A/N: This is only a remake. I own NOTHING you recognize.
Dementia. The loss of cognitive function due to changes in the brain caused by disease or trauma. It was insanity. It was a disease. It was a name.
Dementia Pollux Wraithorne was not a typical girl, nor was she a typical child. Circumstances had forced her to become older than she was. Now she was cursed to a life of emptiness. She found no pleasure normal things. She found no pleasure in extraordinary things. The happiness that came to others easily was a rarety for her. She simply was Dementia. It was her past, present and future. It was her.
She was a witch, attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy in order to harness her powers. But even in such a magical place she was unique, different from the rest. Halfblood was a term used to describe a student who had one pureblood parent and one muggle parent. Though only her mother was a witch, halfbreed was an incorrect label. Her father held a different kind of magic: something...sinister.
The dry wind ran its diaphaneous fingers through her smooth tresses and along her porcelain skin. Numerous snowflakes imbedded themselves in her hair and lashes, giving her the appearance of a Winter-kissed phantom. Her glaucous gems scanned the ashen blanket, ignoring the subtle sting, and various melodies surfaced in her mind. Any peace that had fallen on the aged lass evaporated once she spotted an arrogant blonde striding purposefully toward her.
Draco Malfoy and his posse stood around her, grinning like baffoons. "Why hello there Dementia," he greeted, emphasizing her grim name. He possessed an air of arrogance and rancor, but she new better. This display was merely a show to convince the public that he was mean enough to slaughter innocents and stupid enough to believe it was righteous. Neither were true, but his family would never accept him as he was. The thought filled her with pity.
She acknowledged his presence with a glance. A glance was all it took. He saw her warmth, her sadness, her understanding. The heir was unaccustomed to such idle fancies and responded with his only true familiarity: conceit. His cocky grin shrunk into a grimace of disgust.
"Why are you looking at me like that, you halfblood whore?" he spat, but it wasn't genuine. She could see it in his eyes. "Are you in love with me or something? Well, you have good taste." At this, his coterie snickered. "But no one could ever touch something as filthy as you! Except, maybe, Longbottom!...No, even he's too good for you."
"Call me Demi," she requested, seeing right through him. Why did he bother tormenting himself like this? Her perception unnerved him to no end. He lashed out at her, backhanding her with a fluid movement. The gaudy ring split open the skin on her cheek and the force of the blow knocked her onto the snow. The air hung heavy. No one had expected him to hurt her, but no one minded either. No one but him.
"Did I say you could talk to me," he scolded. Silence was interupted by a series of quiet giggles. The group looked at each other in horror. What was the matter with her? "Why are you laughing, you stupid girl? There's nothing funny going on!" His voice was raised an octave, evidence of his hysteria.
"Oh Draco," she cooed, grinning maliciously. "Hit me again." His mouth fell open in horror and he scampered away, crew in tow. Her smile grew victorious. They were intimidated by a halfblood. How would they react if they new the true extent of her ability? Her canines began to ache, as they always did after their touching moments. Sensing none, she allowed them to lengthen. Relief swelled within her, but it was short-lived. She hid her fangs as she noticed her dear friend, Grace, approaching.
Grace was slender and gorgeous, blessed with luscious blonde waves and sparkling sapphires for eyes. It always shocked people to find out that she was, in fact, quite bookish.
"I would have come for you earlier," she stated "But I'd rather not gain his attention." Grace had always despised Draco, not that many people didn't. It wasn't entirely uncommon for Slytherins to loathe each other.
"Is it time," the hybrid inquired, rising gracefully. It was truly spectacular how she could make everything sound so important.
"Yes," her friend replied.