, so if you're intent on going to the ministry, we'll help you."

It was your turn to be caught off guard. "No, you're not. Voldemort is-"

"What are you talking about?" Turning, you found Cedric, with Neville behind him down the corridor. "Are you alright? Was it a nightmare?" Susan informed him, "She hit her head and thinks she had a vision of You-Know-Who in the ministry, so we're going with her to check." 

"No you aren't," you battled back before swiftly fleeing any rebuttles. Marching down the corridor and twisting a corner, you tucked into Umrbidge's office. Thankfully, it was still empty.

"You-Know-Who? With her? To the ministry?" Cedric echoed dumbly. Your pace teased his own, and in only a few strides he was behind you. 

You spun toward him, your dismay plain, "He has Sirius in the Department of Mystery. I'm going to help him."

"Sirius is at the Ministry? Isn't that dangerous for him?" Cedric asked. You were thrown for a moment that the feature of the Dark Lord himself was lost to his ears, but Hannah inquired, "Dangerous for him? You believe her about Black, Cedric?" 

"I, he's..." Cedric wilted beneath the spotlight, not as deft at secret-keeping as you've come to be.

A fourth, fluttery voice joined the conversation, "The Ministry? Are we going to finally overthrow the goblin murderer?" Luna's head peered out from behind Cedric's broad back, her hair flowing down to the side like a silvery banner.

"No one is going to the Ministry but me!" Cedric rouned back on you, his tone as heavy as his glare, "No you aren't."

"No you aren't," you said to all of them. Neville hadn't even spoken a word, yet his fumbling mouth hung open wider than anyone else's in the rooms.  

"Let's say you somehow figured out how to apparate out of the castle and into the ministry, how do you plan to reach a restricted department?? How will you even get past the receptionist??" Cedric demanded, his brow pressed as tautly as his arms across his chest. 

"I-I'll slip past them..."

"Have you even stepped foot in the ministry before?"

"No, but- Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," you cut in, flinging every head back. Umbridge surveyed with a pleased smile from the doorway, her hands knitted together. "Good afternoon, Miss Potter. Please, don't let me interrupt. You were saying?" Muttered words drifted along with the bodies that untangled from around you and settled at the desks that now expanded across the room. Cedric shot a less than furtive glance as he slid his backpack down his arm, but you only returned obstinance, the same mute warning connecting you both; "you better not."

Umbridge's vision darted off the both of you as she sat behind her desk. The fact that her eyes grasped like hands desperate for more information gave you heart as to how much she had heard. The black quill was duplicated across the many desks. The sight of the quill had rendered Neville to the complexion and color of a dripping candle, while Luna was busy inspecting her own quizzically, one moony eye closed as she turned it this way and that. Susan and Hannah each sent you a sympathetic glance once they spied the needle sharp tip. Their solicitude was as lost on you as the looming lines, as your thoughts were rivetted to the wall; despite the burgeoning heat that wafted on the breath of spring, the stones that were the bones of the dungeons might as well have been carved from ice, and you never expected to be grateful for that fact. The soft crackling of wood inside the maw of the hearth were tiny kisses to your ears, giving warmth to your spirit as much as it did your flesh. 

"After some thought and consideration, I believe tonight it would only be appropriate to start back to the very basics. I'd like you all to write, I will obey. I'll inform you when you can stop."

Taking the quill, it took everything you had to keep your eyes off her hearth. She can't suspect, even a fleeting suspicion and she might put out the flames. 'She must have at least heard the word ministry...' Your knee wiggling restively beneath the desk, and your molars gnawed on the inside of your cheek. The silence of the room echoed Sirius's screams in the confines of your skull, and the thought that they weren't memories, that he was still screaming in the bowels of the Ministry... The dagger-sharp tip hovered over the paper.

'George, Fred, where are you??'

"Well? Why aren't you starting?" she asked the room. You saw no one else had begun either. Before you could stop yourself, your head turned ever so slightly and your gaze found the hearth. Nestle between an overflowing flower vase and a porcelain cookie jar molded in the shape of a fluffy (or pudgy) cat with painted black eyes that blinked, was a white sugar dish that must be holding what you needed.

Fear reflexively guided you to do the most incriminating thing you could have done; you checked to see if Umbridge had caught you surveying. And she had. A quick glance could be read as purely innocuous if not for the paranoid recoil. And she rose from her desk, purposefully slow, her hand sprawled across the surface. Her smile spread as liquidly as a stream of blood, devouring her eyes into the apples of her plump cheeks and brow. Pinched and shielded from the light by her mounding flesh, they appeared as black and vacant as holes in the ground. "Why, Miss Potter, what might it be you're-" A gasp snuck into the inquiry as the dungeon corridor shook momentarily, dirt that miraculously survived Umbridge's scouring trickling from the nooks and crevices in the ceiling.

Umbridge sprinted across the office, her heeled footfalls a chaotic clacking clatter. Just as she grasped the door handle, the entire door was shoved into her by an explosion of color. Behind the open door, you saw a brilliant dragon fleshed by fizzling, cracking sparks of color soar by, spitting out other fireworks that would swim like crazed fish before crashing against the dreary grey walls, becoming reborn as smears and splashes of brilliant paint. One slammed into an old gargoyle statue, and it started chuckling madly. 

She scooped herself off the ground in a single motion and disappeared down the hall after it, her wand raised high, her voice higher, only her shrieking heard between bursts and sputters and bangs. Wasting no time, you were a picture of her fervor the moment she was gone, lunging from your seat to the hearth.

The sugar dish lid was in pieces on the ground and glittery floo powder was trickling from between the gaps in your tight fist when you heard the first exclamation of "No!" from over your shoulders, and the cacophony of a shoved chairs and hurried feet behind you, but the floo powder had already been tossed into the flames, razing the orange for a brilliant green. "MINISTRY OF MAGIC!" you shouted as you dove through the lip of the hearth, just missing the hand that groped for you. 

The whooshing of hot air and the blurbs of light ended when you were coughed out of the hearth and slid across the sleek tile into the Ministry of Magic. Shoving yourself up, you twisted your neck around - and up, and down, and all around to take it in. The wall behind you was crenelled with a long row of hearths, their bricks an immaculate black that appeared as though they had never known the sullying touch of soot, all asleep aside for the one you tumbled out of. At the end of the line of hearths, beside the wall, was the foretold receptionist's desk. Intricately carved, the deep aged wood hued a rich purple hue with a polished that shone even in the shadows, and was trimmed demurely in gold. And completely empty.

Blackened windows of offices bricked every wall, coiling around the atrium all the way to the towering ceiling, which illuminated a withering, sleepy, obligatory light. The only sound gurgled from the dim crackling of the green fire behind you and the serene sloshing of the fountain that marked the heart of the expansive atrium. A wrought bronze centaur, silver goblin, and copper house elf stared with admiration at the golden witch and wizard at the center of the fountain. Their wands were held high above their heads, and two jets of blue water poured from the tips, conjoining and falling as a single stream. A thousand witches and wizards could fill the Ministry foyer without having to walk abreast, and likely did, and would again once the sun rose. The air was as clean and crisp as any office building, yet there was an unmistakable undernote of the same scentless scent that fizzled among the dust motes in Olivander's wandshop - magic.

The schlopping of water gave the ghostly impression of footsteps, conjuring the image of the countless magical beings that have strode through here on countless days out and about on countless tasks. Despite what Cedric had warned, not a face was here to meet you in the entirety of the gaping building tonight - perhaps that should have given a calmer person pause, but you regarded the oddity as a boon. No faces ask no questions.

The rotation of your neck halted finally upon the first door your groping eyes grasped; elevators a little down from the army of hearths. Your feet were blurred black streaks across the white tile slabs that were polished to a near mirror's surface. Soot carried in from Umbridge's hearth was kicked out off by the slaps of your loafers and gave a visual echo to your trail. The light of the elevator shaft was dozy, and even the accordion grills of the door folded shut at a lethargic pace. But when you announced you sought out the Department of Mysteries, the magical machine clunk to life, and you were flung to the side so sharply you nearly lost your footing. Your knuckles were white as you clung to the handrail, feeling like you were being shaken up in a tin can til it stopped as abruptly as it sprang. The white grout that crafted perfect lines through the black hallway was carved deeper by the light. The hallway could be rolled on its side a hundred times and never be upside down - if it wasn't centered by the door and its golden plague. The grills unraveled at their previous placid pace. You wormed your way between the gap when you could, stepping into your dream. 

In those dreams your feet were always frustratingly attached to the ground - for fear or for avarice - but now they flew across the glossy black tiles, only pausing your reaching arm at the door. The hand that sprouted from your wrist was large - the palm was broad, the fingers long and thin, knotted by elegant, yet intimidating knuckles, as hard and pale as marble... A seed of trepidation was sowed by the visual recreation of that particular dream. 

Turning your head, you realized the tiles were clean of all dust or dirt, let alone blood, and the door was still closed... The caution began to bloom, the roots reaching your fingers, which relaxed into your palm. But this hand was your own. And Voldemort wasn't beside you, gaping as much as he was snarling.

If. If Sirius wasn't in there, if you were mistaken, if these were just horrible dreams cooked by your stress and longing to see Sirius again... But if they were real...

The prudence was reaped from your bones with the contraction of your muscle, grasping the doorknob and twisting. The cold metal invaded your skin, a final warning before the door opened to the same dark glowy scene from your dream. You delved in.

Chapter Text

        The light within the hallway was barred at the door, the only source the moment you took a step into the department was the watery glow off the rows and rows of white orbs. It became colder, all at once, raising goosebumps along your arms and the back of your neck. The edges of the gentle glow touched, fusing into a long stream of illuminated fog down each shelf. You wondered for a moment if those peculiar orbs were actually domes of ice, with frozen little fires trapped within.

The shelves were thicker than your arm, the wood wearing its age in a heavy mantled of dust, and length disappeared in every view; the ceiling and walls were constructed of shadows, drinking all light that ventured too close. A darkness as black as hate stalked behind all, peering behind every gap in the lumination. Your wand hung heavy in your hand. It might as well have been made of lead instead of wood for all you could do with it; if Voldemort was still lurking here, you needed to prepare for an altercation - fight or flight -  but you couldn't utter a spell before then. The battle to keep your steps as quick as possible to find Sirius yet as carefully enough to avoid detection from Voldemort gripped your focus. Gentle as they were, they carried further than you'd have liked. Like the skitter of rat claws against stone, the soft tapping was unavoidable, yet the momentary rifts in the silence between footfalls were begged the question; why was it so quiet? 

Row 25...

You skimmed the number of the rows as you pressed deeper. Would you find Sirius dead? Only his broken body waiting for you? You never would have thought to hope to hear his scream. In the darkness of your eyelids, you saw him - but in his bedroom in Grimmaul Place. It was the last time you had seen him, all alone in the dark. Now he was in the dark again, waiting for you, though likely not alone. 

Row 42...

Row 88...

Your wand hand began to tremble as you grew closer, every beat in your jostled heart reverberating through your arm. Another row closer, and another. Closer to Sirius. To Voldemort. Why, why was it so quiet now? You came all this way, how could you turn around now? You wanted to call his name, it itched at the back of your throat, but the silence blared around you, surrounding you as tightly as the darkness.

Row 97... 

You hadn't realized you were holding your breath til it slid out, patting down the flames that scorched your nerves. Lifting your feet was lifting two blocks of stone, your pace had frozen to a crawl, your wand now leading you. A voice in your head pleaded sense, your heart caution, yet your body leaned against the shelf, peering down. And you saw... nothing.

The orbs created a path of vision halfway down the row, tremulous as it was. Your fear flipped to confusion. Treading down the aisle with latent caution padding your steps, your attention slipped, momentarily allowed to be captured by the curious line of orbs. One stood out brighter than the others, like the round palm of an ethereal hand guiding your focus. Your pace faltered as you stared at it. Written on a slip of parchment dyed yellow by age was attached to the orb's mantle, and scribed in black ink were Dark Lord and (y/n) Potter. Nestling the orb into the palm of your free hand, you found your initial assumption wrong; the orb gently warmed your hand like a white sun. 

Dark Lord and (y/n) Potter. Fear seized you again when you heard the distant echo of footsteps and poor whispering, muffled by the rows and rows of shelving. Your heart quaked and instinctively you tucked the orb to your chest, afraid the glowing might show your location.

The noises suddenly teleported behind you, the whispers abandoned, "Thank you, Potter." In the murky glow, you saw the same black-shrouded figures from the graveyard outside the Riddle's manor. They appeared as spontaneously as tall, black mushrooms after a heavy rain. "Now, be a good girl and come to me. Slowly, arm extended, you will give the prophecy to me." The voice came faceless from the hood of the tall black figure that stood among his duplicates, yet the drawling cadence was no less familiar. As if to show you how it was done, he extended his hand, palm upwards, and took a step toward you.

In reaction, you pushed backward, recreating the space he attempted to fill. You kept the orb to your chest, only a sparse amount of the glow leaking through your fingers. "You're Malfoy's father," you accused. The fingers of his outstretched hand twitched at the utterance of his name, but he retained his silky tone, "I don't want to be your enemy. Just slowly come to me and hand me the orb, and you won't get yourself hurt."

"Lumos!" The tip of your wand ignited, but the pale sphere of light was only a sibling to the others, hardly lighting more than a few feet ahead of you. "Where's Sirius," you demanded. Lucius took another step, and the spell illuminated the inside of his hood, glimmering off the long strands of spun-silver hair tucked behind his ears. His already pale skin was faded further by the light, but the valleys of his gaunt cheeks and the crevasses beneath his eyes lustily drank the shadows. His lips were full and the only color on his face, a faint pink. They were curled into a smile that intended to ease and coax, but the edges of his lips only carved the darkness deeper into his skull.

You matched the step backward.

The coy demeanor was belied by the covetous leer in his stone-grey eyes. "I'll tell you anything and everything you wish to know once you lower your wand and hand me the prophecy. Nice. And. Slowly," he instructed in a tone that did not match his words. You fell back another step, and the pack behind him followed. You couldn't see their eyes but you could feel them, like hands grasping at you.

"She'll listen nice and well once I've hexed the skin from her body," one hood said, her cadence bouncing with excitement and anger. Lucius never took his eyes off you, but turned his head slightly and muttered through clenched teeth beneath the molded smile, "You will let me handle this, Bellatrix." The name rang a bell, shaking loose the recollection of Sirius's words, "-Narcissa wasn't so bad as far as Blacks go, but maybe anyone would seem sane next to Bellatrix."

"Let's keep wands out of this, yes? For your own health, I strongly recommend lowering yours and coming to me." His tone was hardened slightly by the thinly veiled threat. "Seven experienced wizards to one little girl. I know you're smart enough-"

"Tell me where Sirius is!" you demanded loudly, your voice traveling through the cavernous room. 

"Clearly not as smart as you assumed, Lucius," a gruff voice chuckled from behind his shoulder. It was hard to tell who spoke when there was no face to watch.

"Tell me where sirius is!" the other hood mimicked in a pitched, childish inflection. "The ickle girl whose death is as close as her own shadow is making demands," she said in an amused lilt before belting out a mad cackle. You swung around to Belletrix, pointing your wand at her, the light exposing her gaunt face. Her hollowed cheeks were cavernous, the pits at either side of her mouth ducking beneath the exposing light the wand projected. Her brittle, wiry black hair strewn out of the rim of the black hood. Her lips were full but pale, blending into her skin. Belletrix's skin was that of a corpse, but her eyes were orbs alive and wild, feverish her pupils perfect black orbs, exactly the shade of black that the ink of the Daily Prophet had colored them. Her arm raised in a flash, her wand pointed in a reflection of your own. 

"Wands away!" Lucius bellowed with frustration, "We were given strict instructions-" A flurry of footsteps rushed behind you, and you heard Cedric's voice cry out, "REDUCTO!" An explosion of crystal shards and chunks and splinters of wood rained down over you, and you felt an arm hook around your torso, pulling you back. The sound of glass trickling off the spell that umbrellaed your heads as you both ran across the opposite end of the row. 

"STUPIFY!" you heard a man yell, but the spell was lost in the air that was veiled by the fine dust of shattered glass, and only ricocheted off of the ground. The darkness resettled quickly, now claiming the gap in the demolished row. You felt Cedric's chest expand and settle madly, and saw his face in the swimming glow. He was searching, his wand and gaze still aimed. Susan had her head on a swivel as well, her own wand held high. "I just thought we could just pop into the Ministry" Hanah was babbling at your side, "and they'd shoo us away and you would get some potion from Madam Pomfrey for your head injury, why why why are we being chased by Death Eaters...!!"

"Why did you-" come, you were going to ask, but a spell rocketed through the air, colliding with a crash against a shelf, knocking lose a few more orbs that shattered to the ground. Cedric twisted around, his arm unraveling from your shoulders and instead sliding in front of you, his back a shield, and you heard a stranger speak from over his shoulder, "They're down- urgh!"

"I got him!" Luna chirped merrily. Without a word Cedric turned and plunged forward, once again dragging you in tow down the aisle. Neville grabbed Luna's arm similarly, while Hannah and Susan marched sentinal at your sides. Lumos ignited everyone's wands. At the end of the row, Cedric put his finger to his lips and peered out. "They want this," you whispered, raising the orb.

"Then put it on the floor then so they stop chasing us!" Hannah said nervously.

"Those are Death Eaters, if they want it they shouldn't have it!" Susan argued back. "STUPIFY!" A burst of color shot from further down the row. "BE CAREFUL OF THE PROPHECY!" you heard Lucius yell from behind them. Cedric shouted back "PROTEGO!" Hannah's voice quavered when she answered back, "EXPELLIARUMUS!" but the spell shot out all the same. The spell missed its mark, but Neville quickly covered for her. "REDUCTO!" and with one mind you rounded the bend, being met with another dark body. As a unit, all five wands lit with the same spell, "EXPELLIARUMUS!" The figure was struck square in the chest, knocking them back, their grip on their wand forgotten as it flew through the air. 

"Where are you, little girl?" Bellatrix's twitter traveled from what sounded like a few rows down. "Stop hiding like an ickle baby and come play with the grown-ups."

"Come to me with the prophecy and no one has to die," Lucius's voice cut through hers. It came further away, reassuring you. "That goes for any of you. Take the prophecy from Potter and come to me and you will receive mercy."

"Smash it!" Susan advised in a hushed hiss. '"If they want it, you should destroy it!" But your fingers only gripped tighter. "What if it's important? What if Dumbledore needs-" Another spell flew at them, dangerously close to your head. By the time you could turn to face them, their wand was already in the air, shooting out a flare for the other Death Eaters. As the sparkling firework lifted, your heart fell. The spells that struck him and sent him flying gave no solace, knowing the sacrifice. 

All feet were flying, but another cloaked figure appeared at the end of the row, blocking it. Luna's spell collided with the Death Eaters, and it was Neville's voice that came first, "Stupify!" and the figure was struck mid-conjure, falling to the floor. 

Then a cry came from behind, "Cruicio!" and trailing after it a crackling bolt of black crashed into Neville's back, brusquely shoving him forward. Collapsed face first against the ground, he began twitching wildly, as though invisible fingers were strumming his muscle fibers. His wand skidded across the smooth ground, and Lucius trapped it beneath his foot. Flinging around, you found Bellatrix standing beside a downed Death Eater, her hood resting around her shoulders, her arm arched and her eyes dancing. Your teeth gritted together, your lips pulled back in a mad sneer.

You whipped your wand, "Confringo!" A cloud of fire burst from the tip of your wand and an explosion sounded, a shock wave that trembled the rows of orbs in its path and knocked a few to the ground. Bellatrix was launched off of her feet, sent flying down the row, and tumbling across the hard ground. Hannah and Luna projected a shield at your backs against Lucius while Cedric peeled Neville off the ground, his hand over his nose where blood was flooding through his fingers and dripping from his chin. He was still shaken but willed his legs to move. Belletrix's shriek fell sweet on your ears, but the satisfaction turned to ashes of regret on your tongue as you heard a rush of footsteps running.

Lucius's hood pooled around his neck, blocking your exit. "Accio prophecy!" A tug at your hand, but you quickly slapped your other around it, your feet sliding on the ground at the pull until Susan spat back, "Expelliarumus!" but with the swipe of his wand, Lucius deflected the spell. You shouted, "Close your eyes!" before doing so and waiting only a moment before, "Lumos Maximus!" A blinding light was projected down where Lucius stood, gifting you a cloak and masking your frames inside.

After grunts of pain and shock, the gathering Death Eaters still managed to cast. "CONFUNDUS!"

"STUPIFY!"

"PROTEGO!"

"IMPEDIMENTA!" voices meshed together along with the sound of whizzing and spells lit up the air, their colors bursting through the calamity to momentarily light up the air, whizzing by every direction. 

"STOP! STOP, YOU'LL BREAK THE PROPHECY!" Lucius roared through the cacophony.

Stars remained even after the spell wore off. Blinking them away, you saw the door, growing in size as you raced desperately toward it. "Stupify!" Cedric, slowed by Neville, was suddenly out of your field of vision, and you heard a grunt. Stopping, you found him on the ground, Neville beside him. After a murmured counter jinx you watched him stir. But it was too late, the remaining Death Eaters had settled around you, wands jutting out like thorns.

Your eyes darted from hooded face to hooded face. Lucius's pale locks were jostled, beads of sweat lighting his face like jewels. He walked up to your huddled group, his eyes rooted to you. "You've lost, Potter. But you can still save your friend's lives and yours by handing me-" You riveted his feet to the ground when you held the orb above your hand, the light it effused like a crown over your head. 

"Take another step and I smash it," you threatened, conscious that the door was only a few feet behind you now. Your chest heaved. At this point, you might have chucked it just to see them squirm and quail. Brazenly, Belletrix took a step forward, her eyes burning with hatred and anger, her robes singed. "Smash it and the Dark Lord will deliver you a fate that will leave you longing for death," she exhaled in a throaty voice, the opposite of the earlier trill. The anger tickled your chest, letting out an empty, mirthless laugh.

'"Oh? And where is he? Hiding behind you?"

"I will do his work for him-"

"But that's not true, is it?" you interrupted daringly, resting a theory. "He killed a Death Eater just for trying to hurt me last year. What would Voldemort do to you if you killed me before he could? Would it be a fate that would leave you longing for death?" you tauntingly spat the words out like venom. A chorus of hisses sang from behind the hoods, but though her lips curled like the rest of them, she remained silent, Belletrix's eyes somehow widened further, near bulging from their sunken sockets.

