27 December 1980

Dark eyes bore holes through me as we drown together in the wake an impasse. It was a combination of exhaustion, fear, and what I could only hope to be shame that drew premature lines on his face, accentuated in the eerie luminance of the alleyway. The heat that was suffocating me from the overstuffed, overstimulating bar just moments ago was being strangled by a lethargic coldness that seeped from my broken heart in sluggish waves, twisting and turning its way through my core.

My teeth chattered as my nerves caught up to what my brain was processing, sending them into a furious state of overdrive. For the first time in my life, I was struggling to speak. Each word died in my throat long before they reached my tongue, swallowed back down to the frigid emptiness inside of me.

Neither one moved, afraid of breaking the calm of a storm that would ruin us.

Is this who he truly was?

"I'm not the one walking away." Don't leave me. I recognized my voice as the words left me but it sounded so far away - a small whimper in a roaring abyss. It was my voice that cracked, broken and hollow - that was the final push the tears blurring my sight spill, gently sloping down my cheeks, itchy and hot. The last bit of warmth inside of me.

His face, the same face I would trace with my fingertips, unable to resist charting his countenance for each new line, hardened. But it was his eyes that gave away the pain. Sadness. Embers dying out behind the endless charcoal basins, leaving them as it would a dying man.

We had both known better. We knew it would eventually come to this. What I hadn't been expecting was for him to break first. I always thought I was the weaker one. Then again, he never could tell me where his loyalties truly lie.

"We cannot go on this way, dusha moya; they'll have both our heads," he whispered, igniting a spark in the static around us.

I scoffed, unable the stop the sneer from forming on my face. "You're a coward." I feel betrayed.

"But I am not a fool and, for that, I am not yet dead."

The ice snapped inside of me as I was consumed by rage, my mind jarring, racing to form a suitable argument, unable to come up with a good enough to keep on fighting between my anger and despair. Instead, I stood, frozen, crazy eyes daring him to say something and at the same time begging him to do so.

He made no move to come toward me; there was no gentle outstretch of an arm like I was used to, beckoning me forward into his embrace. Instead, he turned away from me, beginning to walk into the darkness. "Goodbye, Grace."

My name sounded foreign. I couldn't remember the last time he'd used it.

I couldn't tell how long I'd stood there in the alleyway, watching the black space where his back had retreated to the darkness before I collapsed to the sticky ground in anguish - the sobbing finally started.

Igor Karkaroff had ruined me.


23 June 1978

I fell in step with the rambling redhead (who was obsessing over his History of Magic N.E.W.T. exam from last week) and the overly-developed Gryffindor (in my personal opinion, though she claimed envy every time I mentioned her rather voluptuous assets) as they crossed the sunny grounds.

Exams were over. Today was it. Today would be our last day at Hogwarts and after the Graduation Feast held tonight in our year's honor, we would be whisked away across the Black Lake on the same boats we'd arrived on as wide-eyed First Years. It was meant to be some sort of symbolic send-off, back into the warm bosom of childhood innocence before being pole-vaulted into the fickle web of vexing adulthood.

It should have been a happy time and a nostalgic time, where we'd hug one another, say our goodbyes and dive into the world, ready to spread our wings (or something). However, there was a disturbance in the air - thick and unspoken, pressing harder on all of us every morning as the Daily Prophet was dropped onto the table like bad-news-bombs that were responsible for sending multiple students and staff into fits of rage or broken into a pile of tears.

The Dark Lord was rising and no one was safe.

Instead, we tried to focus our attention elsewhere, keeping the thoughts of war and death and destruction to the backs of our minds, though we all knew it was the probably the most pressing matter of all. It was as if avoidance would make it go away, but the word on the street (or courtyard, rather) implied that if you weren't for the Dark Lord, then you were against him.

So, we assumed it was in our best interest to go unnoticed, sliding through the end of the school year so that we could disappear in this big, wide, world.

Only, it wasn't that simple.

Gideon Prewett was going to be an Auror, provided his N.E.W.T. scores were up to par (alongside his twin, Fabian). Auror deaths had been rolling in daily, not to mention the deaths of their family members.