"How dare you..." her voice trembled as a shadow before climbing in octaves and losing control with every word she spoke, "How dare you attempt to sully the Dark Lord's name by uttering it WITH YOUR FILTHY HALF-BLOOD TONGUE!" Lucius had to violently yank her arm to lower her wand. '"Control yourself! The Dark Lord gave us specific instructs-"

"You know he's a half-blood too?" you said impulsively, skating on your triumph, the words wafting through your lips as airily and blithe as a warm summer breeze, reattracting all eyes like a magnet. A delicate smile playing on your cheeks, your eyes carefully watching as her face contorted with pure vitriol and loathing, black flames of anger lapping behind her black eyes which willed to curse you. "(y/n)!" Cedric chastised in a muttered voice, but Belletrix spoke over him, "I'll torture your little friends-" Your smile turned to a vulpine sneer.

"Then I'll smash it! Then what would he do to you, hm? Surely something far worse than any of you could possibly do to us." Lucius's words rolled off his tongue smoothly and softly as butter, "But aren't you interested in the prophecy, Potter? It's about you, but Dumbledore never told you, did he?

Your turn to pause, your arm stiffening. He noticed, his smile becoming more natural, his eyes just as leering and sharp. "Aren't you curious? A prophecy that involves you and the Dark Lord?"

Cedric leaned into you, whispering into your ear, '"Don't listen to him-"

"Why the Dark Lord wants this prophecy? He wondered himself why you hadn't come for it yourself-"

"-he just wants the prophecy-"

"-the connection between you, your scar, it's all there, in your hand." He raised his palm again as he took another slow steady step. "Smash it and you'll never know the truth about why the Dark Lord tried to kill you as a baby. Or why he has so far spared you. Give it to me, and I will show you what Dumbledore has hidden from you."

To the horror of your friends, you slowly lowered your arm. "(y/n)! You can't give it to him!" Hannah panicked. 

"Wha'eber is in 'ere, Du'bledore would 'ell you if you as'ed," Neville pleaded, blood still fountaining from his fingers. 

"But he never has, has he?" Lucius spoke over him, his deep voice easily cloaking Neville's tremulous pleas. "You have the right to know. Doesn't it seem odd, that we can't harm you? That he killed one of his own Death Eater for merely attacking you? You, who is supposed to be his greatest enemy?" he saw the uncertainty flicker across your face. 

His voice was gentle, almost consoling, he was close to you now a few steps from reaching you with his extended arm. "Why didn't he simply kill you when he had the chance? In all honesty, even the Dark Lord does not know why, (y/n). That is why we need this prophecy, to find out. We may not be enemies, you and I. We may be allies." His voice had hushed to a gentle whisper, his colorless eyes baring down at you. 

"He's lying to you, don't trust him," Cedric said, his voice controlled and quiet, yet brimming with emotion. You didn't look to him, and neither did Lucius, the two of you staring into each other's eyes, each knowing the truth of the words as you shared the graveyard that night.

You looked to the prophecy in your hand. The soft glow, the name marker on the sallow parchment. (y/n) Potter and the Dark Lord. Your grip tightened as you thought. You looked back to lucius, who was smiling triumphantly. 

"We could be allies?" you asked. Lucius took a casual step forward again, his smile ground, "Let's work together. Hand me the prophecy and we can find out together why the secrets your headmaster has been hiding. Secrets I know the Dark Lord will be most generous with. He just needs the prophecy. You are safe. I can not harm you. Just place it in my hand."

"Voldemort needs this, you said?" Faces behind hoods grimaced as though they had been slapped, and Bellatrix muttered rapidly beneath her breath, but Lucius kept his smooth. "Yes. And he would be grateful to anyone who procured it. The Dark Lord is always seeking new allies, and ever generous to his friends, (y/n)."

You held the ball out slowly, your friends protesting on one side and the Death Eaters celebrating on the other, each stirring. "That's a good girl. There was never any reason for us to cross wands-" Your Quidditch-trained muscles recoiled as you reeled your arm back and whipped it through the air with all of your might, catapulting it through the air, aiming for the shelves. "RUN!" you yelled the second it left your fingertips. As a unit, you all turned and ran to the door.

Several voices rang out "ACCIO PRO-" The sound of shattering rang again through the air, sounding out your success. The Death Eaters were shooting spells, but the group slipped into the corridor, first Luna, then Susan and Hannah. Cedric and Neville just passed the doorway when a voice rang out, "Accio Potter!" 

You were a step from the door, and you watched everyone stop as they shrank, the light of the hall shrinking as well as darkness and wan illumination recaptured your peripheral vision. Your forearm latched into Lucius's hand like a magnet. The door slammed shut in their faces, silencing their screams. His wand jabbed painfully into your ribs as he seethed down at you, "You insipid, stupid girl. I may have lost the prophecy but I will not lose you as well." Before you could soak in his words he was shot square in the face by a red bolt, falling backwards. 

death eaters fell back in a wave of momentary retreat against the barrage of spells that loosed, like a flock of hissing arrows. another hand grasped your arm, but you found a reprieving face gazing back down at you. "Sirius," you breathed. He was haler than you last saw him, still a mushroom's shade of peaky from his confinement, but the warmth from his wide smile brightened up his complexion.

"Are you alright? Injured anywhere?" Despite the question, his smile never faltered, likely as pleased to see you again as you were him. "No, none." His joy fell for a moment as his attention was pulled from you, and you were jerked to the side suddenly, Sirius's wand swatting away a spell. 

Colors exploded around you. '"What are you- how did you-"

"Go to Remus! We'll talk more when we've tied this pack of black rat's tails in a knot." Before you could reply, Sirius had surrendered your arm, trading you to Lupin, who was already by your side. Hissing through the air like striking snakes, the traded assault rained down the aisles in colorful crackling 

"This way," Lupin directed, leading you from the fray. The hallway door was open again, the corridor was full of the defenders. Death Eaters fell like flies to the floor, their black robes blending into the darkness that seeped into it. Tonks made her way to your side and stood before you to assist Lupin on his retreat. '"Wotcher, (y/n)!" she said while whipping her hand around, defending and offensing.

"What are you all doing here??"

"He told us about your dream, and then soon after reported that you were missing from school, and we put two and two together!" she said, and it took you a moment to connect it to Snape. He did listen.

"There's no time for talk! Come on, your friends are safe, we need to get you there as well." You heard laughter among the chaos, and peering over your shoulder you watched Sirius slashing his arm through the air, his wand as bright as his mirth. His smile was contagious even in this situation, and you allowed a reflection of it to spread to your own lips. He's safe. Even if you were tricked, he was safe. Everyone was safe.

Everything would be okay, The Order was here now.

An entire row was pulled down by a spell, shaking the ground and splitting your ears as it fell. Lupin's arms instinctively fell around you, shielding you against his chest. A storm of shouts followed, trampling each other into a mash of sounds, words twisted together into a long string of verbal static.

You opened your eyes when Lupin released you, and with the sway of his wand, Kingsley quickly cleared the cloud of dust and debris from the air. The remaining wizards and witches stood alert, as straight and static as a forest, but one body was missing among them. Sirius was splayed on the ground, as still as peaceful as if he was napping.

His black cascaded across his face like a hood, his wand a foot from his limp hand. 'Why would he be sleeping at a time like this?' was the first thought that your jolted brain popped into your skull until Bellatrix's laughter awoke your senses. Her cackles rang out, but you didn't hear it, only saw her jaw stretched wide open in what equally could have been a scream of pain as it was a bellow of exultation as she leered down at his still frame.

Lupin was momentarily stunned by the same scene until you felt him pulling at you again. But as you were led to the door, Belletrix's eyes latched onto you, and her lips tautened still. Your mouth opened and you raised your wand at her, and even though your own voice was deaf to your ears, the spell shot out.

The first missed, the other easily ducked beneath. Spells threaded all around her as she ran through the heart of the fray, never breaking her black, black eyes off you. Lupin's grip on you was lost as he whipped around, reacting to someone somewhere, you weren't certain - your focus was tunneled on Belletrix as mutually as two clasped hands. Freed from Lupin's protective grasp, you bolted to meet her in the center of the mayhem.

But instead of answering the assaulting barrage that kept your arm on a swivel, she simply ran closer and closer, until her madness peaked - she caught your extended wrist, the wand now held mere inches from her face.

And together, you disappeared from the Department of Mysteries.

Chapter Text

     The shouts were silenced, and the fighting figures hidden as the world around you warped, replaced by the Ministry atrium. The cavernous room was dead compared to the havoc that still ravaged the Department of Mysteries. Belletrix's laughter broke your stupor, filling the enormous space and doubling back in a mocking loop. She seemed to have totally forgotten about your presence as her colorless lips pulled back in a triumphant euphoric smile, showing off her neglected teeth.

"Hand delivering Potter, oh he's going to be so pleased with me," she spoke to herself with a similar derangement to Siriu's house elf, Kreacher. Sirius. Red rage boiled in your veins as you belted out the incantation, but any hopes of catching her off guard were disregarded as quickly as the spell she swatted away with the tip of her wand.

"What did you do to him!" Your voice trembled with dread as much as anger. Another laugh broke through her teeth. "That's right! I killed Sirius and nabbed Potter, oh how he'll praise me!" Her face melted with pleasure at the idea, a shade of color finally touching her complexion. 

"Liar," was all you could utter, hollow and blank. The rebuke only enticed her to cackle again in jubilation. "You'll see for yourself soon enough won't you?" You spat more spells at her but she artfully deflected every one, cackling all the while. "The ickle birdy fancies herself a dragon!"

You wanted to kill her... to kill her... 

Belletrix's words rang like church bells in your head, over and over. "I killed Sirius!" Her words planted a pernicious seed in your mind. "I killed Sirius!" Black loathing coated your vision, drowning your senses - "I killed Sirius!" - and you jabbed your wand to your neck. The joy died on her face, her features contorting as tight as rigor mortis. "Don't you dare..." she threatened before her arm struck out like a snake. "Expelliarmus!" But you knocked the spell aside just as you had watched her do, miming her movements. 

"You failed him," you said, grinning madly. "He killed a Death Eater for simply trying to attack me, how will he react when he thinks you killed me?" Her terrified expression fueled your madness. "I killed Sirius!" rung over the visage of his face. The ravaged face from the Shrieking Shack that only just began to sparkle with life again when he requested that you allow him to take you in; the open arms and easy smiles that greeted you inside the cave around Hogsmeade, and the Daily Prophet paper's reporting on your progress in the Triwizard Tournament he hoarded. The relief and excitement that met you on the staircase in Grimmauld Place and the reassuring smile in the darkness of his bedroom, where you could only hear it in his voice; 

"I will be. I promise. And you too, right?"

"Right. I promise."

It didn't feel real, and you didn't want it to become real. In this moment he wasn't dead, he was laying on the ground, injured. 'The Death Eaters are all beaten, and Lupin is probably tending to him right now.' Sirius was bantering and laughing with Lupin and Kingsley and Tonks and all the others. He was alive. He was. Unbidden and unwanted, the memory from last year appeared before your mind's eye, of the spider's legs curling into itself like a closing fist, of the color of that spell, and of the word that conjured it. 

The truth was a creeping shadow of consuming tenebrous, lurking in the back of your mind, inevitable. Die before it sets in, die while he's still alive. Your heart heaved in your chest, vomiting sadness that threatened to spill from your eyes. You tried to swallow, but the action pained you. Watching her fear was the only thing that pushed it back. You'll see Sirius again, a voice cooed from deep inside your mind.

"You vile little-"

"You failed your master! Imagine how angry he'll be when he finds out. My only regret is that I won't be around to see it-" The moment the wand touched your neck again it was removed, slipping cleanly from your fist as it was plucked and stolen by the invisible hand that reached from behind your shoulder.

"Won't you, though?" An icy finger traced up your spine, leaving a shiver in its wake. It was casual and controlled, yet carried across the draughty atrium as clear as a shout, sailing across the distance that must have separated you. He must be somewhere near the row of hearths, your frantic mind estimated.

Bellatrix gaped before collapsing onto the ground, her arms splayed in front of her in the deepest of bows.

"I've delivered her to you, just as you instructed," her words flew from her mouth, slightly muffled by the floor beneath her. You didn't want to turn around, your plan for victory falling through your fingers like sand. The satisfaction of taking your own life before he could, dooming Bellatrix with it was stripped from you like your wand, left powerless.

Yet again.

"She says you failed me. Where is the prophecy?" She shuddered visibly but dared not to move a muscle more, likely more afraid than you now to lift her head. "The girl- it- she-"

"It's gone. I destroyed it," you boldly informed Voldemort, gaining some courage from her fear. The pain that began to build behind your scar was eclipsed by the jolt that shocked your system the moment you felt his hand fall on your shoulder. When had he traversed the distance between the hearths and the fountain?? You hadn't heard a single footstep.

"Months of preparation, of planning, of effort..." Even with the soft and silken tone, his words were dangerous, like a velvet rope slowly tightening around a neck. Bellatrix squirmed on the ground, writhing silently. "...all of it thwarted, by this silly little girl." His fingertips tightened ever so slightly around your shoulder, the pain growing as hot as a match head tracing your scar. 

"Master, please, I've delivered her to you-"

"Marred," Quick and cold as a knife, her words were cut and killed. Bellatrix tremulously lifted her head, shaking like an autumn leaf on the winter wind, her eyes peeking high enough to see the blood that had rested across the bridge of your nose, the tiny scratches along your cheek. Terror rose to her eyes along with the tears they reaped. "Master, please, forgive-"

"Leave me." His anger showed its ugly head, hardening his words into a fist, and like a strike, she squeaked like a caught mouse before disappearing with a crack. A sigh drifted behind you, and his words came just as quietly, "My closest, most trusted Death Eaters, selected and cultivated by my very own hands just to be thwarted by this silly little girl."

Your shoulder was released, but from the corner of your eye, you saw the tips of his fingers purposefully brush the locks that fell across it. "Face me, Potter," he commanded. Even if you wanted to, you weren't sure you'd be able to, fear turning your feet to stone, but the tail end of a handful of rebellious seconds moved your body for you, startling you. It felt as though your legs were numb, yet you felt every step they took.

The first place your vision landed was your wand, which was hovering above your head like a marionette handle. Below the black tents that gaped from his raised arm, Voldemort's face was a still pool, the still surface perfectly concealing what lurked beneath the placid waters. In his offhand was a copy of your wand - it was then that you realized that was your wand, and the one poised in the air was his. The two wands were more than mere siblings as Olivander had suggested; they were exact twins.

He was absentmindedly weaving it lithely through his long pale fingers, just as Riddle had done inside the Chamber. A taller, dominating Riddle. The simple black robe from the graveyard was traded for a more intricate one - night-black samite spilling into long dagged sleeves hemmed by scrollwork of intricate ruins crafted of ebony thread, fitted everywhere except his hips and shoulders, where the fabric flowed like fountains around his bare feet. Voldemort had somehow grown even more handsome, the clear light of the atrium limning the ridges of his jaw and tracing the sharp hills of his cheekbones. Every sickle curl was as smooth as the obsidian it resembled, yet the chiseled locks still swayed as loosely as silk. Even his brow was perfectly scaped, set above lashes near as long as your own. The glee and rage that were allowed to roam freely in the graveyard were culled, leaving not a trace of his true thoughts or emotions, nothing except the same hunger that stirred like a restless beast within his ruby eye.

"This silly, little girl..." As he murmured beneath his breath, his fingers paused fiddling with your wand, burying it in his palm before fanning a thumb against your cheek. An irritation you hadn't realized existed dissipated in the path of it, reminiscent of how Snape had healed your arm last year. "...who doesn't even reach my chin...

"You have earned some compliment, Potter. You follow instructions better than my own Death Eaters." Voldemort was taunting, but he retained his pensive mask of chiseled alabaster. The expression you wore in reaction must have amused him greatly because he failed to conceal the shade of a smile that tickled the corners of his lips. "I must confess, I was quite bothered when we met in that dream. I allow myself a moment of rest and there you are. As troublesome in my dreams as you are in my waking hours. I couldn't escape," the mask was slipping, humor dancing in his eyes and curling his lips now. The energy flowed into his fingers, causing them to slowly twirl your wand again as he began to wander, his steps tracing a slow circuit around you, forcing your head to turn and twist to follow him. "The encounter set me to wondering; what exactly had you seen until then?" He shook his head, his curls rocking, "Clearly nothing important, or Dumbledore would have done something by now. But all of your efforts have been minimal, mice scampering about looking aimlessly for crumbs." The sadistic amusement widened his eyes as he sought to soak in as much of your visual frustration as he could. "So, I mused, why not use this problematic door for something advantageous?"

A satisfied sigh effused Voldemort's nose, relaxing his features in tune, though his complexion never softened. "And you came running faster than I could have ever hoped to expected. Running from the only place you could call safe, finding the prophecy my Death Eaters were unable to locate and extract..." Then his mien turned dark again, enshadowing by the pent-up anger that instead poured through his eyes. "Gone. What did it say, Potter? Did you hear it?"

"I did, it said Dumbledore would kill you as easily as he stomps on a-" Voldemort's wand was pointed between your eyes before you even realized he raised it, and just like in Snape's office, a hand was shoved into your skull and your memories were wrenched before you, but this time at a breakneck pace, just a blur of darkness and flashes of light and color from the spells that soared and crashed. Your vision returned with a gasp. He stood still and silent, but his anger began to crack the impassive mask. For a moment you felt frustration as well, a tight fist in your chest that longed to lash out- 'No,' you realized, 'This isn't me.' The cord between your souls was feeding these feelings.

Like fleas on the back of these emotions, his thoughts intruded in bits and pieces, flowing in just to ebb out along with the pain in your scar, intensifying with the volume before quieting as they disappeared. "...lost forever... scattered to pieces...." Eye contact is paramount to Occulemancy," Snape had instructed so many months ago. Your gaze dropped, though did little to damn the connection as the anger flared higher then ever, scorching your chest with its red flames. Then all at once it disappeared, though you doubted that you were the one responsible. His hand cupped around your chin, raising your focus back to him. He watched you like a specimen beneath a scope.

"The Ministry will be back any moment now," you lied, "I told Dumbledore, he knows I'm here, he knows you're here, he knows everything." How you wished it was true. You recalled Riddle's hatred of Dumbledore, how the taunt in the Chamber of Secrets was your only means of control at that time, to keep him talking. But where Riddle seethed, Voldemort rediscovered his amusement. Never had a smile been crueler than a punch.

"I was informed of the Occlumency lessons Dumbledore had assigned you, but you seem to lack the same talent you possess regarding the Imperius Curse. You're a rather poor liar. One needn't be skilled in Legilimency to puzzle that out. If Dumbledore knew, why would he let you fall into my trap? Why send you alone? Why is he not here to protect you." Your jaw danced helplessly as you were left fumbling for answers. The wand again found your person, and his smile expanded before his sculpted lips parted to let out a laugh, each chuckle as hard as stone and as cold. 

"See? I could have killed you a thousand times over, but no help has ever come. No, I am well aware of the Order's presence, but my Death Eaters are keeping them busy enough. And I shall enjoy my time before Dumbledore dares to show his wrinkled, crooked face. You are mine, Potter, and I will not suffer losing you twice."

His thumb trailed across your forehead, feeling the raised skin of the scar beneath it. He looked back to you, his eyes moving as they stared. "...Mine." Voldemort leaned in toward your face, hovering hardly an inch apart, as though he was testing something. His mind worked behind his eyes.

He whispered, the words felt on the cool breath that fanned your face, "My mind ceases to be my own since my resurrection. Why??" The same strings from earlier reattached and lifted your arm. All attempts at wrenching it down were futile as his long pale fingers rested gently against your own, creating a reflection of each other. His flesh was unusually chill, yet the sensation was not unpleasant. Voldemort admired the sight, his gaze softening for the first time with bemusing tenderness, and off some inference deep inside, you knew he extracted a pleasure he had never known before out of this simple action. "Mine..." The word was so light his breath nearly carried it off, and perhaps if it wasn't your ears that heard, perhaps you felt the word clearer than you heard it.

"Stop saying that," but the words wouldn't come, banished by your own tongue. Your body was betraying you, your mind suddenly an untrustworthy ally. This was different from the graveyard - wasn't it..? Voldemort held the same look of confusion there as well. He hadn't killed you then, as he isn't now. Even in the Chamber of Secrets, Riddle seemed more interested in playing a game of hide and seek than fighting.

Even the uncertainty that now gripped you might not have been born by your own brain. 

His fingers stretched above yours, the palm hiding your own behind its back. They shifted to the side, and like a rippling wave they threaded into the gap between your fingers, fitting perfectly into the slots between the digits. Your own fingers rested atop the hills of his knuckles. The flesh was mismatched, your warmth and his chill, but it complimented each other, fire and ice. Wait, no, these thoughts weren't your own. But your fear was now eased, lulled in a way you hadn't realized. Even this realization hadn't piqued your pulse, however. The solace seemed to have run soul-deep.

His hand slipped from yours, seeking instead the other side of your head, filling it with the soft flesh of your cheek, the tips sliding ever so slowly. Before you could take in what was happening, his lips had already touched your forehead, landing right on top of his mark. His fingers slid across your face and disappeared in your hair, weaving through the strands as they sailed through the sea of (h/c). Although his lips were cold, they were gentle; as if Voldemort himself was unsure of the action, the act foreign. A surge of satisfaction came crashing over you, drowning the fear, confusion, and disgust. 

More, your body pled, clashing with your mind. Yes. No. You wanted more, and you wanted nothing at the same time. Heat built in the pit of your stomach, and you felt as though you might combust if not for his icy touch. Your stomach cringed and coiled like a writhing snake had taken its place, these emotions struggling for dominance.

The fire of anger waltzed with the flames of desire, swirling into a force far more dangerous than they ever were apart. A need bleeding to a must. This blaze was drowning, intoxicating, the smoke clouding your rationale. For that moment you saw not an enemy, not the embodiment of fear and overwhelming evil, but a fragment you needed to be whole. 

And then, to your relief and displeasure, his lips parted from your forehead, kicking up a gust that vanished the flames. Without the beautiful dance and color, the reality of ash and ruin that existed beneath the fire was laid bare. "I feel the same..." Voldemort's voice sobered you, reawaking the knowledge of who he truly was. He killed your parents. He killed so many more. You hadn't realized your neck had arched in an effort to make yourself closer to him, your chest leaning in toward his. Your hands were on his chest. The fabric of his robe was soft and smooth against your palms, the chest beneath firm. The desire fled in a flash as crashing as its arrival, and when you realized he was leaning down toward you again, this time his direction on your lips, you braced against his chest. "Stop! No!" He didn't budge, however. Your wand was abandoned on the floor - when he had dropped it you weren't sure - as he now gripped your jaw, lifting it and holding it in place. The same invisible force that stole your wand culled your rebellious arms to your sides, orderly. 

As he spoke, his lips ghosted against yours, "We both know you are a poor liar, Potter. I know you felt it, as I did. You have already caused me near as much strife as-"

In a jerk his head ripped away from you before he dissipated into a swirl of black from your sight, whizzing backwards and narrowly dodging the golden statue that was hurled toward him. A low hiss burst from his lips, his red eyes now burning with hatred and rage, and you turned to see who he was looking at. Dumbledore stood with his wand out pointed toward Voldemort. "(y/n)! Hide! Now!" he bellowed, whipping his arm back, a rogue wave of water dousing the fire that Voldemort had lanced at him.

Doing as you were told, you ran across the tile, nearly tripping on the smooth tile, you tucked yourself into the corner, hiding benhind the ruin of the fountain. The tiles were torn from the ground and flung like frisbees. Animated statues entered the fray and ended up torn apart or disappeared into smoke, conjured snakes faced metal shields. For once you felt your age, just a frightened child hiding from a monster. They traded quips as they threw spells.

"I hadn't seen that face since you were a child."

"Is your memory still strong enough to go back so far, old man?!"

"Oh, I remember much and more, Tom."

"And yet my true name continues to slip from your feeble mind!"

"I know your name, Tom Riddle. I was not born this morning."

"But you will die tonight! Come now, Dumbledore, unless you are afraid! I'm right here! Kill me if you can!!"

"There are worse things than death, Tom, and merely taking your life would not give me proper gratification."

"If death is nothing, then why fight it so?!" he snarled back. It was fast, startlingly so, your eyes barely able to keep up with the transfigured objects, the stifled attacks. You weren't sure if either was winning, but assumed you'd only know when one fell. The fires that lined the wall ignited green all at once, and one by one bodies stepped out of them, but their raised wands lowered with dumbfoundment when they saw the fantastical duel. Without knowledge of Tom's face, most were stupified at who exactly it was Dumbledore was fighting so viciously.

Then, madness paused when Voldemort disappeared with a ripping crack that caused the crowd to flinch. But the move was no retreat. The space between you and the wall was filled as the second crack sounded, and two arms entwined around your shoulders and chest like a Kraken, either of the knees he sat on boxing in your legs. Voldemort's triumphant leer shown above your head, and then suddenly vanished with the rest of him in a final crack.

Your back fell through the empty space, hitting your shoulders and the back of your head against the wall. Adjusting his glasses, Dumbledore calmly walked over to you, but before he reached you, the seam of your scar ripped open, prying your entire head apart. All you perceived was burning white hot pain that spilled from your scar like boiling blood. The roar of pain deafened your senses, holding you helplessly in its cruel grip. The Cruciatus Curse was the only like it you've experienced. A cool touch tapped your cheek, chasing back the agony. The comfortable chill sowed a seed of dread that Voldemort had returned, but when you opened your eyes, you saw Dumbledore. Behind him was a row of startled aurors.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked kindly. All you could do was nod. As you pulled your body off the ground, Dumbledore turned to the ever-growing crowd. "I'm sure some of you will still recognize the face of Tom Riddle. I recommend those of you should fill in your younger coworkers. The Death Eaters will be in the Department of Mysteries," he informed them curtly before returning his attention back to you. In his hands was the head of the handsome golden wizard.

"Merlin's beard, he was here... he was right here..." Fudge said daftly, setting off a chain of murmuring.

"You-Know-Who was standing there," one said, their pointing finger trembling.

"No, no... This can't be... It can't... Oh dear lord, it is isn't it?"

"Touch this, it'll take you back to my office." Blankly you did as instructed, being pulled like rubber and flung into his office. The sickness was tangential as stumbled to keep your footing. Slowly, your thoughts worked backwards, Why did he disappear beside me? Why didn't he kill me? What was the prophecy...? Where were your friends now? Malfoy's father is really a Death Eater... There was a gap in the events, a gap that was slowly filling in. Sirius... Sirius...

"I killed Sirius!"

Your lips pulled back, and you lunged up wildly - teetering before catching your balance - you immediately went to the door. You tried the knob but it was locked. You shoved your shoulder against it as you turned it with both hands, harder and harder. Phineas Nigellus gasped, while Armando Dippet accosted you from his frame, but you only reeled back and began to kick at the door. Fawkes watched silently, making no objections. 

You turned and grabbed the golden head from the ground, heaving it at the door, yet it too simply bounded off without a scratch. It was Voldemort that killed him. All that ran through your head was that you needed to burn down the room behind the hearth. This was his fault. You'd burn that room of his. You'd curse every book he had hand-picked to dust. 

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and thinking of Voldemort you reel back, and shoved blindly, but your hands met with Dumbledore's chest. The push forced him back a step, but it was enough to set the paintings to groaning louder than before. Despite the attack, he offered your wand back to you. You took it.

"Would you please sit?" he asked, doing as much himself at his desk. You watched him, your eyes as owlish and wild as Bellatrix's. "Is he... Is Sirius..."

"I'm sorry," he said solemnly, though his words hit you like a fist to the gut. Your heart swelled at his words, no more illusions to hide behind. The cruelest of pain, one that drowned you in despair yet never gave you the release of death. Only suffering. You wanted to blame Lupin and Tonks and Kingsley and everyone for not protecting him. You wanted to blame Bellatrix for executing the spell. You wanted to blame Voldemort for concocting all of this. You wanted to blame Snape for not excluding him. 

You wanted to blame Sirius for breaking his promise.

"I will be. I promise. And you too, right?"

"Right. I promise."

You wanted to be blind to the truth.

"It's all my fault..." your words whispered like a winter wind. Your heart swelled, cramping and contracting, it began to leak onto your lashes. In a blink, the tears spilled down your cheeks. 

"No, it was mine," he said calmly. "Please, let me explain." You stood there, eyeing him. You didn't want to sit down and listen to the kind lies, you wanted to destroy. Destroy Tom Riddle's secret room. Destroy Grimmaul Place. Destroy Bellatrix and Voldemort. "Please. All I ask is a little patience, and afterwards you may do what you like. I will not stop you."

You crossed the room and collapsed into the chair. It couldn't possibly be his fault. Just kind, empty words, surely. His promise of permitting your rampage was all that bound you to that spot.

"It is my fault that you felt the need to go into the Department of Mysteries. I've been lying to you since your second year- lying by omission. I have withheld this information from you for what I thought was your own well-being - our well-being. It was my worst fear. I told you years back that you were connected, but I neglected to inform you how deeply. I had a theory but dismissed it immediately. Not out of inplausibility, but before I simply didn't want to think it. Perhaps it was the likelihood that caused that dissidence. When I first began to wonder this, you were only a doe-eyed child. To consider such a fate connected to a child..." He sighed the sigh of one who sighed to often.

You waited, unmoving, but listened carefully. "But it seems that after two encounters of this kind, I can not deny it any further." His long lithe fingers weaved together and rested on the desk before him. "Tom Riddle was the child of a witch who used a love potion on a muggle she was infatuated with. Those born of love potions are cursed to never feel love. I've always considered it a pitiable existence and extended those same feelings to him.

"I explained to you before that your souls are connected. The love charm your mother used protected you from certain death, but the killing curse fractures the soul with each use, and though you lived, a piece of his soul had leaked into yours." He watched you carefully, but you were a blank slate, so he continued, "I'm afraid that this connection may have- has bridged that gap inside him."

It was too much information, all you could do was repeat his words, "Bridged that gap inside him?"

"There are many forms of love. Love for one's family, love for one's friends, love for another, love for one's self... I presume it's a concoction of the two latter... Love for himself projected into you. It's clear to me that Tom is unable to kill you, as to kill you would be to kill himself, and he detests his own mortality above all. He has had three opportunities now, inside the Chamber of Secrets, in the graveyard outside the Riddle Manor, and now. Yet each time he stayed his wand. He has even donned his old face, the handsome beguiling face that has charmed so many in the past, it would not surprise me if he assumed it would do the same now. I'm sure you've noticed it as well, his behavior around you." The memories, fragments, ghosts appeared in your head and your stomach turned.

"I've waited so long to hear your voice..."

"SHE'S MINE!"

"I feel the same...

"It was a terrifying notion. To be loved by a being that has never before been capable of it. That loathed the very idea of it. I didn't want it for you, so I wished the idea away and left you vulnerable. I selfishly didn't want to take away your innocence, and I left you exposed. I am sorry. It was due to a lack of transparency that led to Sirius rushing into the department to save you. Though I'm sure he died with a mix of solicitude as well as exhilaration."

But he... He wants me dead... I'm his mortal enemy, I killed him last time, as a baby..." You knew it as well as Dumbledore that wasn't true. His lips against your skin, first your scar, then to your lips...

"Yes, that is how he regarded you initially. I would not be shocked to learn that his pride had led him to believe that you held no power over him, that he only hadn't killed you out of a sense of superiority in the moment. Yet now he knows that was false. Though I know you can take no solace in knowing he is unable to kill you, I do counsel you to remember the power you hold over him."

"Power?"

"Love is a powerful weapon. The fibers tougher than ambivalence, more connected than hate. It will not be difficult to use it against him when you face him again."

"I, I don't want to face him again," you pled, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of the time. "I want to finish school, and, and-" "It won't be stuffy, lots of windows and sunlight. No Kreacher or cobwebs or screaming paintings. Just us. London or somewhere countryside or by the sea. Your choice." The tears were shaken loose again by the memory of Sirius's promise.

Dumbledore was sympathetic. "A future is impossible while Voldemort still draws breath. It is in the prophecy."

"What was in the prophecy...? Why did he want it do badly?"

"Likely to try and understand these feelings he holds for you. He's never before experienced the complexity of emotions and feelings that is love; I doubt he even considered them to be love. How do you know what love is when you've never before felt it? In his desperation to understand why he was unable to kill you, he needed the prophecy about you both."

He sat back, folding his long fingers together as he said, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

"-either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..."

Dumbledore kindly changed the subject, giving you space enough from the prophecy to breathe. "Professor Snape informed me of the dream Tom appeared in."

"Voldemort said he was dreaming at the time as well..." you remembered. Dumbledore nodded his head knowingly. "Perhaps it was the first time you both dreamt at the same time, perhaps it happened because you both longed for the Department of Mysteries, I can not say-"

"So Snape knew it was dangerous! It's his fault! He should have told me it was real, I wouldn't have trusted the other dream! This is all his fault!" you broke in, wrenching from the chair. "Professor Snape was correct to speak to me first. And it was me who decided not to inform you thereafter, not him." 

"Oh..." You sat back down. "How much does Snape know about... All this..." 

For the first time, there was a flutter of uncertainty from Dumbledore. "I haven't confided in him, but he is a sharp man. It would not surprise me if he has gathered near as much as us on his own. Professor Snape knows more than Tom- knew, I suppose now. I can't imagine he can still live in ignorance. But if there is a condolence we can glean, it is that it is exceedingly unlikely that he will attempt to reopen this connection again now that you are aware of it."

You stared at his desk blindly, unable to think with all these thoughts. Dumbledore watched you quietly before asking, "Does your scar still hurt?"

You nodded. "I presume he intended to take you with him, but I had already applied an Anti-Disapparate Charm on you. He seemed utmost pleased with himself when he had thought he got the upper hand, so he must have been exceedingly angery to find it folly. I did the same to the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries." He stood up, but you kept your eyes where they were, resting them, asleep in your own skin. All of the events fizzled around you like a swarm of flies.

A folded blanket was placed on the desk, right where your eyes sat. "Something that belonged to your father. I will admit, its usefulness has influenced my delay in giving it to you, but by all rights it is yours, and I thank you for allowing me to use it."

You touched it. The fabric was softer than silk, falling into your hand as liquidy as water, contouring around your fingers. "It is an invisibility cloak. An heirloom in your family. I hope that it gives you as much help as it has me. I'm sure you must be tired." He walked across the office and opened the door that was previously locked with a touch. 

"Madam Pomfrey will be awake if you are in need of a sleeping potion. Otherwise, I keep my promise. Go where you choose and do as you like. I will not impede you."

Wordlessly, you went to bed.

Chapter Text

        The Great Hall was buzzing like a nettled hive with banter and the peripheral melody of an unseen orchestra. Every voice wrestled to be heard over their neighbor, pushing and pulling in the stormy sea of noise. The very air was alive with the occasional flurry of crumbs that would spew from one of the many cackling mouths. The boisterous laughter that sprouted up like mushrooms after a storm and disappeared just as suddenly and the occasional shout for a specific platter broke through the vocal static every now and then. This deep into the End-of-The-Year Feast, the clatter of spoons and knives and forks on plates and bowls was as constant as the warm aroma of the banquet that laden every table.

Four troupes of tapestry hung above each of the tables. At the far right of the hall, the trailing banners were soaked in a dusky wine and laced by tassels that shimmered when catching the candlelight like cloth of gold. A lion richly emblazoned in gold pranced proudly across the face. Neighboring, the heavy cloth was a vibrant yellow mellowed to a soft honey in the low light and chased by black that blended into a single border. Four paws of a pure black badger were firmly planted on the yellow background, but its silhouetted head was pointed toward the heavens.

Beside the badger, blue velvet swayed like a languid sea painted by a midnight sky. The silky strings of bronze that dripped from the tapestry twirled like idle fingers while the raven expanded its great wings and talons of bronze. The persuasion ended at the last table; a banner as green and luscious as a fist full of emeralds and trimmed with silver, yet features were overshadowed by the aggressive stance of the silver snake molded the shape of their House's initial. Like filigree, the serpent glittered as finely as polished metal even in the hall's smokey light.

Below the decoration, the End-Of-The-Year Feast was an exceptionally decadent one this year. Bronze plates and platters traded around, creating bridges that would break and reform up and down the table. Platters were piled high with the sweet and the savory, pitchers were swishing and sloshing as they were passed around, hands and forks greedily dived here and there into the choicest pieces; massive roasts and the carved slices lying beside it - the fresh buns and hunks of bread that still steamed like visible fingers of aroma - steamed, sauteed, seasoned, and buttered vegetables created a segmented rainbow across the table - fish fried, steamed, or crusted in nuts, roasted squash soup sitting in a massive pumpkin with a ladle hanging out the gouged top. The stubby legs of the sauce dishes clumsily threaded through the minimal spread on the table when called upon (if out of reach, a single whistle or shout was sufficient in attracting the dish's attention), the cranberry jiggling with every step. Yet even within this revelry, all you could do was stare. Everything was grey; the food looked like stone, smelled like smoke, and you were sure if you tasted it, would be as appealing as ash on your tongue. All the color your eyes refused to absorb instead leaked below, staining the space below your eyes with red rings. 

Up on the dais, Flitwick's wand waved and bounced above his head, directing a phantom orchestra as well as conducting the voices of the choir club and their toads in a tune. The staff table appeared just as jovial as the four below them as well. The chair that Umbridge had occupied vanished along with her, and instead, Hagrid took up the extra room, booming laughter that could be heard even over the joyous tumult. But if you were to glance just a second longer, you'd realize the pleasant faces were pinned on, and while the conversations they traded were lively, their plates were full, pushed around idly. Dumbledore's facade was the most convincing, the chuckles that molded his grin and deepened the lines of his face belied only by the missing glimmer in his sharp eyes.

Malfoy's was your mirror; your backs even reflected each other, neither of you willing to face the other. Like you, he was slumped on the bench, his head hung lower than his shoulders, the silvery sweep of fringe that usually hung above one eye now curtained his tear-stained face. While his father was entombed in Azkaban, he stayed locked in his dorm room, mercifully sparing you of his presence. Beside you, Cedric's plate was full, but uneaten. He kept shifting awkwardly while the conversation of his friends buzzed in his ear like a mosquito. He nodded along, but his gaze always came back to you. His hands idly tore apart the dinner roll in his hand as he smiled vacantly at Zacharias while your depressed state wailed around his head like wraiths. Hannah and Susan were much the same, puzzled on how to help. The floundering of your friends only exasperated your misery; you were a burden.

Every face was attracted to the dais, even your own, when Dumbledore stepped behind the podium. "I am pleased to see that you are all enjoying this delectable assortment, though I know that nothing will taste as delicious while we mourn our latest Defense professor. I would first like to reiterate how horribly mournful we are for Professor Umbridge. In her caring and earnestness, and on advice I'm sure Professor Snape truly believed was accurate at the time, your professor had trudged into the Forbidden Forest in search of her wayward wards, and what those centaurs did was unkind. I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say she will be missed during her recovery in Saint Mungo, and I hope she takes the time to rest and recuperate. That being said, I believe it is time to count the House Points and tally who has earned the House cup this year!" A great cheer roared out in response, likely for Umbridge's injuries as for the celebration, each table vying for it. Though all who passed by the hourglasses saw which was overflowing and the others constantly a small trickle the opposite way.

He waited til it died down, and when it was rumbling down he resumed. "In last place is Hufflepuff, with 75 points. In third place, Gryffindor, with 105 points. In second place is Ravenclaw, with 120 points. And that just leaves Slytherin, taking first place with 354 points." A second cry came out, but this time only from the table farthest to the right. 

But the tapestries did not collectively ripple green. Dumbledore continued. "This year, like those before it, has come to a rather curious end. I feel it necessary to respond to the calamity. Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Cedric Diggory, Hannah Abbot, Susan Bones, and (y/n) Potter. 10 points will be subtracted from each of your Houses for sneaking out of the castle." The murmuring became louder, a tumult. Dumbledore again patiently allowed it to naturally dim before he continued, "It was against one of the strictest rules of the school, reckless, and above all dangerous." But then a smile softened his features and words, "And despite those facts, you still put yourselves aside and exhibited a stunning act of bravery, resistance, and service toward the wider Wizarding world. For this reason, I will be rewarding 50 points to Ravenclaw for the capability of Luna Lovegood, bringing their House points to 170. 50 points to Gryffindor for the bravery of Neville Longbottom, bringing their total to 155. And last, but certainly not least, 200 points will be rewarded to Hufflepuff, for the loyal acts of Cedric Diggory, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, and (y/n) Potter. That would bring Hufflepuffs House points to 375, and mark them as the winner of this year's House Cup."

The entire Great Hall combusted into celebration, stomping of feet, hosting and hollering, hands smacking against one another, and even spoons and forks drumming against dishes shaking the smokey air. Like a tsunami of yellow, the banners were washed, and the black honey badger now stood above every head.

The dinner vanished with the other House colors, replaced by heaping dishes of desserts. The revelry resumed, the music continuing and the chatter building back to its previous timbre. The Fat Friar swam above your heads, his round body lithe as a fish and his claps silent as they slapped together. "Oh, how right and how fine! To feast on victory as we dine!" He stopped and turned bashful for a moment, chiming in addition, "Though of course not that I mind, all that matters is to be true and kind." 

Pitchers of tea and juice changed for hot chocolate and butterbeer. Cauldron cakes stacked on top of one another like a confectionary castle were quickly disappearing. Platters of biscuits and cookies as you had ever seen piled, dishes of all kinds of puddings; thick slices of peaches swimming in honey spiced by cinnamon and cloves. The centerpiece of every table was a sky-scraping layer cake, frosted in a culmination of every House's colors, though the spun sugar toppers were unique. The Hufflepuff badger was gazing up at the starry sky above, all four sugar feet planted securely on the frosting ground.

Ernie plucked the edible emblem off the top and offered it to you. "Our wins thanks to you!" A cheer sounded out all down the table, rippling like an auditory wave. All eyes were on you, squeezing you like fingers in a fist. Even Dumbledore's watchful eyes found you. Your frown was so low it's surprising your entire mouth didn't slough right off your face and slap onto the ground before your feet. Without a word, you pushed yourself off the bench, but instead of reaching out, you turned your back and drifted into the entrance hall. A curious hush trailed after you, but no one pursued.

Moonlight flooded into the dark hallway, burning brighter than the torches behind you. 'The moon was this bright in Diagon Alley. When I first saw him.' You hugged your knees to your chest while your vision soared past the yawning window and tried as hard as they could to burrow into the treeline of the Forbidden Forest. Each memory of Sirius was like a spector vengefully haunting you. Eyes dry as ash, all the tears inside you had burned away. 

The sky all week had been sunny and blue and bright, warming up the air. It wasn't fair. The world should have stopped with him, and yet people still awoke every morning and smiled and laughed and bickered like they used to. The fact of Voldemort's return shook them some, yes, but even that couldn't hold their hearts long, while your heart beating was the only proof you felt that you had survived the third encounter with the Dark Lord, as you were otherwise dead. That chaotic static of hatrid grew and grew until it swallowed you into the black void of nothing.

The patter of footsteps stopped just at the corner of the hall. You knew who it was without looking up. "Go. Enjoy the feast." 

"I can't enjoy it without you." Your heart cramped in your chest. "I'm sorry." That seemed to be all you said these days, sorry for misspelling a word on your homework or sorry for being too withdrawn, sorry for existing. "I didn't mean to spoil the celebration." The soft steps continued again, and the space beside you was filled. "It's just dinner. What you went through..." Again, Cedric might have said, but he stopped himself.

In truth, you couldn't help but hope to see him peering through the tree line, like you had in this very spot three years ago. You knew in your head it was impossible, but your heart was still left chokingly disappointed. The moon was momentarily hidden behind a black cloud. You wished you could disappear. "I remember when we first met him. I thought you were nuts to trust him. But you were right. I wish I got to know him."  Cedric's arm snaked around you. It was the sole warmth in the world, the only sensation that bled through your stone skin.

"He... he said he wanted to meet you too..." Tears you thought you had shed the last of days ago blurred your vision. You stared at the treeline again, terrified that if you so much as blinked they would spill and never stop spilling. You were an empty chalice, the contents leaked like cracks through your eyes until there was nothing left. Yet time and time again, just when you thought you had been finally hollowed, finally vacant of the pain, the leaking returned. 

His arm tightened, gently hugging you into his chest. You fell against him, buried your face there, unleashing the renewed torrent of tears into his sweater. Your fists balled in his robe, and like the heaving sobs, you swallowed the fear that brewed beneath the sadness and loathing; the connection between you and Voldemort.

You kept it inside, just like you did your secret about Sirius. You didn't want to breathe it into the world, to make it any more real than it was. How would Cedric look at you if he knew a part of Voldemort's soul was inside you? How Voldemort felt for you... Just how big a target was on Cedric's back because of you?

If you were responsible for another death - "I'll protect you next time. I failed you twice. Twice you've disappeared before my eyes. You were pulled away from me and I thought you'd be the one to-" He paused, choking on the thought. You heard a sniffle from above your head and felt his chest shutter with the calming breath he took. "I'm sorry. I know it's selfish, I know you're grieving..." You looked up, cupping one damp cheek in your hand. He stared back down at you, and you kissed the trail of tears down the other cheek, enticing a smile from him before kissing that smile too. Resting your head against his shoulder, you closed your eyes, refusing to look back out the window. You were here right now, with Cedric. Everyone alive was warm and safe. You weren't alone. You had friends who cared. You had Cedric. They were all suffering too. 

This summer would bring chaos and war, but right now, you had to soak in all the calm you could.

Right now. 

~~

        The morning light shone through the woven fibers of the cloak. You laid beneath the invisibility cloak like a blanket, and your bed appeared as empty as you felt. Yet the cloak did not truly erase your existence, and so you laid in your bed, the thin fabric doing little more than your actual blanket to muffle your sobs.

With an underhanded toss, the last article of clothing landed in your trunk. The Dursleys would have made you repack it if they could see its state. The room was quiet, Hannah already packed and gone into the common room. Shutting the top, your thumbs fell onto the locks and you stood back up, grabbing Hedwig's cage from the wardrobe and placing it on top. But you left your luggage there, instead traveling into the common room, where everyone mingled in their casual attire, those of old Wizarding blood in robes while the wizards from families that mingled in Muggle villages and cities were dressed as such. Your own attired was Muggle, and you wondered if when you joined the Wizarding World officially would you choose to dress the same, or put on a pair of robes and saunter about like the old bloods? 

Susan and Hannah were chatting on the sofa, Cedric was across the room with his group, but you sought out neither. Out the common room and into the entrance hall, you stepped through the open door of the dungeon corridor. You realized this was the first time you were going down this serpentine stairwell in your muggle attire that wasn't for detention. T

he torches that marched down the walls of the corridor like sentinels burned dutifully, limning the metal sconces in a sheen of its orange glow. This early in the day, the dungeon torches were still young, their light as boisterous as the Slytherin that loitered about. Some eyed you as you passed with undue suspicion. The knots of gossiping students clogged your path like weeds; their voices were hushed but you heard your name as clear as a heralding trumpet through the draughty hall.

"Can't believe she was telling the truth."

"Hmph, I always knew. Look at his family's history. You know he's cousins to the Blacks?"

"I heard from Blaise that Draco's can't stop crying."

"Well, his father is in Azkaban, and for who knows how long. I'd feel for him if he wasn't such an ass. Coming back home to just his mum..."

"Good. The Malfoys make all us purebloods look bad. I have no pity for Death Eaters."

"It's not like Draco could help it is his family-"

The echo of your footfall cut through their conversation, killing it in an instant. Their faces turned to stone as they slowly swiveled them, watching you pass. Once you passed, their talk continued as if your ears were on the front of your head, "He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named is gonna be mad at her. Hate to be her friends."

"Least she has no family to worry about."

"Think we're even safe in Hogwarts with her? Black broke in a few years back-"

The light grew fainter, the burning torches were less and less common as you made your way to the heart of the dungeons, withering and tremulous. The fire skipped every other sconce, then two, then three, til the hall was dark but for two that clung against a door, only that pocket lit. You rapped the back of your hand against the heavy wooden door. It lazily slid open with a heavy click beneath your knuckles. You pushed it further open and stepped into Snape's office.

You were grateful to find him here, unable to enter the Slytherin common room to search for him and unwilling to ask the Slytherins you passed where he might be. "Yes?" he asked in a bored tone, flipping the page of a tome spread before him until he glanced up from his desk. His black eyes darkened further as they narrowed. The candles that morphed together on the edge of his desk were all lit, though now the iron oil lamp hung from a hook on the ceiling was also alive, giving the room the extra lighting it needed yet still did not fully possess. 

The "Yes?" desolved to a dull, "What," that left his mouth like a thud. You knew this reaction would come, you've seen that look in his eyes since you first met him. The unwelcome feeling that he exuded like an odor couldn't hurt you right now. No mere words could hope to hurt you now that you were empty inside. 

"I never had the chance to tell you, but I just wanted to say thank you."

Snape sat straight as a spear now, the quill sagging in his hand, though his grip tightened. His thin lips disappeared further, swallowed by the depth of his frown like a crevasse. Your thank you hit him like an insult. "Thank you for what? Certainly not for all of the time and effort I've poured into your ears just for it to pass out the other completely untouched." 

"For trying to save Sirius." The enmity couldn't touch you right now. You expected nothing but this from him. You knew his actions with Sirius wouldn't allow you to forgive him for all of his cruelty, or even expect anything like this from him in the future. All you knew was that he had done a single kindness that you would forever be grateful for.

A dry chuckle rattled his throat. "For all the good that did him, hm?" Snape saw it, the flicker of reaction finally hit, but for that retort only. A fresh wound that hadn't even begun to scab, let alone scar. The sheen that threatened tears took your gaze, shimmering it in the candlelight. Those eyes, how he wished to see them cry in despair so many times in the past. Yet now... Snape retracted his gaze to the paper before him. "Is that all, potter?"

"Yes." 

"Well, keep your gratitude. Our association ends here, as the chances of you making my N.E.W.Ts requirements are as likely as Longbottom's toad." For that you were also grateful, but you kept this one to yourself. You turned to leave, your hand on the massive wrought iron door handle, shutting it on your way out. Through the crack of the door, you said, "Goodbye."

To your surprise, you heard a lazy reply from over your shoulder, "Farewell."

(A/N) - I kinda lament not making you Slytherin. Would have made a better dynamic with Malfoy (their friendship could have waned more naturally and less suddenly) and I could have given her friends from other Houses. Like a Gryffindor friend, throwing in a Ravenclaw (they're so underrepresented in the books) and having Cedric be the love lead, so it kinda unites all the Houses. *Shrug* Oh well.

Not gonna lie, I skimmed, just wanted to post this. I'll give it a better eye later, hopefully I didn't fuck up too hard!

Chapter Text

Book Six

        His bare feet crunched the mantle of snow, momentarily disappearing ankle-deep before rising again. The weather was unfelt on his skin, his samites robe a paper shield against the slicing winds. White skin on white snow, the snowflakes vanished as they fell upon him, similar to the sunken imprints behind his heels, like time working in reverse. Trees sprung forth as bare and black as wrought iron lamp posts, the jagged claws of their wooden limbs splayed and fixed in a desperate grasp for the hidden sun. Voldemort's gaze was even and level, but his mind was a storm. The methodical twirling of his wand through spindley fingers was the only hint of his inner angst.

Past the emaciated tree line, he spotted the cottage. Little stone hobble, capped by white patches of snow, with grey lichen weaving over the mortar. The door opened in his path, as though his consistent stride pushed it aside. The family of dust motes that dozed in the single string of wan light cut by the closed curtains were seemingly all the life that existed within, but he knew better. The witch was hiding. That thought evoked relief; she can see the future.

Tom Riddle's face was kept tucked in his pocket, for today he sought to extort, not allure. His true face was the proper tool to reap this effect. His voice was pitched and cold and deadly as splitting ice. "I see your ability is not overstated. You have my word that just as quickly as I have come, I will leave once you've given me what I want," he spoke honestly. Silence was the only response. He expected as much, but irritation nettled his chest regardless. He whipped his wand to the side, slashing the air and throwing all of the dusty contents of the den in its path. The sofa came to pieces against the cold hard wall, the knitted throw pinned beneath it, the antique lamp was shattered, its guts spilled around its head, and the oil lantern that hung from the ceiling pried off and now sat in the hearth in pieces; the woven, tasseled carpet laid atop the pile.

The deafening cacophony of destruction lasted only a moment, leaving the echo of silence.

With an airy sigh from the slits of his nose, he flicked his wand ever so slightly, murmuring a name, and birthed a whisp. The trailing whisp zigged, zagged, and retraced its path - Voldemort padded along, observing the ghost of her stumbling steps as she frantically searched for a spot to hide. The foggy orb trailed into the kitchen, evaporating finally at the bottom cupboard.

"I'm sure you are old enough to remember what happens to those who attempt to defy me," he informed the little door. It was opened by a shakey hand, an old woman with tears staining her bleary eyes staring up at him. 

"I have no way of knowing the prophecy you have lost," she said.

"I did not come here for that. You can thank Dumbledore for my visit, I was only following his footsteps."

"You've come for the same tale he has? Another taste of your future?" She spoke in her native language, but not a single word was lost on his ears. She nodded slowly, her voice shaken by fear, "It is a cold and hot dish, my lord. Oh yes, Indeed I have seen it." Tears began to slide down her cheek, but she continued with a tremulous smile, "I have indeed." He aimed his wand down at her face, "Do not toy with me, Seer."

"I'd dare not lie to you. It was two years ago that I saw your future, in the dead of night, Lord Voldemort, and it was within a vision of mine own death." He narrowed his eyes at her, the truth of her ability solidified now. "Of course. But tell me, was (y/n) Potter within this future?"

Despite the tears of terror that tumbled down her lined face, she appeared to have steeled herself. Voldemort recognized this look, having visited it so often he considered it a friend. "Entwined, years and years, inseparable. Night and day. Sun and moon. None may share the sky, yet both exist within it. But even as the night reins, dawn shall always be on the horizon, and so long as the flame may live, so too will the shadow."

The surge of green light lit the room momentarily before the shadows resettled. The thump of the lifeless body spilling onto the kitchen tile was hidden beneath the two loud cracks that struck outside. They appeared consecutively, almost melding into a single sound, but his ears discerned them individually. He found Snape and Pettigrew waiting. Snape stood straight as a spear, while Pettigrew's back was curved, his narrow shoulders slunk, his silver hand shining by his side in the wan sun. His eyes were flighty, unable to rest on one place for long. His fingers wriggled restlessly, glinting.

He shivered softly, as likely from Voldemort's presence as the weather, while Snape appeared as impervious as Voldemort himself. Unlike Voldemort, every exhale was visible in front of them, Pettigrew's in scattered, sporadic trembling plumes of white smoke, Snape's a single casual stream of mist.

Despite their contrasting dispositions, both folded into a bow. Snape spoke to the snow, "My lord," he began in his even drawl, "the new ministership has been swapped from Cornelius Fudge to Rufus Scrimgeour." From the ground, Pettigrew glared at Snape, as if he wanted to break the news. 

They both raised their torsos, cautious as to the reception this information might have on Voldemort, but he was as unreadable as always. "Scrimgeour...?" he echoed delicately. "Yes, my lord," Pettigrew quickly picked up. "Ex-auror who-"

"I am well aware, Wormtail, who this man is," he cut in dangerously. Pettigrew neck folded just as his torso had as he muttered out apologies to his shoes, which were slowly collecting snow. 

He glanced back to Snape, "And the muggle Junior Minister?"

"Just as you wished, chaos was sowed by the Imperious Curse. The Ministry of Magic has since taken him to St Mungo's."

"And of the muggle Prime Minister...?" he asked, his voice betraying a little hope. The looks of his Death Eaters gave him his answer before they spoke it. It was Snape who was brave enough to informed him, "No one has been able to come within wands range. The Auror Shacklebolt is by his side day and night."

To their fortune, he had already expected as much. "And the giants?"

"The orders were given. West Country. Dolohov and Macnair are going to be joining them to supervise and ensure the destruction is widespread yet contained," Pettigrew informed him, his voice squeezed to a squeak by the anxious fist Voldemort's gaze wrapped around his throat.

"Dolohov does so love wanton destruction," Voldemort commented. Two pronged solution; that man was liable to get himself caught by the Aurors if not kept busy. He looked back to Pettigrew. "Why are you still here...?" As if the soft words were a shout, he jumped in his skin before collapsing into a deep bow. His voice came out in a tide similar to the nervous sweat that dripped down his cold skin, "Yes, my lord, my apologies, my lord, excuse me, my lord," and disappeared with the same crack that had announced his arrival. Voldemort turned to Snape, now in private.

"Bellatrix tells me of Narcissa paying you a visit...?" Snape paused this time. Though not a trace of emotion floated to his face, Voldemort could feel the trepidation leak from his mind. "It is exactly as she says. Narcissa had come to me the other night, Bellatrix on her heels attempting to dissuade her, but I reassured her that you had already commanded me to covertly assist in whatever needs be to assure the fruition of the plan. The shadow that hides the blade."

"Always the shadow, never the blade," he uttered back, to which Snape nodded without hesitation, echoing with stoic confidence, "Always."

A sigh effused the two splits above his knife's-cut mouth, his head lulling from one side to the other as he stretched his neck. "Let us hope the weakness of the mother and inability of the father have not passed onto the boy." The boy's mind had been a treasure trove of memories, every angle, capture over the five years they had shared the castle. He ignored the color each was tinted, and every thought that was written across it. Those were useless at best and annoyances at worst. But each was a precious gem, filling in a few gaps in his understanding.

And it was that ire-inspiring color that allowed him to craft a story that had the boy dancing beneath the strings he placed upon him. The smile he had worn was misinterpreted by the boy who had no idea his mind was being pried open, believing the smile was meant for him. Just like how he had eagerly lapped up every other lie that was given to him. Excited to act the gallant hero, winning the girl and gaining vengeance in the same swing of his wand. Good, let him believe it. Valiant delusion of duty will dull the sharp edge of fear when time comes. 

Worst comes to worst, the boy gets to be reunited with his father. Best comes to best...

"I believe we need not worry. He has always exceeded my expectations in class, and I hear much the same from the other professors. As you of course know, he was made prefect last year as well as a member of Dolores Umbridge's Inquisitional Squad." He studied Voldemort's face closely before asking in a lower, cautious voice, "My lord... Did you... receive what you were hoping for?" Snape's gaze flickered to the black windows of the cottage ever so quickly. Voldemort raised his chin, a hint of exaltation flashing over his eyes like lightning.

"Entwined, years and years, inseparable... So long as the flame may live, so too will the shadow.​​​​​​​" His gaze fell to his hand, long and thin, the joints like stones and the fingers like sticks, the nails the sharp tips of leaves. The hand that held your chin... He traced the memory, posing it the same way, picturing your face. The warmth, softness, feeling of his hand filled. Not just glimpses in his dreams or memories of their's and other's encounter, cut short by incompetence. His lips against you skin, against his signature. The scent of your hair. Having your within his grasp, confined. Completely and utterly within his control. His arms wrapped around your, holding you to him, stealing your right out from under his nose-

But his hand was empty, and thats how he felt inside. Empty, only leaning on memories to fill the gap, but it was like filling a pot with only smoke. Gnawing, irritating, constant. Three years he had been ruminating on this feeling. Misunderstanding it, but panged by it regardless. Like shoes being broken in, the discomfort was being lost every time he met you. But the irritation was equal to the feeling of exuberance when the completion happened. A missing piece that could only be filled by you.

A missing piece. 

Yes. He knows now. This fire in his chest... Fires are dangerous... but can be useful. He will conquer this, as he had so many other inconveniences in the past.

He furled his fingers into his hand, grasping the thought. "Yes. I am quite satisfied."

Chapter Text

        The time at the burrow passed by like a warm breeze, but winter came early elsewhere in the Wizarding world. The ink in the Daily Prophets was never so black, the gossipy news rag darkening into an obituary. As ever you were fed crumbs of information by the Order, so you were forced to pry open the morbid pages to ensure your friends were safe before retreating into the comfortable absurdity of the Quibbler. Mr. Weasley already assured you that the Ministery was guarding after them as closely as they were the burrows, but that solace always disappeared with the arrival of the newest paper and was forgotten during sleepless nights. 

Come the weekend, everyone was huddled around the den's hearth. You watched Mr. Weasley toss the floo powder, step in, and declare for Diagon Alley before vanishing into the flames. Then Ginny ventured forward onto the sooty bricks before doing the same. You were next, clearing your throat as you scattered the glittery dust into the fire and coloring it green again, the violent heat now the pleasant exhale of an oven, and shouted perhaps too loudly, "Diagon Alley!" And just like before you were spun like a top, your eyes clinging before flinging opened as you were flung forward- but your feet were ready, hitting the stone floor instead of your body.

You examined your limbs and found them free of soot, and around you was no shady shop this time, but the Leaky Cauldron. Mrs Weasley appeared a moment later, her skirt spinning around her legs as her body once had. The inn was, for the first time you had ever seen, barren. Even when you stayed here during Sirius's escape, a few bodies dotted the tables and scampered up and down the stairs. Only the animated broom moved through the rows of tables now, and beside Tom, who was hunched gloomily over the front desk, only one other person had occupied the inn. But he was big enough to count for five.

Hagrid took up four seats that kept their sagged shape when he got up, his bushy head only a few feet from the dusty rafters. Without a single thought, your legs were running, and before you could hug him he already had his long arms out and had picked you off your feet, burying your face in his black bristling beard. You had to refill your squeezed lungs, but your smile said breathlessly, "Lucky to meet you here, Hagrid!"

"Ain't luck. I'm yer security, Dumbledore waved away a bunch o' Aurors, sayin' I was the best man fer ta job," his cheeks rosied like big apples with pride. "Just like ol' times, aye? Afternoon, Arthur, Molly!" He leaned his torso to a 90-degree angle to shake Ginny's hand, his mitt engulfing her entire wrist. "And Ginny, 'course."

The glumness of the inn was just a foreshadowing of the street. Rubbish was the primary inhabitance of the barren streets, and Ministry pamphlets stamped by grey boot prints and crumbled in balls trailed like little purple tumbleweeds kicked by the passing wind. The windows that gazed into the campy shops were hidden behind deep black posters with golden signature warning, "Ministery of Magic's Most Wanted," and the others simply read "Missing". Both bordered grey photos; family photos of faces that were smiling and mugshots of rage or indifference were slapped together, giving a sickening association.

Rookwood's craterous complexion molded a callous mien, a bored yawn stretching his jaw as you passed by, blinking his cold, unseeing eyes placidly. The few others on the street held their children close and hurried, keeping their conversations to telling looks and quiet murmurs. The mugshots seemed to bark at their heels, speeding them as they passed like a harassing voice.

The list led you around, Mrs Wealsey bent over hers and Hagrid holding his to his face to see the tiny letters. Your disquiet was piqued at the apothecary, begrudgingly plucking vials and a cauldron off the shelf, solidifying that you had accidentally put yourself back into Snape's dungeon for one last year. With each store the cauldrons grew heavier - not that Hagrid noticed, hooking it around his fingers by the rings like a shopping bag. 

Mrs Wealsey huffed. "You've had another growth spurt over the summer," she was telling you, hand under her chin as she inspected your frame. You glanced down, curious as to what she was intensely appraising. "I'll take 'er t' Madam Malkin, Molly." Still staring at the top of your head, she reluctantly said, "Alright..." Arthur placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "We'll go get your books," he told you and left with Ginny. After sharing a wave you turned down the other side of the street.

"How 'bout some ice cream t' lighten things up?" But the parlor was vacant, Florean Fortescue himself gone, only Bellatrix Lestrange's leer strewn across the blackened windows of his ice cream parlor greeting you. Her cackling scream hit your ears now that you knew its sound, though this time you heard it molding the words, "I killed Sirius!"

His big hand fell on your shoulder in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture, but almost buckled your knees. "Well, c'mon. Best get yer robes sooner t'an later, yeh?"

Thankfully Malkin hadn't abandoned her boutique, her flowery curtains drawn back around the tall windows a reprieving sight. A rack of colorful robes was shoved in the back, while mannequins that occupied the window were draped in stylish robes and hats, changing poses only when you glanced away. Between the mannequins you saw Cedric on the stool, patiently waiting for the seamstress to return. Hagrid had to lower his head to simply peer at the door, then to you. He stood back up. "Might be bit tight in t'ere if I go in with yeh. I'll jus' be out 'ere waitin'." It might have been hard to leave Hagrid's side if you had to stand alone in there, but you tore away with an "I'll be quick!" and dashed inside. The bell sang a tune for your arrival, drawing Cedric's attention. His eyes brightened with mirth the moment they found you and his brown tresses hopped in an echo of his leap off the stool.

"Hey!" You were grateful to wrap your arms freely around him, and he did the same, resting his head on the top of yours while you did against his chest. "How was your summer?" he asked, pulling back just enough to see you without relinquishing his hold. "Eventful," you replied.

"This summer was 'eventful' too, huh? With the Weasleys again?" He glanced and saw Hagrid's back blocking out the window. Lifting a brow, his grin grew a curious tilt. "Or, Hagrid?"

"Both." All the words that flourished bountifully by his sunny presence were reaped when the door was thrown open far harder than it needed to be, colliding with Cedric's back and causing him to stumble a step or two into you. The bell cried like a frightened bird as Malfoy stalked in, his eyes immediately latched onto Cedric. Cedric straightened his back - using his advanced height to his advantage, his intimidating disposition enough to get the message across. His hands were off your back but now held onto your upper arms, which were still touching the sides of his waist. But regardless of the intimate position the two of you were in, Malfoy uttered with his usual chill, "Careful, Diggory." He snarled out the name similar to how Snape would spit Sirius's, "Wouldn't want to get hurt."

Before Cedric could retort, Madam Malkin came bustling over, "I turn my back for one moment and you scurry off. Back to the stool, Diggory. Potter, you go there," she pointed to the stool beside his, "And Malfoy, you there." Even though the boutique was almost empty, she seemed as ragged as a woman serving an entire store. You and Cedric did as you were told, but Malfoy chose his own, the last in the row.

She readjusted the draped cloth around Cedric's shoulders and began to work with speed as she pinned his robe to his frame. "We're getting a new professor," you told him. He smirked, "I would have assumed, given what happened to Umbridge." Insight glimmered in his eyes as he continued, "Would this happen to be connected to one of the events in your full summer?"

You wondered how you would phrase the former half of your summer. Your arms raised as Madam Malkin's hand appeared around you as she draped the black cloth and began pinning. "I was with Dumbledore when he hired him." His brow raised, "Wow, eventful indeed. What's he like?" You recounted the choicest pieces of the encounter; the chair costume, the dragon's blood facade, the clever tongue and mannerisms. Cedric chuckled, his pearly grin a fixture throughout. "Another interesting one? That's six interesting professors in a row."

Down the row, Malfoy was a white shadow, dressed for the part in a black buttoned blazer above a black turtleneck and black slacks, oddly smart for someone simply going shopping for school supplies. You had blissfully forgotten his presence completely, lost in Cedric's, until you heard him shout behind your head, "Ouch! Watch it!"

A dull thudding hit your ears as you turned your head toward the scene. On the floor was a thin rectangular box smartly wrapped and packaged in black ribbon. Malfoy was off his stool in a blink. He held it in his fist protectively, positioning it close and low as if to conceal its presence. Madam Malkins stood with her back straight, "Aim those angry eyes at a mirror, boy. Your flinching made it fall from your pocket."

"You pricked me!"

"Then you best learn to stand still. Now get back on the stool so I can finish your robes," Malkin scolded back shortly. He was about to retort til he noticed your caught attention. Only this time, he did not relish it. "On other thought," he began, "Twifitt and Tattings might be the better spot. Any other company would be better company..." and yanked the fabric over his head and threw it to the ground, the box falling into his cauldron before waltzing out, the door gratefully singing his farewell. 

Malkin's neatly pinned hair was fraying. "Well, really," she huffed, her hand idly whipping at the fabric and collecting every shiny pin with invisible fingers before returning her attention to you two. "What was that about...?" you whispered to Cedric while Malkin's needles and thread flowed through the cloth around you. The little box was long enough for a quiver of quills, you considered. But why would he be so protective of some stationary? And the packaging was familiar, but where...? But Cedric seemed less intrigued, and his dubious expression gave you your answer before he even said, "You mean when the spoiled prat acted like a spoiled prat?"

A soft chuckle met his retort, an attempt at exhaling the curiosity Malfoy's outburst had planted along with it. After the fitting, you and Cedric found Hagrid chatting with Amos Diggory. "Good to see you, (y/n)! Doesn't happen nearly often enough! We need to fix that, Ced, when all this... erm, ahem, nastiness clears itself up... Ced, I've got your Potion supplies. Didn't want to interrupt," Amos added a wink that set fire to his son's complexion. Hagrid had an equal grin, "Get e'erythin'?" You nodded, and Hagrid offered the cauldron, allowing you to deposit it there, while Cedric added his to his own. 

"Want me to get your quills and ink, Ced?" Amos offered, recasting the shy warmth across Cedric's cheeks. "I would appreciate it." With one last glimpse over his shoulder, Amos was off. "Malfoy give yeh trouble?" Hagrid asked as you all walked down the street. "He gave Miss Malkin trouble," you replied. He grunted. "Well, don' worry none. He wouldn' try nothin' in Diagon Alley in front o' e'eryone."

"What do you mean, Hagrid?" you inquired. The professor flinched as if he was struck. "N-Nothin'! Yeh know teh Malfoy's, rotten lot, wouldn' put it past 'im to curse yer hair ta worms or somet'in' like t'at just fer a laugh. C'mon, times 'a'wastin'." Hagrid's steps consumed even more of the road, leaving you and Cedric behind in only a few strides. You peered at Cedric with pointed suspicion, but he purposefully avoided it.

After gathering a box of owl treats in Eeylop's Owl Emporium and admiring some beautiful owls who dozed, the two of you were off the feather-carpeted floors and back onto the street. Cedric was conscious of the hand that swayed beside his own, but also of Hagrid. But every eye was gathered to the new shop that shouldered its way from between the two businesses, appearing to have leeched the color and customers from its neighbors and hoarded it for itself. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was traced in little lightbulbs that would intermittently fizzle and crack like sparklers.

The hand Cedric had been peering out earlier clasped around his. "C'mon! It's Fred and George's store! Let's go look!" Cedric looked from the store to you and followed along with your pull, leaving Hagrid trailing behind. You saw a glimpse of red hair in the window. "The Weasleys are already inside. You don't have to go in," you told Hagrid, who appeared relieved. 

"A'right, I got ter get a few bobs 'n ends fer meself. I'll be back in two shakes o' a niffler's tail, so jus' wait fer me," he said before walking off. Your hands stayed together comfortably as you entered the shop, your eyes and heads on a swivel at every sight in wonderment - it was like stepping into a living memory of your first time in Diagon Alley, every sight hitting the eye like a fireworks display. All of the bodies missing from the streets were packed inside; all the smiles were hoarded here, with happy chatter and amused laughter warming the air. Pink and white pinstriped wallpaper clad two walls, while mint and grey washed the others. The skiving boxes were now professionally boxed and sat on the front display; tongue-shrinking sourballs were the most popular, with only two battered boxes left. Trick wands burst from barrels, one boy waving the wand before receiving a pummeling that incited laughter. 

"Fistful Fitful Fireworks!" a sign read, with a drawing of a dragon that swished and swirled like a fish in water. The dragon weaved beneath the instructions on the bottom, "Throw 'em and explode 'em!" Below was a barrel of loose, colorful rocks. Standing beside a shelf of canary creams was a hat wrack that hung a handful of tophats, each with a single red feather sticking out of the band. "Invisible Hats," the sign proclaimed, and when a skeptical face would try it out, their expression was gone in an instant. Down the aisle, two first years were playing with the display for a rigged wizarding chess set; as the rook crossed the board, a pawn extended his leg and tripped him

You and Cedric pushed through the crowd, finding even more near the counter; patented daydream potions that advertised various thirty-minute scenarios from romantic to adventurous to relaxation. Pretty vials swirling with pearlescent concocts that varied color depending on the branded scenes. "Virtually undetectable by professors!" the sign boasted, while smaller text disclaimed; "Side effects may include drooping faces, drooling, and embarrassing mutters."

Blue bubbles swam above heads, the trail leading back to one of the twins. George was standing on the counter giving a demonstration of a pack of Babbleberry Burping Bubbles to the delight of all those huddled around, filling the air with sweet-scented bubbles. You were among the clapping masses, and when he saw you and Cedric, he lept from the counter. "Come for some Skiving Sweets?" George asked, clearly having worked out the stammering kink from the candy. "Guess neither of you would be needing a daydream potion, aye?" he winked. Cedric blushed lightly, "This is phenomenal. If only you put this much work into Transfiguration, you'd be Professor McGonagall's favorite students." 

"It's her own fault she never saw our genius herself," Fred said from behind. He found his place beside his brother, matching in burgundy robes draped over pinstriped suits. "School shopping? Have you seen our advanced learning section?" A long arm swept behind your backs and he ushered you to the 'advanced learning section.' Stands full of spell-correcting, clever-answering, and ink-dribbling quills sat beside boxes of trick parchment that cleaned all and any ink from its fibers. He plucked a few quills and shoved them on you. "Here. Help yourself. You're good as family."

"Take it? I couldn't-"

But he was wholly uninterested in your protests, continuing to Cedric, "And for the virtuous Headboy..." His hand clasped Cedric's, leaving a box labeled Spit Swappers; Strawberry Flavor. His face shifted from shocked to appalled before reigning into ashamed consideration. "What is it? A cheat quill?" you inquired, unable to see the item during the slide of hand.

You assumed it must have been some kind of cheat magic by his reaction, and it was no great surprise he might consider it, given it was his last year. His hand emptied into the pocket of his robe, and he couldn't meet your curious gaze as he murmured, "Something like that, yes." 

Squealing took your attention off Cedric, and you spotted Ginny by the window fawning over the pygmy puffs in the little paddock they floated around. A deep "Awww," took your own mouth, but when you approached the window, you were pulled off the cuddly creature by the black blur in the corner of your eye. Malfoy scurried across the street, his head on a swivel. "Curious about the pygmy puffs?" Fred asked, pulling you from your thoughts. "The ideal pet, all cuddles with no messy puddles."

"Yeah, I'll go look at them."

You shot ahead toward the window before pivoting and circling back around, your hand making a clandestine sweep over the barrel of Fistful Fireworks, slipping a stone into your palm. The Weasleys did say you could help yourself... Your feet kept moving while your eyes stayed fixed on Malfoy. Sirius was murdered because you were tricked, and you couldn't let it happen again. As much as you loved them, you resented that the Order kept you in the dark, even now, even after all that had occurred right in the heart of the Ministry. So much must be happening, even as you doddle among the toys and wonders. If you had only known a little more... Your fist squeezed the petrified firework ever so slightly. It can't happen again. It won't.

Navigating the maze of aisles, your pace didn't slow even at the door, escaping with a hop back onto the quiet street. Like the skilled Chaser he was, Cedric clung to your leporine heels, emerging out of the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes after you. "What happened? Where are you going?" Your eyes were riveted to the dreary path that led into Knockturn. Cedric tried to anchor you by taking your hand, but when you flew off again, he was instead pulled in tow. 

"I saw something." You could feel something in your bones. Something bad. Why was he all alone? What was inside that package he was so protective of? What could he need in Knockturn that wasn't soaked in Dark magic?

"See what?? You can't just go off on your own, it's dangerous."

"It was Malfoy." Cedric's patience seemed infinite. "Shouldn't we be running the other way then?" he joked, but his efforts bore fruitless as your hand slipped free from his. Peering past the corner that bordered the crooked road of Knockturn Alley, you only saw an empty road. "He must have gone into one of the shops," you murmured primarily to yourself. You shrugged off your bag and fuddled through it. "What business would he have in Knockturn Alley?" 

"I have a better question, why care?" The invisibility cloak unraveled from the belly of your bag, and Cedric's brow rose in surprise when the arms beneath disappeared along with the fabric. "Where did you get one of those?"

In a sweeping wave, the fabric tide washed over your frames and cleaned your bodies from sight, leaving the path beneath your feet bare. "Dumbledore, it was my father's. Now shhh."

With all the grace of a troupe of novice mummers miming a dragon, you passed the wrought iron post and followed the pointing black hand jutting from the sign that guided your way down the shady alley. The cobblestones were worn and cracked, the moss that grew in the mortar between them the only color in the cornucopia of grey and black. Decades of grime tinted the windows, which likely served the dubious shopkeepers just fine, but hindered your investigation.

"(y/n), we should really-"

"Shhh! Just a little more."

And just a little more was all you needed as the search ended itself when the culprit freely surrendered himself. The twist of a doorknob hit your ears after the less-than-surreptitious shout, "-will be paying a visit if I hear another excuse!" Just behind your backs, the chipped door of Borgin and Burkes flew open, concealing Malfoy behind it.

"And if it ends up sold, you'll be missing from this hobble the same day!"

In the fluid motion of a curtain being thrown back, Malfoy punctuated his threat by slamming the door, rattling the glass in its old pane. He grunted in perceived indignance while the man behind the shaken pane appeared thoroughly wracked.

That's the packaging you recognized, from when you had accidentally ended up in Borgin and Burkes! When he turned his back to return to Diagon Alley, you knew it was your only chance to act unseen. Your empty hand filled itself in your trouser pocket, and then the petrified firework flew. It landed at his feet and burst to life, leaving a splattering of paint on the broken cobblestone to mark its birthplace. He gasped at the sudden firey appearance and nearly fell backward. It soared around him, diving as lithely and playfully as a butterfly. The colorful crackling sparks that were the dragon's flesh tapped Malfoy's cheek ticklishly as it twirled and whirled, coaxing him to play along.

He dropped his cauldron as he stumbled back, the clanking and clattering a cacophony against the hard cobblestone road. The black ribboned box tripped out along with a few vials that cracked and shattered, littering the street with bits of herbs and mushrooms. The ribbon slipped loose in the tumble, splitting the box open, and a necklace flung out like a metal tongue. The sky was overcast, but the huge red gem still glittered in a pink sheen.

"Bloody hell!" Malfoy exclaimed, his arms held around his face in retreat from the fiery beast. "Get off!" You bolted forward, your grasping hand escaped the cloak as it shot out. Your fingertips were inches from the jewelry when Cedric grabbed your other arm, jerking you back. "Don't!" Cedric whispered through clenched teeth. But you were willfully deaf to the advice, your free arm continuing to stretch, grasping uselessly. Your fingers clenched around the air and you flinched back at the lashing shout.

"That's ENOUGH!"

You peered up to find Malfoy's wand out. His arm slashed the air like a sword, and in the path the colorful dragon was severed in two. The crackling sparks died as soon as they burst, crawling up the length from the injury, and within a few seconds, the miniature dragon was gone with what almost sounded like a whimper. "Wretched damn thing..." His hair was tousled by the struggle, silver strands strewn around his face. The depth of his scowl pantomimed as an upside-down smile. He ran his fingers through the thrown locks, gathering them as well as his composure, and looked down at the fallen box. Ignoring the other spilled contents, an incantation drifted softly from his lips as the tip of his wand swirled in the air above the box, and as if time was being reversed, the two halves swallowed the necklace and raised into the air before sliding back into his waiting palm. 

His glare slid up from his hand ever so slightly, and your heart nearly stopped when your eyes met. But those grey orbs continued to rise, then turned side to side and behind him, scouting the seemingly empty street for the master behind the prank. He straightened his back, his eyes on a slow swivel that brushed over you yet again, conjuring a chill as he murmured faintly, "...(y/n)...?"

Cedric broke his stony stance and silently ushered you away. You reluctantly acquiesced, walking backward at first, refusing to relinquish visual hold of Malfoy. He stood as a barrier between the entrance back to Diagon, so you and Cedric were forced to press further into Knockturn Alley. 

You wandered deeper into Knockturn, deeper than you had ever treaded; black wrought iron lamps carved through the shadows that the rows of businesses cast. Cedric dipped between two buildings that leaned into one another like drunken companions. He finally yanked the cloak from your heads. His forehead was sheened by stress.

You threw your exulting gaze to Cedric, only to be met with irritation. "Can we please go back now?" Despite his pinched brow, he kept an even tone. 

"Go back?? I was right! What was that? Why would he want a necklace?"

His arms crossed stubbornly. "I don't know, a gift for his mother?"

"Yeah right. Mother's Day shopping at Borgin and Burkes?? Perhaps he'll stop at Gore's Garden for some poison roses next??" The joke seemed to only nettle Cedric further.

"Cedric, his father was a Death Eater and so is his mum probably. His aunt is Bellatrix Lestrange, for Merlin's sake. You saw how evil the Malfoys are with your own eyes. Did you see how that guy behind the counter looked?! He was nearly in tears! And-"

"I thought we were having a nice day," Cedric interrupted. "I haven't seen you all summer, I was so worried, your name's all over the Daily Prophet in ways that will only attract the worst attention..." ...and now that I was lucky enough to bump into you, you'd rather follow around Malfoy, but he refused to let the black thought escape his lips. 

"Yeah, because of wizards like Malfoy's slimey father! And now Malfoy's following in his footsteps, becoming a Death Eater too!"

"Look, I know you've had a very stressful few months since..." The sound of your breath being sharply sucked in cut his sentence in half. "Don't you dare... don't you dare act like I'm crazy... not you..."

"No, wait, I didn't mean it like that-"

Like a passing cloud, a shadow was cast over your head, and you flinched similarly to a clap of sudden thunder when the bass voice reprimanded, "(y/n)..." Hagrid stood with his arms crossed, a jug of slug-be-gone in your cauldron. "When I said wait fer me, I meant at teh Weasley's shop, an' yeh knew tha'."

You were dragged back like a scolded child, Cedric following loyally by your side. Despite the earlier argument, your goodbye was accompanied by a peck on the cheek and a tight hug. The eyes and titters were easily ignored when you were in his arms.

"I'll see you in a few weeks, ok?" Even when he pulled away, he kept a hand on your shoulder.

"Yeah. I'll see you." Your mind was now split, half present with Cedric and the other spirited to the past, dropped back between the shelves of crystal balls. A palm slithered from the trailing black cloak, laid flat and extended out toward you, beckoning.

"Just slowly come to me and hand me the orb, and you won't get yourself hurt."

A pale, left arm marked by a twisting, black tattoo. 

Chapter Text

        "I will not be the one to inform the Dark Lord of this news, I will not! Such results as these are absolutely unacceptable, and I refuse to sully the prestigious house of Carrow by cosigning this. Refuse!"

"Well, I cert'nly ain't gonner do it."

"Oh, settle down, Alecto. Have you no faith in your sister? Amycus will pry that thrice-damned Auror from his side, then all that needs-" Draco shut the bedroom door, shutting out the conspiracy with it. His house no longer felt like his own with these people infesting it, their voices scurrying through every hall like phantom rats. Sometimes, from the corner of his eye, he couldn't tell a shadow from one of his father's companions. Even werewolves moved freely about. His father never would have allowed for this. But his father was gone.

'For now.' A finger hooked in the knot on his tie, loosening it. He would be wearing a tie every day starting tomarrow, why was he forced to wear one now? The answer was obvious; he had to look smart in case he appeared. And he always appeared so suddenly, never a warning... Never a warning for Draco atleast...

He needed some air. Striding to his balcony, he pushed open the twin French doors only to find more Death Eaters in the garden, black weeds planting themselves between the lanes of forever-flowering hedges and potted saplings, choking the view of the lavish greenery. The sky was slate, the sun a smear of white on the grey canvas. The bridge of his nose wrinkled at the sight, and he retreated back to the one area that was solely his.

His sanctuary was cavernous and dark, green of various shades the dominant color. The bed was a pool of velvet and silks, the duvet a deep green veined by swirls of black and trimmed in gold thread. A congregation of plush throw pillows piled orderly at the top, never once organized by his own hand. The headboard and frame were the same lacquered black that composed the rest of the furniture and lacked in ornamentation no more than its siblings. A chandelier loomed like a glass moon, the tiny plates of glass laced with precious goblin-forged silver.

Draco glanced up as he crossed the large room, his eye brushing against the newest painting his aunt Bellatrix had gifted him as an early birthday present, some great-great noble-noble ancestor on the Black side of his family. Did she think he was such great a fool as to believe that? He knew very well it spied on him, could feel its eyes, but he would give it nothing lustrous to feed to his informers. He would never betray him.

He stepped past the open trunk, only a few things packed, every article folded with magical precision, though not by his wand. The sleek marble duplicated the sharp clacking heels of his black leather loafers while the grand mirror that presided at the heart of the expansive bathroom did the same for his image. His hands fell on either edge of the ornate basin in an exhausted manner. At the presence, the serpentine-wrought spout obediently spat water, the soft trickle almost like a hiss, the small stream a translucent tongue. 

The manor was quieter than usual, yet noisier at the same time; whispers and murmurs and the carrying echo of dimmed conversations filled every space. Though every one of these 'visitors' was well acquainted with his father, nearly all were strangers to Draco. Yet he was forced day in and day out to wear his father's face. It was all so tiring.

But he had to be strong.

For his mother as well as his father. His bones must become steel; his heart as cold and black as iron. 

Draco can do it, will do it. He believed in him, and how could he doubt him? He was the greatest wizard to ever live. Even greater than Dumbledore... Dumbledore... The cold porcelain steeped into his palms, but the discomfort was numb to his distant mind. He tightened his grip. 'That damnable ancient bastard.' 

Running a soothing hand through the platinum strands that hung above his forehead, he pushed the fringe off his face and lifted his head, regarding himself. Draco allowed himself a moment to admire his reflection; he always appreciated that he had inherited the ashen hair and eyes of his Malfoy bloodline, while his mother gifted him his lithe, willowy figure, which those of the Black bloodline tendered toward.

But his thoughts were wrestled away from his grasp by another's, one that reached out from the oily tenebrous that pooled like a lagoon in his subconscious. Soft as velvet, the voice whispered into his mind; but Draco, aren't you rather too slim? is your complexion not burgeoning on peaky? and certainly, aren't you shorter than a particular person? wouldn't you, perhaps, benefit from some muscle mass? after all, doesn't she prefer sportier frames?

The fingers settled in his hair began to curl, his nails slowly raking against his scalp. He tried to mime a smile, but all he saw was a cold, judgemental smirk, as if that treacherous voice was using his own face to make mock. Cedric's smile was so naturally friendly, inviting reciprocation like honey to bees.

Draco dropped it, the strings that held up the corners of his lips snapping. A reprieving distraction came when he heard rustling through the open doorway. The house elf, he knew, was taking the opportunity to pack his case unseen. It wasn't an easy task, as Draco had been spending more and more time in his room. The anger toward himself sublimated to irritation at the poor house elf; couldn't he do it quietly? 

He splashed the cold water on his face, blanching it further, but the thought chilled deeper than mere flesh, 'What does it matter how you look? She'll soon hate you.' 

Even if he believed you would ever listen to his explanation let alone trust him, such transparency was physically impossible. His tongue was locked by magic so powerful no wand but his could pick it. 'She's never understood before, why would she now? She'll finally, truly hate you.' He tried to convince you last year, and it was all for naught. His wet fingers slid over his tired face, rubbing his tired eyes and slicking his pale hair against his pale skull. You'll try to stop him, he knew it in his bones. It both excited and terrified him. The thought brought a tremulous smile back to his lips. Draco had finally abandoned the hope that some miracle would bring you to him, that you might see the rushing tide of love that resided just beneath his frozen surface - that you might reward this devote he relentlessly held... No, he knew after he had done what needed to be done to protect you - save you - from the wrinkled clutches of that foolish old man, Draco's future was guaranteed; you would never be able to love him.

But even if those beautiful eyes refused to regard him with love, at least he could still look into them with love. Even if you couldn't realize it.

It was a burden that was worth bearing, though not one that shed a drop of guilt. Dumbledore had it coming. He was willing to use your very life like a cudgel, so forfeiting his own was only fair. 

Draco wasn't some low-life, scum-swilling murderer; he wasn't murdering someone, he was saving someone. He had already told him such many times, along with the reassurance that that cowardly old bastard would only be getting what he deserved; these assurances were whispers at first, like the ghostly sounds of a record player playing in a neighboring room, but they were now blaring like a foghorn. Straightening his back, he redonned his shroud of dignity and began fixing his cufflink.

When he stepped out he saw the trunk was packed and sat upright, the leather straps buckled in place. He heard his mother through the door, her voice tight and pensive. "Draco? Are you alright?" She asked this question constantly, always out of the blue. She should be proud of him, not frightened. "Yes, Mother." His hand slipped into his pocket, the dragon scale hairpin he had nicked during the Triward Tournament nestled in his palm.

Cedric may have your heart, but Draco held your very life in his hands. 

Chapter Text

        You hovered over the makeshift goal while Ginny raced through the air, a patched and beaten Quaffle in her hand as she slipped past you effortlessly, chucking clean through. You found it fortuitous that you had tried out for Seeker, as Keeper and Chaser were not your expertise. When you switched to Chaser and she assumed Keeper, she stalked the goal, every Quaffle you lobbed either struck the ring or whichever appendage she used to catch it.

The bedroom door parted open with a creaking welcome, wobbling on its poor old hinges. The dust-muted curtains were drawn, the only light coming from the lantern that hung above the old bed. With a few tired blinks, it flickered on, oozing stale yellow. Hedwig's cage was hung from the curtain bar, currently empty. She must have been enjoying her time here as much as you were.

Your trunk sat at the foot of the bed. You took a moment to appreciate the wear and tear that had told of your past five years. A hand brushed against it as you walked by, the taut leather now softened with age, and the past that was immortalized in memory washed over you; that scent of fresh leather which was the original passenger within the case. A donation from Hogwarts, likely behested by Dumbledore himself, who always seemed to divine such knowledge. The Hogwarts crest that nestled in the center was faded and scratched; you wouldn't change it for all the world.

Everything was already packed, including the few things you had smuggled below the loose floor board in Privet Drive; the galleon winnings, the floo powder Hannah had sent you, and the picture of you and Cedric you had cut out from Daily Prophet. You met the bed with a satisfying plop - and the mattress springs griped like an onerous old man, the residual bouncing as if it was trying to shove you off. Your limbs sprawled out, one leg hanging off the edge.

The creaking of the bed awoke the scratching again. The attic was directly above the bed, where planks of plywood were ominously nailed to the ceiling, keeping it closed. The sight and sounds made sleep at night all that harder, but whatever was kept at bay in there had yet to escape.

"If the twins survived it, so can I," you mused dully, the fear of that thing widdled by the safe nights of this blissful summer. The wind blew in, fluttering the curtains and allowing a strip of apricot sunlight to peer in. You lulled your head toward it, feeling the spring wind brush against your cheeks as gently as a friend, gifting a breath of fresh air. The air in the old bedroom still reeked of gunpowder, clinging to the walls for dear life. Along with the curious roommate above your head and the smell, you shared the twin's old bedroom with a plethora of boxes you assumed to be their leftover belongings.

The sunset outside was beautiful, a strawberry sea rippled by lavender clouds. The air was equally sweetened with the freshly bloomed spring flowers. You were happy here. You were allowed a taste of what it was like to be a part of a family - a taste of what Sirius had promised... "It won't be stuffy, lots of windows and sunlight. No Kreacher or cobwebs or screaming paintings. Just us. London or somewhere countryside or by the sea. Your choice."

Tears sprang to your eyes in a single blink, blurring all of the colors of the sunset together. These spontaneous bursts of sorrow were becoming less frequent, but a fresh coat of paint does nothing to repair a moldering brick wall, you would never be how you were. Like the spidery face of a cracked mirror, your life was irreparable, divided forever into before and after Sirius's death. The void that he left behind would always swell, flooding whatever space you allowed to become vacant in your mind. In these moments you drowned; but never died. Your breath was always caught again.

Yet still, Sirius's memory would always haunt you, felt but never seen. And when you were finally alone, it would creep over your shoulder and softly tap, asking if you had forgotten him. In these moments, everything had died along with him, and you were all alone.

But that wasn't true. Your loved ones were still alive and breathing, comfortable in their own homes and safe.

For now, that voice whispered.

You hugged yourself, allowing the tears to freely glide down the sides of your face, tacking the strings of hair to your skin. "I won't let it happen again."

~~

        When summer came to an end, all your belongings - the only things you owned - were trotted down the stairs and into the boot of a ministry car. The shunning the Ministry had shown you just earlier that year was turned upside down along with the headlines. They now deemed you precious cargo, and you wondered if they believed the same prophecy the Daily Prophet kept espousing. Scrimgeour at least seemed to believe the Chosen One might be you; he seemed to be running the Ministry better in general. 

Hedwig sat on your lap and was lifted by your hand once at the station. You arrived earlier than you ever had, the wide white face of the station clock telling as much. The only members of the Order present were the Weasley's, the gap in security filled by the two Aurors in muggle suits who traveled at either end of your group. Politesse were rebuked with silence, the shepherding was brusque, but the pair did not take your safety for granted; bracketing you loyally, they dashed through the brick wall lock-in-step.

Wand-hands tucked in coat pockets, the Aurors were casing the platform when Ginny leapt through the enchanted bricks, followed closely by Mr. and then Mrs. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley looked flustered by the chauffering. She let it out a sigh through her nose, taking a quick moment to reorganize her ruffled hair (you felt a pang at the sight of grey that crept through the field of red like weeds. When had they cropped up?). You pulled your luggage off the trolley while Mrs. Weasley let out her stress by fussing over Ginny. She scurried off as soon as she could, disappearing among the other worried parents as Mrs. Weasley turned her attention to you.

She side-eyed the Aurors, whose attention was everywhere else. "It was a pleasure having you at our home," she said oddly formally. "It's been rather quiet since the twins had left, and having another voice to fill the home was appreciated."

"It was the best summer of my life, Mrs. Weasley," you breathed, the transparent truth of the statement cleansing the tenebrous embarrassment. As if holding back a pained scream, her mouth screwed tightly and her chested expanded with emotion. Your gratitude turned to horror when her eyes began to sparkle with the sheen of fresh tears, but before you could speak she had captured you in an embrace so tight it squeezed the air from your lungs.

"Hey! That's close enough!" a foreign voice barked - one that could only be one of the Aurors. Mrs. Weasley lifted her head from the crown of yours and fiercely began to scold the Auror, "What I do with my children is none of your-" 

You inclined your chin to peek over her arms (which, though were now thinner than when you had first met her, had become bulked in the plushness of the wool jumper) to see that the Aurors were not accosting Mrs. Weasley, but Hannah. She stood dumbfounded a few yards away, her head cocked to the side as she inspected the two men. Even if she wasn't sure exactly who these muggle-looking men were, the authoritative tone was enough to give her caution.

Mrs. Weasley slowly unraveled her arms, clicking her tongue, "Goodness sake, can't you distinguish a little girl from a-" Mr. Weasley put his hand on her shoulder, and then the other on yours. "You should get going. If you'd like, we've already arranged, if you'd like, for you to spend Christmas with us again. It's all worked out with Dumbledore."

"Please," you replied, and after a brief hug for Mr. Weasley, you trotted off to Hannah. Behind you, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley waved, their hands conjoined between them. When Mrs. Weasley reached up to gather the tear that had rebelliously spilled from her lashes, Mr. Weasley wrapped an arm around her shoulder. 

"Who're they?" Hannah asked in a furtive whisper as you made your way toward the train, her head twisted over her shoulder. "Aurors. Guess the Ministry thought I might need them." 

"They're prickly enough..."

You heard his footsteps before you saw him. Cedric abandoned his luggage and scooping you up from behind, twirling you around. your toes skimmed the ground and even lifted for a moment, and when he finally set you back down, your head was swimming. "Finally," he breathed onto the crown of your head. Spinning around, you stumbled a little, but his strong arms supported you. He squeezed hard, and then harder, lifting til your heels hovered. It was as though he had forgotten it was simply weeks since you last saw each other.

An arm linked into yours, you were finally pried from his grasp. "Trying to absorb her, Cedric?" she teased him. He still refused to let go, your woven fingers stretching your arms as Hannah pulled.

Susan came scurrying over, feeling better having seen everyone safe with her own eyes. Her plait bobbed with her stride. "Summers are usually so short, but this one was so long! Morning, Chosen One," she greeted you, causing your cheeks to redden again. 

Cedric bristled, "No Chosen One business. (y/n) is (y/n)."

"I agree. Please, for one year, let's let things be normal," Hannah groaned. 

You all shuffled into the gleaming red train, but your hand had to disconnect from Cedric's as he went into the prefect's car with Hannah. There was a plethora of empty cars, but you stopped when you saw Luna. The Quibbler was tucked in her hands and resting upside down, but she was so enraptured she hadn't noticed your arrivals. It wasn't until a bauble fell out of Susan's trunk and tapped her on the head that she looked up.

Luna patted her own head. "Hello."

"I'm sorry. Hello."

"Hiya." The train horn sounded and the last on the platform trickled in. Luna and Susan chat surprisingly pleasantly, as Susan had picked up a Quibbler subscription over the summer to get as much information from as many sources as possible. You stared out the window, reminiscing on Knockturn Alley, and as though summoned by your thoughts, Malfoy stalked past the window frame into your view, his mother dogging after him.

She fawned over him but he rebuffed her and walked off, his goons coming up and following him. Your nose nearly touched the glass as you watched him, and you were surprised that he hadn't felt your eyes, which probed at his attire, namely his sleeves.

You looked up to see Susan was also staring intensely out the window, before peering back at you. "What'd you see?"

"A wrackspurt? It is the season for them," Luna suddenly put in ponderously. "Yes, maybe." You grabbed your bag, getting up. "Where are you going?" Susan asked, familiarity begetting suspicion at your ways. Luna saved you, shouting out, "Wrackspurt!!" before rolling up her magazine and swatting at the dust motes. You took the break in the moment, "I'm hungry, so I'm gonna grab something from the lunch cart, want anything?" and left before anyone could reply. 

You slipped on the cloak and stalked down the hall. The train began to rumble to life beneath your feet, wobbling your balance. Stopping at the prefect cart, you could hear loud talking from inside. You leaned in just in time to miss the door that slammed open, hitting the other side. "Stop! He's not worth it, Cedric!" Hannah said as Ernie slipped out, afraid of what might happen next. Cedric had his wand out and pointed at Malfoy, his eyes brown flames. Malfoy glared up at him but a taunting smile was on his lips. "Does the truth hurt, Diggory?"

You had never seen him so angry; his eyes were wide, the irises hazel flames, his sculpted brow shoved together, fists hung like stones at his sides. Malfoy stared up at him, almost willing him to do something, the simper curled on his face while his hand resided in his pocket, likely wrapped around his wand. Cedric moved suddenly, and for a moment you thought he was going to attack him, but he only twisted around and stomped out. Even Malfoy seemed to think the worst, as his wand was half out his pocket. He expelled the tension through let out a smug laugh through his nose, "Well it is true. He isn't the only one to snog her."

The other prefects exited as well, following Cedric with disgusted sneers at him. Malfoy simply lifted his feet and placed them crossed on the seat in front of him. "You'd think he'd be used to ugly truths, dating her and all."

'What has this creature been saying?!' You heard from down the corridor, "Where's (y/n)?"

"She said she was getting snacks at the food cart," you heard back. Hannah gave a look into the hall right through you and with a shrug went back in. You gathered yourself back up, and pressed your ear to the glass. The curtains that framed the window jostled with the train. Pansy leaned into Malfoy, resting against his shoulder, clearly soaking in the alone time. "So true," she said dreamily, holding her chin up at him as though she expected a kiss, but he was looking elsewhere, and continued on in his rant, "I had the misfortune to bump into them both in Diagon Alley. One would have been bad enough, but I suppose they come in a set these days," his mouth was sneering with his anger, "Chosen One, they're calling her. Chosen to fail miserably."

"Ribbit."

You found Trevor sitting by your feet. "What the..." Did he escape Neville? You took another glance at Malfoy, seeing his mouth move but the voice too vague over the rumbling of the train, and picked up Trevor, startling him a tad until you took off the cloak and shoved it into your bag. One last look at him, you turned to rejoin your friends. Just as you passed it by, a door opened. "There you are, Potter," the girl filled the gap between you, holding out a letter, "For you," before turning and going back into the car without another word. The paper was a pale green, and sealed by a golden ribbon that shone in the lantern light. 

You placed Trevor in your bag. Putting him on top of your bunched-up cloak, which acted as a convenient bed for him, and leaving the zipper open a crack, you opened the letter.

(y/n) Potter,

I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C.
Sincerely, Professor Slughorn.

The brevity was odd, the black words nearly lost in the entirety of the green parchment. And then the letter combusted into purple strings of confetti right when your eyes touched the period after Slughorn's name. The confetti burst into sparkles, disappearing into the air. You slung the bag daintily over your shoulder and headed over.

Inside was already filled to the brim; Neville looked eternally relieved to see a new friendly face, and Ginny was sat at the opposite end of him, beside another boy you didn't recognize. She was engaged in a glaring contest with Blaise, but broke it when you came in, offering you a warm wave. Neville was sandwiched between a large lad who looked like he could topple even Marcus Flint and Zabini Blaise, whose presence dialed the temperature down a few degrees. The latter stared at you with great interest, a toothy grin spread across his broad face. 

Slughorn regarded you with all the warmth Zabini lacked, "There you are, m'girl! And like that my collection is complete!" He chuckled heartily at his own joke, but you couldn't help find a tad disconcertment in it. His voluptuous and manicured white mustache traced the outline of his mouth like a second smile, and a red bowtie just beneath his chin looked stranglingly tight. He was draped in a smart deep purple velvet robes with a deep green vest that's black buttons were strained against his stomach, pulling tauter as he laughed. You shuffled into the tight space, sliding beside Ginny and in front of the burly boy.

"Are you acquainted with everyone, (y/n)?? This bright burly boy is Cormac McLaggen," his hand gestured down the row. McLaggen's grin stretched somehw further still. "Swell to meet you, Potter."

"I'm aware, thanks to the Daily Prophet, of your friendship with Longbottom! And you would, of course, know Zabini Blaise as well from your class!" Blaise kept his eyes straight, ignoring the introduction. He then turned down his own row, "Then we have another friend of yours - you know how to pick them, (y/n) - Miss Weasley. And that just leaves the introduction of Marcus Belby!" The stringy boy peered up shyly from his lap and gave a tremulous smile and brief wave. 

"Now with the obligations out of the way - lunch! I packed my own." Slughorn's wand summoned the wicker picnic basket; fine red napkins flew out and sorted themselves in front of everyone, and a series of plates and a family of forks, spoons, and knives danced out after. The meal followed, popping onto the plates like the Hogwarts dishes manifested before every feast. The course was a roll and some white meat that appeared and smelled like pheasant. 

Slughorn huffed on about names and people and their accomplishmets, only pausing for breath when Belby lost his; Belby choked on the dry bread, and Slughorn offhandedly waved his wand, clearing the nervous boy's airway. Mclaggen was equally disinterested in the food, leaned over to look past the other bodies. "So, (y/n), playing Quidditch this year?" It was an odd question (why wouldn't you be?), but he appeared rather sincere, so you said, "I will, yeah."

"Me too, I'll be trying out for Keeper this year. On the Gryffindor team, of course. Both positions are empty since those Weasley guys are gone. Not that I'd need an opening, of course. If those two string beans could make it, I'll be a shewin. Katie'll be begging me to join." Judging by his width alone, you would be surprised if he didn't get the part.

"The brain is a muscle too, but it sounds like you're lacking in that area," Ginny bit, and Mclaggen reddened with more chagrin than remorse. The lunch disappeared and a slice of pie appeared instead. Belby was midbite when the food vanished from his fork, leaving his teeth to bite into metal. 

"Charcherry pie, only the best. Charcherries can be rather, shall we say, hazardous to pick, but a past student of mine was very gifted in herbology, very gifted indeed, and often sends me the freshest fruits and such by the baskets! I've heard of your quite skilled in herbology as well, (y/n)." You were mid-forkful, wondering how he could possibly know that. "I'm alright."

"The modesty! An O on your O.W.Ls. One of many, I'm told! Potions as well. I know I already spoke of her upon our first meeting, but truly, your mother was an extraordinary talent. When I learned she was a muggle-born, well, you'll assume my surprise." He enjoyed his pie too much to notice the sour look on your face. You put your fork down. "You'll make a fine addition to my Slugclub, I'm very sure of that."

"Slugclub?" you questioned. He nodded, flakey crumbs falling from his mustache, "A little group I host. Handpicked, the best of my Potions class." Your jaw dropped, and suddenly your eyes sparkled - you would have sprung from your seat with excitement if you weren't sure you'd hit your head. "Potions?? You're teaching Potions???" You lamented not buying a Potions textbook, sure that no matter your mark, you would never willingly step into a classroom with Snape. 

"Yes of course, did Dumbledore not tell you I was a potionmaster?" He looked as though he was about to continue, but you couldn't hold back your thrill, attempting to give life to the question that burst forth, "What about Snape!? Has he been sacked!?"

"Severus Snape? He's to be the Defense teacher this year. Talented young man, very, very talented. Also a member of my dear little club. He and your mother were near inseparable."

Slumping back into the compartment seat, you recall from Snape's memory of the girl that looked so much like you; so much except her eyes. Your eyes were the ones that threatened him and tormented him all through his years at Hogwarts. 

While you commiserated, Slughorn poked his fork at you like you were a piece of pie, "But I always knew you'd have promise, the moment I heard Lily was pregnant. Then that awful night- James was- and Lily- well, regardless," he waved his fork like he was tearing away those terrible recollections. "Everyone was saying you must be an extraordinary witch to survive You-Know-Who. Only person to ever survive the Killing Curse, after all, and somehow vanquish- well," he swallowed hard, a pang of sudden guilt littering his gaze, but he closed his eyes and said, "defeat You-Know-Who. Not a witch nor wizard didn't know your name and speculate on your promise - the Dark wizards how you'd be their new leader. Ha, how ridiculous they must feel - but I knew from the letter Lily sent me that you'd be great."

Your fingers tapped the table, your head hanging low, your shoulders compressed into your torso as you felt all of their eyes now. You almost felt better when Blaise choked out a sarcastic laugh into his fist. "And you're so talented, Blaise?" Ginny chided. Blaise recontinued their glaring contest while Slughorn leaned forward, "I'm so curious, my collections at the Daily Prophet tell me the articles are exactly as they wrote them, but I'd love to hear it from you- if you don't mind, but I'm a steel trap, of course- but is it true? There was a prophecy...?"

"Ribbit," came from under the table. You leaned down and picked up the bag, unzipping it and pulling the toad out. "Oh, that's right. Neville, I found him in the corridor." Neville lit up, outstretching his arms, bumping one into Blaise. 

"How'd he get out there?!" he said, now all smiles with his toad back in his hands. Slughorn seemed to have the grace to not rebroach the question, and when the pie had all disappeared, so did the plates and utensils. The sun was on the horizon when Slughorn finally released you all. A scuffle of pushing and shoving ensued, and Neville exited the compartment face first.

 "I'm glad that's over," Neville sighed.

"For now, but that was our introduction to our new Potions teacher," Ginny added from in front. She disappeared into her compartment, and passing by the door Blaise went into, you saw the Malfoy. You muttered something about you forgetting a pen in Slughorn's compartment, retraced your steps, and waited til Neville shut the door. Yanking out the invisibility cloak, you took one last attempt at espionage. 

"-annoying. The food was second rate and the cabin was filled with undesirables," Blaise was drawling - faint but audible. The curtains were drawn, but you peered through the crack in them. It was cramped, Crabbe and Goyle taking up much of the seat while Zabini was cramped with Pansy and Malfoy, Pansy being sprawled across the seat in an attempt at snuggling up to Malfoy again. Malfoy talked lower this time, and you swore beneath your breath. You couldn't quite make it out. Swallowing your trepidation, you whispered the spell, "Evanesco." The empty window pane provided less loyal toward secrets. 

"Who was picked?" Malfoy questioned hotly. Blaise glared at Pansy's foot, which kept hitting his robe. "That big tall bloke from Gryffindor, McBraggen or something. The girl Weasley and Longbottom, and some skinny boy I've never even seen before. You'll never guess the last face."

"The Chosen One?" he cooed sardonically. Malfoy scoffed further when Blaise nodded. "That's why I'm glad I wasn't picked. Clearly he has terrible tastes in wizards." Blaise scowled at that, but Malfoy again didn't notice, moving to get comfortable with Pansy leaning so heavily on his arm. 

"My father had said that he was in the little club of Slughorn's. Always spoke rather highly of him, but I suppose age has gotten to him." The mention of his father seemed to dim his mood, and he stared broodingly out the window. 

"Nott hadn't gotten an invitation either. Don't think he's too interested in Death Eaters," Blaise said indifferently. You leaned in closer, interested, your heart leaping with excitement. Malfoy barked out a cold laugh, "And I wonder how that decision will turn out for him in the future?" He shifted in his seat, raising his chin as he stared out the window like it was the future he told of, "When the Dark Lord comes back into power, what will O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts mean, anyways? All that'll matter to him is your service and loyalty to him. Prove your usefulness and he'll listen to any request."

"And you think you'll be of use to him?" Blaise asked with unfettered skepticism. Malfoy looked back at him, "He seemed to think so. You think you know better than him?" That finally made Blaise blink. 

"Exactly. Next year I'll be-"

The train jostles to a stop and moments later doors were pushed open by impatient hands. 'Whattodowhattodowhattodowhattodo-' You threw the door open, narrowly dodging the robed bodies that began to filter out, and danced over feet before pressing flat against the window. You found with great relief that all heads were turned toward the open door. Blaise peeled himself off the seat and glanced out the door. "Who the hell did that?" he muttered. 

Malfoy gracefully unfolded himself while Patsy mimicked his actions, saying, "What does it matter? Probably some gutsy second year. Let's go."

The pent-up air escaped your aching lungs in the breath tension had denied as they all flooded out, asimilating with the crawling queue. Malfoy was the last to exit, but when his hand idly grasped the door frame, his platinum hair was swept up in the speed in which he threw his head toward it. His index finger was hiding behind the window curtain, and unbeknownst to you, had slipped through the window frame.

His shock waxed and waned like the tide, but his feet remained planted even after the last of his companions were gone. "Ah," he spoke into the train corridor, "I forgot something. I'll meet you on the platform." Malfoy didn't wait for a response, the shutting of the door like ending punctuation.

"Where could it be..." he breathed absently as he turned around. 'Ugh, go already, go already. I have real friends to catch up to.' His eyes swept the entire compartment in search of something. "Oh, is it here??" he mumbled, his hand sliding into his robe pocket. With the fluid speed of a snake, his arm lashed back out, and the whiplash of the spark that tipped the wand struck you like a bullet. Your back was shoved against the window before crumbling down. The cloak spilled in a puddle on your lap, but you were unable to retreat beneath it from the wand that threatened you; you weren't about to do anything.

In a single stride of his long legs, Malfoy stole the cloak. His vision shifted from you to the liquidy fabric bunched in his fist. "I knew it. Got yourself an invisibility cloak? Gift from Dumbledore perhaps? So this is now you pulled that cute little prank in Knockturn. Only it didn't succeed then, and it hasn't now, and it won't in the future now that I know your little secret. Maybe I should take it? Is that alright? Hm?" he inquired mockingly. Inlue of your numb tongue, you hoped your eyes said every envenomated word for you.

"I'm not hearing a no. You must be happy for me to take it How generous, Potter." A brilliant smile cascaded across his face, glinting as brightly as the idea that just popped into his head. "Actually, you know what? I think it suits you more. Here, have it back." With a crisp motion, he unraveled the cloak and let go, allowing it to fall back over you. It touched your skin as lightly as morning mist and covered you as thoroughly. "Being unseen and unheard suits you. Why don't you go back to your little blood traitor hobble for this year? And while you're there, give my regards to Dumbledore." Malfoy turned and slipped out the door, shutting it with a terrifying click.

He even locked the door.

(A/N) - Will finish the final editing later, please dont mind the spelling, grammatical errors _(´ཀ`」 ∠) _

Chapter Text

        A drop of liquid terror slid down the side of your face. You could feel the vibration of footsteps beneath you, and slowly they were disappearing. The counterjinx that looped like a broken record remained behind your eyes. You were trapped in an hourglass, every second falling like a grain of sand that would eventually bury you. 

The precession of footfalls - every potential savior - wilted, fainter and fewer. The dreaded silence took ownership of the train, filling the compartment like a fog. Mantling silence draped over you heavier than the invisibility cloak, smothering your terror into a blackened fury that drew more tears. Of all the heinous tricks Malfoy had ever played, this was the most harrowing - all of your power sapped from you, only leaving you with enough autonomy to breathe and cry. 

Thoughts of being carried back to London crawled into your skull... and how long from there til someone found you? How long would the jinx last? And what did you even do to deserve this? Eavesdrop? Or did this animosity go back further? How far back?  All the way to first year, when you made him wretch slugs? Or even before then? 

A pair of footsteps slayed this melancholic reminisce, a fiery surge of hope being birthed. Softened by distance, they were accompanied by the heartening sound of sliding doors - first opening, then closed again. The sequence got closer; padding, sliding, shutting.

Then your prison door rattled, and your heart lept just to fall into the jagged pit of your stomach - Malfoy (that snake, that living breathing malaise) had locked it. Yet it was this malicious trick that would save you. The spell's utterance was dampened behind the door, but you heard the reverse click of the lock, and it opened. He might have continued on his search if this door hadn't been different than the others. "(y/n)?"

Cedric stepped inside, searching the bare compartment blindly. "(y/n) are you in here-??" His stride knocked into the sole of your trainers. He jumped subtly before collapsing, a blind hand filling with the smooth fabric and yanking back. His mouth gaped when he saw your slackened frame, the worst filling his head like poison until the active streaming of tears caught his attention. 

The jinx was wrung from your muscle fibers like a moist cloth. You flung upwards all at once, every wrestling movement forced into queue exploded out. Cedric's arms caught you, engulfing you in his chest until you settled. Your heart pounded against him. The tears didn't stop, dampening his shoulder. Fear, anger, and relief all flowed out.

"That- that creature! Ghoul, geist-" Cedric waited patiently as you swore and cursed into his shoulder, a hand sliding comforting up and down your trembling back. When words dissolved to empty breaths, Cedric spoke up for the first time, his voice manicured into a steady, calm cadence that proved medicinal to your piqued nerves, "What happened?"

Then the train shook as the engine rumbled back to life, putting a bookmark on his question. You used Cedric's arm to steady your wobbly knees. To add to the situation, beyond Hogsmeade platform, you were greeted by none of the ebony, skeletal horses, nor the conveniences of their carriages. Nothing else either of you could do, you began to walk down the lantern-lined path, and at the same time, began down the road of the events that led to you eating the jinx. 

"He did that to you just because you were eavesdropping??" Cedric questioned. The glow of the lanterns' circular reach carved the path as essentially as the dirt traced by carriage wheels. The night was warded by these protective pockets of mock day provided by the wooden sentinels, barred to the backdrop, where darkness congealed to pure black paint filling in the gaps between the leaves and trunks that crafted the trailing entrance to Hogwarts.

Your arms were folded in front of you. "Did you not hear what I said?? He admitted to working with Voldemort!" Cedric flinched at the name, his face still wincing as he said, "He was lying to his friends. Why would you take anything he says seriously?"

"How could you ask that after Knockturn Alley!?"

"Ugh, I thought we were past that." You stubbornly scawled at the ground, and he continued, "Can we please talk about something else?" and smiled then, "How were your O.W.Ls?"

"Pretty good..." You told him how many, and his brow raised. "Congrats! Imagine your score if you hadn't had such a crazy year. You'll be getting a whole period off this year, but don't expect to use it for naps. How many N.E.W.Ts are you going to be taking?"

You counted off on your fingers, pulling one back for every subject, "Magical Creatures, Charms, Herbology, Defense-" the answer was cut short by a hovering lantern's piercing glare. The wrought iron bars of the Hogwarts gate were illuminated by Snape's lantern, creating an orange hole in the darkness. His black robes below and black hair atop melded into the black surroundings, creating the visage of a sliver of the night that had dislodged from its habitat. From one hand hung the lantern and from the other his wand. 

"Late and without your robes." His eyes scoured your form scathingly, "Though I suppose I should be grateful that you graciously chose to show at all, hm?" He tapped his wand on the gate, and it slowly swung open against an unfelt breeze.

The same anger swelled again, "It's not my fault, it was Malfoy! He-"

"Is in the castle and in uniform. Two feats you can not at the moment tout," before you could retort, he regarded Cedric next, saying much more coolly, "Next time, Diggory, inform a professor. Extra missing bodies tend to exacerbate issues more than they fix them. It's your final year, and the Headboy should know how to better conduct himself. 10 points each from Hufflepuff should suffice in getting this message home."

"Cedric didn't-" Snape's eyes flashed with predictable incitement as you took a step forward, but Cedric anchored you to him, speaking over you, "Yes, Professor." He gave you a reassuring squeeze.

Snape then glanced at you before turning around to lead you into the castle, his lantern kicking up shadows as it swung from its handle. "You could learn a thing or two about manners from Diggory, Potter."

Susan and Hannah sat around your bed while you regaled them about the events with Malfoy in chronological order, starting with Diagon Alley and ending in the Great Hall. But to your dismay, like Cedric, they were more focused on the latter half of the story than the former. "That utter Skrewt! Did you tell anyone?!"

"No, you're not listening, the important part is that he is a Death Eater."

Hannah snorted a laugh. "You were being serious? Him?!"

"Why do you think that?"

"He told his lackeys as much!"

"You're taking anything Malfoy says at face value?" Hannah asked, still smirking, but Susan inquired more seriously, "Did you see a Dark Mark?"

"...Well, no. But I haven't seen his wrist at all. It could be there."

"Try not to worry so much, (y/n). I know it's scary right now, but his dad's in Azkaban for being one, so he's probably learned what being a Death Eater earns you, no matter what he's bragging about. Death Eaters are scary and dangerous, Malfoy is... as annoying as a pixie, but ultimately just as dangerous."

Hannah saw your complexion darken, and added, "If he was - if is fair!" she insisted when she saw you fire up again, "Then Dumbledore will surely already know about it and handle it. You trust him, don't you?" You begrudgingly had to nod, though behind your eyes you remembered how late he was last time... 'If I can trust him now, why couldn't I trust him then??' 

She smiled brighter, pleased with the concession, "And in the meantime, we'll all keep an eye on him, to make sure nothing happens!" That placation worked, and though you had not been plagued by dreams of Voldemort since the appex, the memories of Knockturn Alley leden your night. Each circuit they changed slightly, altering like the flicker of a flame warping a film reel. 'Maybe they're right... Maybe it's nothing...' But doubt was beaten back like shadows against a torch. You couldn't risk it. You couldn't risk losing more of your friends.

'Sleep,' you commanded yourself. These months since the events of the Department of Mysteries had paradoxically twisted sleep into an effort. The waters of sleep had become frigid; every dipped toe retracted with a jerk. 

And now that the new school year has officially started, a good night's sleep was needed - the first class of the next day was to be Defense. 

~~

        Professor Sprout had done the rounds around the Hufflepuff table, confirming N.E.W.Ts schedules with the sixth years. She smiled brighter when you confirmed you would be sticking with her class this year. Proudly, she tapped her wand against the paper, the lines that sprouted from where it had touched spiderwebbing out to form your schedule. "My, that's quite a few N.E.W.Ts. Though nothing you can't handle, of course. Remember," she began as she handed your new schedule to you, "career aptitude will be this year, dear. So give a good long think as to what you'd like to do after you graduate." She stole a muffin before continuing over to Ernie, asking him the same set of questions between bites.

The beautiful sky that sprawled across the ceiling of the great hall was abandoned for the shadows of the dungeons. Hannah had said, "Look at it like this, the job's cursed, isn't it? There's no way Snape lasts the year." And you held onto that solace like an heirloom when you treaded into the classroom. It was the photo negative to the bright and scoured dungeon Umbridge curated; this darkness was worn on its sleeve. The room was lit solely by candlelight, but the cluster of candles on each desk were weak, the wick hardly enough to keep the emaciated flame fed properly, the dull flickering twitching sickeningly off of the managery of morbid pictures that plastered the stone walls, an assortment of maladies that could befall those who tango with the Dark Arts. The wax was already trickling down the sides of the candle, beginning the slow ascent toward the table.

The freshly scoured bricks seemed to somehow have reclaimed their old grime and then some, and the chill that swept in on Snape's heels was the worst you had ever felt in the dungeons. His hands were threaded behind his back, and he seemed to move lither, his chin held higher. He stood before the class, taking in a breath of relishing air before he spoke, "Five professors, you've had. Despite the inconsistency of coursework, you have all managed to scratch out an O.W.L, and for that, I will be forced to acknowledge your fortitude. That being said, you will impress me into shock if all of you are able to keep up with my N.E.W.Ts coursework."

Snape began to stalk across the class, catching the writhing candlelight. "The Dark Arts are to be handled with the utmost respect. You have likely learned some things and practiced others that may have given you the illusion of control, but there is no controlling this school of magic. It is, in essence, whole domination through overwhelming power. Chaos and confusion are the heart and blood of this magic, and power is its soul." He had a look of reverence as he spoke, his black eyes glittering like gems in the darkness. 

Snape stopped once he had doubled back to the front of the class, steepling his fingers in front of him. "Always remember. There is no extinguishing this school of magic. No true course for defeating it. The sea will never stop crashing against the rocks, and neither will the Dark side relent. Which is why you all are learning all you can learn; how to defend against it." He waved a hand toward the gruesome diagrams on the wall, guiding unwilling eyes to their visage of pain and torture, "And the only way to properly defend against an enemy, is to know the enemy. Grindellows and Hinkypunks are but gnats against the might of the Dark Arts."

You recognized one of the images, a wizard with his muscles visibly clenched taut beneath his skin, his jaw stretched in all encompassing agony while his eyes were glazed and unseeing... the Crusiatus Curse. "Now," he said, stealing back everyone's attention. "My N.E.W.Ts coursework will not allow for a single wasted day. There will be no need for your textbooks. Instead, brandish your wands and partner up, as we will be practicing silent spell casting." He took a few steps back toward his desk while everyone stood in pairs and filed in orderly rows at the front of the class. 

You and Hannah stood while Susan and Ernie were on the other side. Everyone's heads were arched around toward where Snape stood as he instructed, "In silence, one partner will attempt a jinx - any jinx, let your imagination run wild - and the other will repel it, in whatever manner they so choose, in equal silence. You may begin." You turned back to Hannah, and she pointed her wand at you, though her face was screwed up, as though she could hardly will herself to jinx you when she wasn't entirely sure you would be able to defend against it. 

You chanted in silence, 'Expelliarmus!' but to no avail. Your own face mirrored hers as you concentrated, both of your lips pressed to slits as you forced your voices to remain inside. "Focus," he told the class, weaving down the rows of bodies, who were all doing as well as you and Hannah. "Choose a simple jinx or a simple defense. Do not simply speak the words into your mind. Visualize. Will it."

A few minutes passed with more of the same. It was almost hurtful, not that you were unable, but also because you had instructed nearly half of the class in Defense last year, yet they were all as stuck as you were. After ten minutes had passed, spells were beginning to be cast - Greengrass fell to some jinx, while Justin let out a shriek at another - but lips were moving to conjure them. You and Hannah continued the staring contest, trying to ignore the noises around- when your legs gave out, and you were slayed on the ground. Your rear ached, and your legs were just as immobile as the day before. 

"Good job," you said, a bit of pain wincing your voice as you waved your wand over your legs, freeing them. But as you stood back up, she said with worry, "I was trying to do the impediment jinx, not that one." Your brow pinched, and you looked around, spotting Malfoy staring at his opponent but with laughter on his lips. 

"Focus on your own poor performance, Potter," Snape chastized as he glided by.

"Let's switch, you defend," and before Hannah could agree, you shuffled her to where you were standing. Now you had a view of Malfoy. You raise your wand, but point it ever so slightly just passed Hannah's arm. "Expelliarmus," you whispered, and his wand flew from his hand. "Very good, Blaise, 20 points to Slytherin," Snape praised as he stepped by, and Zabini looked at the tip of his wand quizzically. 

Malfoy bent to get his wand, and caught sight of you as he did, just catching your eyes before you threw them back to Hannah, who was bracing herself in preparation for a jinx that would never come. Despite your vigilance, your peripheral vision had not caught the next spell, which deftly flung past Hannah and struck you hard, releasing your grip from your wand. A large red welt was left on your skin, injecting the pain. 

The pain disappeared suddenly, and Snape lowered his wand as he walked past in his rounds, though made no further comment. Retrieving your wand, you whipped it in the air, muttering perhaps too loudly, "Flipendo!" and causing Malfoy to be pushed back into the tables. He pulled himself up, glaring hotly at you. 

Snape stopped in his tracks, silent outrage on his face, "What do you think you're-" but before he could speak it was your turn to be knocked off your feet, hitting the blackboard. Snape rounded on Malfoy, who had his wand aimed, his hand on the table as he held himself up. 

"Enough-"

The bell rang, but it was deaf to your ears as you yelled, "Furnunculus!" The curse was deftly deflected by Snape's wand as he stepped in front of Malfoy. "Utterly ridiculous behavior! Out! Both of you!" he seethed, grabbing Malfoy and your arm, shoving you out of the room personally. 

But the duel froze to a staring contest in the corridor. "Only able to jinx someone when they have their back turned, aye, Malfoy?" you spat. He squared his shoulders, "Wish to find out, Potter?" His hand was in his pocket. You found your own, and you stood in a stalemate, waiting for the other to move first.

"Gentlemen first. I'm sure you're so eager to see your daddy again." Murmurs were conjured by the insult, and his face curtled into a seething lower, and he spat, "Why don't I do one better and let you reunite with your precious dead dog, Sirius Black!?" Your body moved before your mind had a chance to catch up, your fist colliding with his face. He stumbled back, but flung a hand out while he did, latching onto the closest thing it could grab, the top of your vest, pulling you down with him. On the ground, the scuffle only continued - your hand shoved against his chin, pushing his head away while he knotted a fist in your sweater, stretching it.

"Half a mudblood!" The crowd was growing, a ring created by the spectators around your fumbling forms. 

"Dark wizard!" You shoved and kicked while he pushed back, and neither of you heard as the Defense door opened again, nor the flurry of footsteps that parted the crowd. "ENOUGH," Snape bellowed. Even when he peeled you apart and lifted you by your collars, you continued to kick at him, and he did the same, jutting his long legs back at your attacking feet. "ENOUGH MEANS ENOUGH!" He shook you both til you ceased. "YOU ARE NOT MUGGLE CHILDREN AND YOU WILL NOT ACT LIKE IT! Detention! Both of you! At the same time! You will learn to live together or I will make it so neither of you live at all! Do you understand me??" When neither of you spoke, he gave another shake, "Do you understand me?!"

"Yes sir," Malfoy said begrudgingly. You just nodded your head stiffly, but never tore your glare off Malfoy. "When I release you, you will stay away from each other and continue to your next class quietly." He did as promised and let go, but shoved you both as a means to get a jump start, "Out of my hallway! NOW!" His lashing voice chased you away. He turned to everyone else, pouring the remainder of his generous rage onto them, "What are you waiting for!? GO!" 

Chapter Text

        You continued down the other end of the hall, delving deeper into Hogwarts bowels while your friends (who abstained from Potions this year) were allowed to free themselves from the dungeons. Furthering your annoyance, Malfoy strode in that direction as well. You didn't dare speak to him, a passivity he reciprocated, but when you picked up your pace, he again played mimic. Soon, shoulder to shoulder, you were sprinting down the hall, nimbly dodging bodies leaving Potions. 

The rough stone corner divided you; while Malfoy fought against the momentum in rounding the angle, you hooked a hand on the edge and swung around it. Thanks to this boon, you arrived first, latching onto the doorway to bring yourself to a halt. You gathered yourself in a long stream of victorious air that was scented by the potions that were brewing in the front of the room. Straightening your frame in tune with your inflating chest, you strode confidently into the Potions classroom, flopping down beside Ernie, the only friendly face within the scant showing.

"Hello, (y/n)." He raised a brow at your ragged mien, "Are you alright?" In his attempt to impress the new Potions professor, Ernie had apparently left Defense before your muggle duel with Malfoy had taken place. Malfoy himself slunk in equally winded and settled in the back. You were greatly pleased to see that the greeting your fist had given his face had left an angry pink splotch beneath his eye, where your knuckle had found his cheekbone. And his pallid skin was the perfect canvas to exhibit your retribution. "Why, I'm feeling just dandy."

Blaise joined him a few minutes later. When Justin came in, he pattered as straight as an arrow to you and Ernie. As he pulled out a seat, a cupped hand played conspirator to his whisper, "You're amazing, (y/n)! What I wouldn't do to do that to Malfoy. What a punch!" Justin's words trickled past his cloak of fingers, setting Ernie aghast. Malfoy's nose scrunched and his eyes narrowed sharply at the animated boy.

Four Ravenclaws arrived next; Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, Lisa Turpin. Only a single Gryffindor joined the small class, Padma's sister, Parvati Patil. The houses are divided by tables - Slytherin to the back, then Ravenclaw directly after (with the addition of Parvati, who sat with her sister), shoving Hufflepuff to the front despite the tables that remained vacant before them.

The majority of the tables were left bare by the scant showing, but Slughorn didn't seem to notice; his eyes belonged not to the empty chairs, but his precious students. While half the classroom may have been bare, the air was full of a melding mishmash of scents, all effusing from the four massive cauldrons that resided at the front of the class, the fumes they exhaled wafting like white strips of chiffon in front of the blackboard.

He clapped his hands together, exuding his excitement as well as gathering the students' attention. "Welcome! Welcome all those who have both the skill and interest in potions enough to qualify for my N.E.W.Ts! I have planned something very stimulating for our first day together! Yes, and very, very rewarding! But first, as I'm sure you are all already routine in doing, get out your scales and dagger and textbook. We will be grabbing our cauldrons later in the lesson, but right now-" he stopped when he saw your raised hand.

"Yes, m'girl?" he asked. "Um, I hadn't got, er... any of that..." you admitted, embarrassment leaking into your complexion. Snickers sprouted from the tables behind you, fanning the flames of your chagrin further. Slughorn, however, seemed undeterred. You were so used to the beratement inside this classroom that you were genuinely surprised to have a jovial smile meet you - though hidden behind his giant mustache.

"Oh, that's no problem. Not at all. This room came well stocked before my arrival. The student cupboard is plenty full of ingredients, and if not, I, myself am plenty stocked. As for your supplies, I'd be surprised if we didn't have exactly what you need lying around. You can use those until we can send for your supplies."

"Thank you, Professor," you said, beaming. His chuckling wafted through his mustache as he strode over to the ingredients cupboard. Bending down with great effort, he opened the bottom drawer and plucked out a book at random. "Of course, my dear girl. What was I going to do, have you sit there all year just watching?" Standing up with equal effort, he gathered the scales from a higher cupboard and a cauldron before depositing both before you. 

'Snape would have just chucked me out the door,' you thought, instead saying again, "Thank you."

"Of course, of course. I presume you'll be able to supply your own wand, and I hope you're classmates will be happy to allow you to use their silver daggers. Now then. I've prepared a few potions for you to inspect and investigate. These will be the level of potions I expect you to perform on your N.E.W.Ts." He held a hand above the first cauldron, "You should all know each, even if you can't yet make them. Come come, gather 'round." A ring was formed around the four cauldrons.

"Any ideas as to what potion the first one is?" Filling the cauldron a little over halfway, the potion was as clear and pristine as water, the surface placid despite the small fire beneath it. 

Terry Boot called, "Veritaserum, sir."

"Very good! Five points Ravenclaw! And what properties does it hold?"

Padma spoke up next, "It evokes the truth from whoever drinks it."

"Another five points! Yes, it is quite the potent potion, and I would not advise its consumption if you have committed any follies," he enjoyed his own joke with a few hearty chuckles as he moved to the next cauldron. "And this?" Within was a muddy concoction with an equally viscous consistency, the surface rippling reluctantly with Slughorn's heavy footsteps while languidly belching bubbles. 

"Polyjuice potion," Blaise answered before the Ravenclaws could. "Indeed! Five points to Slytherin! And its properties?"

Ernie nearly toppled into the veritaserum with the momentum he threw himself forward with, his arm as stiff as a flag pole, "It duplicates whatever the shape and form of the key ingredient used!" His answer exploded through the room, so loud and quick in its vigorousness that it enticed laughter. His reddening face was cloaked by the phantom tendrils of steam. Slughorn himself was chuckling, but there was admiration in his humor. "Five points Hufflepuff! Now, our next potion?"

This time no one spoke. Like ants, the line moved as a circuit, creating a ring around the final potion. All leaned toward the giant cauldron, lured as much by the intoxicating scent and brilliant pearlescent sheen, as by curiosity. It was like a coaxing finger that beckoned you closer, every breath made methodical as you savored it, filling your entire body with the vapor. Slughorn studied his students. "Looks lovely, doesn't it? I promise it tastes just as sweet, though I would not recommend such a testing method on this particular potion. Well, let's try and gauge what it might be through a different sense, one most keenly tied to this potion; smell. Going clockwise, starting with Mr. Macmillan, tell me what you smell."

Oddly, every whiff of the twirling steam followed a different list of scents, not a single one repeated. "Fresh bread... Shoe polish... Earl Grey tea..." Ernie listed off, his hands held behind his back respectfully as he leaned forward toward the potion. "Tea leaves, old parchment, warm attic dust..." Parvati's list was head-tiltingly familiar; it reminded you of the Divination attic. Justin Finch-Fletchley's answer sounded a lot like the Hogwarts kitchens, and a rare diffidence held Blaise as he mulled through his own experience.

Malfoy's hands rested on the rim of the cauldron as he gazed into the shimmering liquid with recognition, but guilt barred his voice. His fingers wound tighter as the scents washed over his senses, filling his heart with the pearlescent concoction as whole as if he was actually drinking it. It was as if Malfoy had his face buried in your hair, even the warmth that bathed his face somehow crafted the mirage of your embrace. 

The power that exuded from this potion was fearsome; a whiff from a man already in love was enough to lead him onto the dangerous cliff overlooking obsession. His mind was dulled by the spirals of steam that seemed to beckon him, the rational guidance as clear as a foggy mirror. Brain and heart seemed to work as one entity; "Beg, I need to beg. To fall to my knees and plead for forgiveness. I'm wrong, I can't live without her, I can't do it-"

"-alfoy? Mr. Malfoy?" He shot his head back up, but the first thing his eyes found were your own. Except you were glossy and limned in jelly, as though illustrated by watercolor. As soon as he blinked, the tears finally fell. Shame drenched the smoulder in his chest, and similarly, the spilled tears wetted the cuff of his robe. 

'Was this how she felt?' he pondered with contrition. "Damn steam," he griped. Even if he wished for forgiveness, he knew it was too late. And your life was more important than your acceptance of him... "Mr. Malfoy, it's you tur-"

"I heard you. I smell treacle tart and cho-" -colate frogs, but he stopped himself. He was just going to say some random sweets, but immediately remembered the chocolate frog he had bought you from the Hogwarts Express treat trolley...

...When you were still friends...

...When he was still allowed to see your smile...

...When he still had a chance-

He feigned a coughing fit in an attempt to shake off these emotions (hopefully spitting them out would help). "Allergic to the potion or something?" Blaise inquired. Wanting this to be over already, he ignored his friend and simply corrected, "Liquorice wands."

After Terry gave a list that sounded awfully like Cho Chang, it was your turn to hover over the cauldron. You closed your eyes, envisioning every scent right before your eyes as it shifted. It smelled like... like... "Love..." you murmured. 

"Love Potion is correct! Ten points Hufflepuff!" Slughorn announced, setting your face aflame before chilling your chest. You were the first to step back to your seat, keeping your eyes on the ground. "Though academically known as Amortenia! As (y/n) has already given us its colloquial name, I don't believe an explanation of its properties is needed." It wasn't needed indeed, as you were far too familiar with its properties. Malfoy sank in his chair like a melted candle, his fair complexion adopting some color. His eyes shifted, alert to any sudden stirring or glances.

"But a warning, one that carries through any ambitious brewers, nothing is so simple as a potion that can solve your problems. The Love Potion, even when brewed precisely, will never last. Love is not so easily stolen, and the resulting love will be nothing short of infatuation. It is likely the most powerful and potent potion in this room, oh yes." Your fingers curled around your arm on your other arm, pushing away memories that came to your mind, the cotton candy haze that tinted each. Absentmindedly, you wiped your lips with the back of your fist. 

"And now," announced Slughorn, oblivious to the uncomfortability that draped both you and Malfoy, "To our real work! And what better motivator than a prize, hm?" He gestured to the fourth potion, which sparkled like molten gold. "A vile of this virile potion will be the perfect reward for today's best brewed potion! It is Felix Felicis. Liquid Luck." The collective enthusiasm expanded his grin. "One vial of this little potion, exactly one tablespoon, will give you the best day you have ever had. Every moment will fall perfectly into place. But be forewarned, this substance is banned in all formal competitions, exams, and tests. The winner is to use it only during an ordinary day - and watch it transform into an extraordinary day!"

The last hour of class was devoured by the fervent brewing of the draught of living death potion. To your initial dismay, upon cracking open the old textbook you had been given, you found that it had been graffitied to the point of uselessness. You mulled with resignation that it took luck to win luck, and you weren't exactly born with a vial of that stuff tied around your neck. 

But during your deciphering, you realized that this wasn't the typical defaming of school property (bawdy jokes written in Latin or crude art) but alternative instructions. The handwriting was scrawled and tight, but - if you squinted - you believed you could make it out. The previous owner seemed to hold these alterations in higher esteem than the standard instructions, as in some cases, they were completely hidden behind an indignant hashwork of black ink. You used Justin and Ernie's daggers intermittently when they were free.

Autonomy didn't play a role in following the influence of this mysterious witch or wizard - it was brew it their way or don't brew at all. Yet with each step in the brewing process, the potion never exploded or dissolved into a toxic fog. In fact, the results were more luminous than the portrayal in the textbook. 'Would that deduct points?' you wondered pessimistically. 

Purple strings of steam billowed from the cauldrons; Ernie's was a rich plum, while Justin's was an indigo that almost resembled more blue than purple. The Ravenclaws fared better in the consistency of their color, while the two Slytherins and single Gryffindor tied for their resemblance to magenta. 

Slughorn regarded every potion with quiet consideration, occasionally leaning down to sniff or giving it a stir, but stopped in his tracks at yours, where he finally spoke. "My. My my my, I do believe we have a clear winner!" You believed you had no hope at the start, but now you were exuberant. He reached over and clapped a hand on your shoulder. "Excellent, simply excellent! As excellent as your mother, my dear girl." You saw the textbook with new eyes. 'As excellent as your mother-' 

"Well deserved. I need not tell you to enjoy this." Slughorn shook your hand, depositing the vial into your palm as he did. You held it up in the candlelight, watching it reflect off of it in all directions. "So pretty," Justin said beside you. Everyone was entranced by it like moths to a flame.

"So pretty!? So useful!" you corrected.  Malfoy sat, his eyes more covetous than anyone else's, his mind working the same as yours as to its usefulness. 

Chapter Text

        He was in the middle of the dining hall when he finally found the howler! If his entire gang weren't sharing a single brain cell, one of them would have realized what it really was before he opened it.

A guilty snort of laughter filled the small pocket of the library you loitered in. Your gaze abandoned the page only to scope out your surroundings before the sweet disappeared from your palm. Chewing the butterscotch ball of energy, the vintage potions textbook reembraced your mind, already missing you after that brief snack interlude. The dense textbook was peeled only 1/5 the way through, even though you had been reading it like a novel. Starting on the blank page that separated the hardcover from the table of contents, the margins were not just filled with superior methods, but was treated like a sort of diary - or perhaps better put, a thought depository. Small comments and short paragraphs allowed you brief glimpses into this student's life. You blinked and tilted your head as you digested the next line.

She laughed.

'She' was written was unusual care, almost beautiful amongst the thin black claw marks. Those two simple words might as well have been as cavernous as the Great Hall itself with how much context they craved. Outside of professors, it was the first time a 'she' was ever mentioned.

The textbook referenced Slughorn (as the Potion's Professor) and Professor McGonagall (the Transfiguration Professor), so this person couldn't have been very old at all; Slughorn had also taught your mother after all. But you were able to rule out that this may have belonged to her rather quickly; This is the property of the Half-Blood Prince. 

This prince was vindictive and snarky, but made palatable by his delectable wit. It was like a patchwork of lines of scrawling ink - the book suddenly shifted from a scrapbook of the Prince's school life into a spellbook.

Epistola locomotor x Coherio

Your lips traced the two spells in tune with your eyes. Did these spells play a role in pranking that Gryffindor boy? Another spellbook was open as well, but lay flat, gaping at the raftered ceiling while the Prince's past possession sat comfortably against your lap. You're afternoon started innocently enough, coming to the library to study Transfigurations. And you had... For a time.

It started with just a peek - a curious glance, after all, you hadn't had a chance to finish that page last night - but the thin string of scrawling letters was a breadcrumb trail, and soon you had delved pages deeper than you had intended. Such indulgences wouldn't be so bad next year, when there weren't N.E.W.Ts to worry about. But this free period should be used more resourcefully, like by the abandoned transfiguration textbook, the N.E.W.Ts subject you were throttled by the most. 

You absentmindedly slipped into the pocket of your robes, pulling out another piece of candy. Summoned by the crinkle of the wrapper, Madam Pince's soft footfalls were growing, her black drapery flowing behind her like a literary Dementor. The candy was deposited into your mouth while the wrapper went into your pocket. 

She emerged from the labyrinth of bookcases, glaring behind her glasses. "Potter!" she managed to shout through a hush, "How many times must I tell you that food is forbidden!" 

"Madam Pince, ma'am, I don't have anything. I've been studying." You presented your empty hands to bolster your lie. She glimpsed the books before you, which were a normal sight - but her jaw fell and she gasped in shock, her hands slapping over her mouth in an effort to bar the horrified scream that was close to coming loose. 

"What have you done to that poor book!?" You both moved at the same time- but fortunately, you were much closer. The book was clapped shut and locked in your arms, forming two protective bars around it. The chair was pushed back, creating an obstacle between the two of you. "It's my personal textbook! I can do with it what I like!" 

"Why!?" Her voice sounded hurt. "Why would you want to vandalize a poor book that way?" For some odd reason, her pain was contagious, a strange remorse for an action you never even committed (least not that she's seen). 

"I..." The bell tolled. You turned, but she called after you, the shock of her declaration hooking and twisting you around, "You are banned from this library!"

"But I-"

"If that's how you so coldly treat your own books, I can not trust you around mine!"

'It isn't even mine!' you wanted to shout, committing the ultimate heresy in this place to quench your annoyance at her. But what if she took that as a reason to confiscate it? Slughorn would more likely give you another old textbook than try and pry it from her pincers. In a last act of defiance, you looked her in the eyes and unwrapped the candy in your pocket. You popped it in your mouth with relish. 

She puffed up with indignation, but when she put a hand on the chair to move it, you were already on the retreat. 

"I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot. You can just act... idiotic. At times," Susan tried to soothe. The textbook was still held against your chest, though pinned by only one arm now. The liquid luck was hidden in your pocket, but its mere presence didnt seem to be much of a charm. 

"Impulsive," Cedric corrected. "You're extremely impulsive."

"And she has a problem with authority figures," Hannah added.

"Do not!" you said to Hannah, then turned to Cedric, "Am not!"

"You started a secret society to overthrow a professor," Hannah retorted. 

"After provoking her at every turn, impulsively," Susan piped. 

You gaped, "I was pressured to start the DA! And you all joined too!" 

"That's right," Cedric let go of your hand so he could snake an arm around your shoulders. "You're a terrible influence on us all." Then his playful smile fell, "But you need to control yourself better. I saw with my own eyes how Snape was able to provoke you. He was trying to have a reason to punish you, and you took the bait."

"It's not my fault they pick on me, why should I let them?" 

"So you can still use the library during the most study-intensive year of our student lives?" Hannah threw out flippantly. 

"I feel loads better, guys, thanks," you griped.

"What about us? It'll be on us now to check out books you might need." 

"Us??" Hannah exclaimed. "Make Cedric do it, he has enough free time!"

He bowed, a hand swooping in front of him, the other bent behind his back. "Consider me your house elf. What can I do for my mistress?" 

"Kreacher," you remembered suddenly. You actually had a house elf, and he was here, in the castle. Somewhere. Cedric's brow furrowed curiously. "Is that what you call all house elves?"

"No, sorry, never mind that. You don't have to do anything, Cedric."

"Have to? Cedric wants to. Nothing would make Cedric happier than helping his mistress," he retorted, still bent in a bow. "I've got time this year, so I intend to use it wisely." You pet his head, now that it was held so low. "Well, if I may be so bold... I want to see you again after Transfiguration."

He enjoyed the affection, blushing as his embarrassment finally caught up to him. "Say no more." He reached over and kissed you on the cheek, and then, not able to help himself, snuck a quick one on the lips. Breaking the kiss was painful, especially so now that the classroom door was within view. 

You stumbled out of transfigurations, your brain still frazzled from the influx of information that was rammed into your ears. Your wand was all but broken on your practice assignment, unable to quiet the little frog on your desk. Luckily, Professor Mcgonagol had given you three days to perform the spell, so you still had time to practice. Susan seemed similarly rattled, her own frog somehow getting louder with the spell she cast on it. The little frogs were taken with you, transfigured with a much easier spell into a button.

As promised, Cedric was waiting outside the classroom. His arms were behind his back when he greeted you, and then retracted them, an empty tea cup in one and a small saucer with three chocolate-dipped madeleines on the other. "Knew you'd need a pick-me-up," he said. Susan's hand appeared before you saw the rest of her. She snagged one of the madeleines, shoving it in her mouth. "If you need me, I'll be in the library," she informed you sullenly, despite the crumbs that avalanched from her lips. 

You took one of the remaining two madeleines, then the teacup. He tipped his wand downward, and a stream of amber liquid flowed into the cup. The thin tide turned white, creating a soft tan hue. Once the wand ran dry, he gave it a few shakes, dropping just the right amount of sugar cubes. The confection disappeared in a single, voracious bite, and then the tea was quick to join it. Your throat was scorched, but your chest filled comfortably with the heat. Like smoke from a well-fed fireplace, a sigh of contentment billowed from your lips. 

Cedric smiled fondly. "You're welcome." 

Walking back to the common room with a teacup in one hand and a sweet in the other might have made a peculiar sight, but it was just what you needed. "So, how are you enjoying your classes so far?"

"Not at all."

He chuckled. "Don't worry too much, it's still the start of the year. You'll acclimate in time. And don't forget, Quidditch tryouts will be here any day now." That was right. Tryouts were right around the corner, and Snape had yet to mention a date for your detention. Cedric rapped on the barrel, but stepped aside, allowing you to go first. You fell backwards onto the sofa. Cedric joined you, though with more grace. Legs curled, you rested against him as soon as he touched the sofa, shoulder to shoulder. Tipping back the cup, the lukewarm tea was finished. 

Short bodies huddled around one of the tables, excited chatter shared among each other like twittering birds. Some had their wands out, hovering over a square of paper, practicing the color-changing charm. Fascination held their spirits, and stars brightened their eyes; to be so enthralled by magic, it was nostalgic. More than a few pairs of feet were swinging merrily, only their toes brushing against the floor.

Cedric tipped his wand and refilled your cup. Steam rose as fine as a spider's string from the amber liquid, warming your hand as it drifted. You held it beneath your nose, closing your eyes. You dipped your head low, resting it against his shoulder. "Thanks. I think I'd have hopped on my broom and joined the centaurs in the forbidden forest if it wasn't for you."

He chuckled and planted a kiss on the crown of your head. "This is the toughest year. Year seven is much quieter, so I'll dedicate all my free time to making sure you don't run off on us." It was your turn to chuckle. The knees of your tucked legs rested against his taut thighs, and you curled into him further, shifting your head to the side of his chest. His arm curled around your shoulders, holding you closer. 

The cup lowered as you raised your chin. He did the same motion in reverse, both drawn to each other like planetary gravity. But before your lips could collide, an annoying voice announced annoyingly, "Get a room, you two!" Zacharias was simpering like a moron, drawing the entire common rooms attention to you. 

When Quidditch started, you would make sure that a stray bludger would fly his way. This was the one problem about dating Cedric Diggory: attention followed him.

While you blistered beneath the heat of your own embarrassment, Cedric remained unafflicted, throwing back to his friend, "Good advice, Zach." He got up and took your hand, guiding you up as well. Your embarrassment only grew as, hand in hand, you were led through the barrels and into the kitchen corridor. The gawking hoots and laughter were left behind.

The implications of this action divided you, and when he looked back at you, you flinched. "Hungry?" he asked, smirking mysteriously. Your head tilted, the sudden confusion visual. "Hungry?"

Fleeing from the ticklish finger, the giggling pear threw open the painting, unleashing a wall of heat as dense as the brick boarding it. The smell of dinner exploded out, buffeting your palate with a ferociously savory heat. Loaves of cloud-shaped bread, round dinner rolls, curled crescents, were shuttled from the row of ovens, the trailing steam creating the image of translucent angel wings. Cinnamon married with nutmeg and cloves, while pepper of every color intermingled with the aroma of onion and lemongrass. Enormous cauldrons large enough to cook the students occupied the adjacent wall, handles as large as broomsticks swimming in circles, churning the insides. At the center, a troop of knives marched in intervolving order over monstrous vegetables - so large they could only have come from Hagrid's garden. 

You were able to catch but a glimpse of the House elves' magic in motion, as they all froze the moment they realized your presence. House elves almost immediately flooded in as soon as your feet touched the ground. Those platters they were escorting above small heads like a delicious canopy followed them as they all gathered around. "Young master is back! He's back so soon! How lucky we are!"

"Hot from the oven, young Master!"

"Mistress! Young Mistress is back as well! Please, take what you like!"

You looked to Cedric, "This is what you had in mind?"

He took a dinner roll off a tray and took a bite. "Yeah." Savory steam chased his words.

"But... the others will think we're..."

"They'll think what they like.." He took another and handed it to you. You might as well have bit into a round, hand-sized pillow. You melted like the butter glaze. "So good." They all collectively beamed. "By the way," the house elves perked up, their ears bobbing up as well. "Yes, young mistress?"

"What do you need??"

"Please tell us!"

"Where is Kreacher?" There was a pause. A long pause, tension among their big, bright eyes. They glanced at each other, communicating silently. "....That one is a bad house elf, young mistress... He... There are things no house elf should think, let alone speak."

"He refuses to work, and... and..." the house elf swallowed a lump. It took on a clandestine tone as it continued, "And the way he speaks of young mistress..." Lips clamped, in protest of the terrible speech of its treacherous kin, the elf shook its head in contempt. 

"So, we've banished him from the kitchens," another explained, wringing their hands. "We love our work, but that one... makes it... difficult..."

"We house elves are very good at living underfoot yet unseen. And that one especially. We don't know where that one is, but he is bound to Hogwarts, so if young mistress truly has need of that one, young mistress needs only call him and he will be compelled to appear."

"That's right, I can, can't I?"

"But why would you!" another burst, suddenly happy again. "Young mistress has all the house elves in Hogwarts to look after her! She does not need one such as that one!" They all chirped in agreement. To end the conversation, they plied you both with plates and plates of sweets, hoping to fill your mouth with something sweet instead of foul. 

Grey ghosts slowly danced above the candle stubs while the hearth fire dwindled to embers, sparkled like red stars in the blackened fodder. The porthole windows were curtained by the night. One by one the seats were abandoned in favor of beds, leaving only you and Cedric. The excuse you gave was that you wanted to keep him company until his night rounds, as you had before. But once he disappeared, you remained to stew in the soft silence.

Taking a deep breath of smoky air, you uttered beneath the exhale, "Kreacher."

A horrible crack shattered the common room to the very brim, nearly knocking your bones from your body. The moment you needed to catch your breath allowed you to take in the elderly house elf. 'How could so much hatred even fit in something so small?' 

He was shorter than the kitchen house elves, and shrunken further beneath the crook that shaped his back. The teatowel he wore exposed his back, the vertebra as prominent as cobblestone beneath the sheet of waxen skin that draped his body as loosely as a second teatowel. The natural wrinkles were smushed further together, deepening and doubling onto themselves around the gravity of his glower.

Kreacher wasn't exactly cute the last time you had seen him, but he appeared to have aged by a decade instead of a handful of months. His misery was apparent; he made no efforts to hide it. You understood the kitchen elves a bit better. 

He never once picked up those cracked hen's eggs that dwelled within the sunken sockets of his face, and similarly, his ears fell limply against the sides of his skull. But those fleshy daggers swung forward with the rest of him - when you had last seen him prostrated so low, it was before Sirius. 

"Mistress has need of Kreacher...?" he inquired to the floor. Having forgotten his little habit, you began, "Um, hello-" when he resumed speaking, "Kreacher dearly hopes not, what more must Kreacher suffer? To outlive his master and mistress, to be torn from his home, forced to serve blood traitors and-"

"Oh, how I have missed you," you interrupted. Kreacher fell silent, digesting your sarcasm without a crumb of humor. But you couldn't be annoyed by his hard words this time. He spoke truthfully, losing the only family and home he had ever known. And he belonged to you now. 

'Belong to me,' you mused. That felt wrong. He wasn't a thing - even if Sirius had remarked that he was as old as the furniture in Grimmauld Place. But he could be dangerous if unleashed, especially now that Bellatrix had reobtained her own freedom.

'Maybe if I could befriend him... Being stuck with those horrible people in that horrible estate must have done a number on him. Even Sirius was needlessly cruel to him.'

You wore your warmest smile and extended a hand toward him, causing him to flinch back, his hostility freezing into fear. A pang of sorrow struck your chest at the reaction. 'Is kindness so foreign to him?' 

"Kreacher-"

"Oh, no, no, Mistress utters the name Kreacher's noble Mistress had given him-"

You fought over his muttering, "I'm sorry that you've lost your home-"

"Calls upon poor Kreacher to mock him-"

"I'm being sincere, Kreacher, no one will mock you anymore-"

"Fallen so low, oh my good, noble Mistress, how Kreacher has fallen so low. The house elf of the Noble and Most Ancient house, belittled by the spawn of a blood traitor-"

"I understand I'm not a Black, but we both-"

"Half-Blood dares utter the name of the Noble and-"

"-lost Sirius." He finally fell silent. His massive, bloodshot eyes dragged up from the floor to finally meet you. His woe was real - tears glistened in them like two blood moons. But so was the smile. As sharp and cold as a blade, killing your hopes of friendship as swiftly as it slid across his sallow face.

"Master Sirius. Yes, how could Kreacher forget his young master." And a hideous laugh broke from his spindly teeth. The cackling laughter stabbed your ears, injecting venomous anger. The only time you had ever admonished Sirius was when he interacted with Kreacher, but the urge to mirror him with a good, firm kick was strong. 

Instead, you seized the nearest pillow and chucked it. The force was enough to topple the elderly house elf over, but it failed to interrupt his mirth. He simply curled up on the ground, still writhing with laughter - laughter at Sirius's death.

"Get OUT!" you ordered. The bubbling pitch of Kreacher's voice was sliced in half by a ruckus crack, leaving along with him.

Your chest heaved with angry breath, your arms as stiff as poles, with two budgers at the ends. Then, with a pitiful whimper, you collapsed back onto the sofa. By the time Cedric arrived back from his night rounds, you had gone to bed. The only proof of Kreacher's visit was the tear-dampened pillow that sat where you once had.