Greta Catchlove (named after her famous relation, who made cheese...or something to that effect), probably would have been able to keep out of sight, if not for her remarkable ability to sleep with every male who came within a five-yard radius of her (future Death Eater or not, she showed little signs of discrimination in that sense). But I might be exaggerating only slightly.

And then there was me, Graceline Watercrest, the little half-blooded nobody who was trying to tiptoe around the dungeons without speculation from my housemates. My choice of friends didn't help the matter at hand but I couldn't see not being best friends with Gideon and Greta - they were the toppings to my pizza. I'd found Gideon in my first year, holed away in the library. We'd been study-buddies ever since (and, let's face it, my grades were average at best, so he was the one shouldering most of the weight). Greta didn't join our little group until our third year. She invited herself into our study session one night and hasn't left since.

Trying to keep out of sight was difficult, especially when you were trying to and especially at Hogwarts. It's like the other students could sense it and sought each opportunity to leap in to bother you.

Of course, there was always the matter of -

"Oi! A Gryffindor, a Hufflepuff, and a Slytherin walk into a bar..."

Sirius Black.

He might've actually been my number one arch nemesis if not for the whole Dark Lord matter. It was bad enough that he and his gang of merry troublemakers tottered around the entire school as if they were the most important people alive, but Black had made it his duty to provoke us on-sight ever since Sixth Year.

In our Sixth Year, the three of us had made a grave mistake. We were each to become crude notches in Black's bedpost, so to speak. Not that we actually slept with him - not even Greta - but we'd been a few of many targets of Black's serial makeout spree. Something big had happened in the Black family the previous summer, and the downfall and disownment of the heir had seemingly sent the boy nutters.

Greta was first, on the train, no less. I just wish I hadn't been the one who volunteered to find her after she'd disappeared for over an hour after 'skipping off to the loo'. She'd been on-and-off with him for most of the year.

Gideon was last. The poor boy held off until nearly the end of term, but he caught a nasty case of Spring Fever in the wake of his coming out and jumped at the opportunity to snog the attractive Gryffindor, much to Fabian's displeasure. I don't think Gideon actually regretted fooling around with Sirius. In fact, much like Greta, I'm certain that he was merely respectively shameful of it.

I didn't make it past October. I still get indigestion when I think back to my poorly made decisions that led to a fumble in the damp grass.


31 October 1976

The school grounds were exceptionally quiet, save the gentle rustle of leaves as the wind disturbed them from their resting places. Promising rain, clouds were beginning to choke the moon from the night sky. It was far from surprising, as it always seemed to be raining in Scotland, though the damp chill plaguing the cool air was uncomfortably unwelcome. The lake appeared to be draped across the grounds, deceptive of its depths by its black, stagnant appearance. The earth edging the lake was sodden and muddy, but I couldn't resist dipping my feet into the murky water, mussing up my dress as I did. By day, the grounds added to the majesty of the castle; by night, however, the desolate grounds seemed eerie and forlorn, especially when the sky was squalid, laden with heavy clouds.
She was purposefully avoiding the castle and simultaneously her friends. They'd been invited to the Gryffindor's Halloween party and was probably the first time since the Founder's Age that a Slytherin was invited to the Lion's Den. Greta and Gideon (but, let's face it, mostly Greta, who would be accompanying Black as his date) had convinced her to go but, after getting dressed up, she opted out, seeking the isolation of the grounds at night.

"Gracie!" Sirius bellowed, far too loudly. "There you are! Y'know, you're 'specially hard to find in the dark?"

Frozen in my seat by the lake, I regarded the noisy intruder with skepticism. Alone, Sirius stood with a bottle of firewhiskey in one hand, while shoving a piece of parchment into his pocket with the other. His hair was messy, even more so than the shaggy form it typically took, and it was slicked across his forehead with sweat. His collared shirt was buttoned crookedly, bunching in the places where the fabric had missed alignment, and he swayed slightly in his stance.

"Like a chameleon, you are," he continued with a slight slur of his words. "Map says Gracie's here, but where could she be? Hiding behind a tree!" He laughed heartily and I frowned. What was he getting at? "That rhymed."

I licked my dry lips, concerned over the boy's strange behavior. "Are you alright?" I asked after a moment.

"Smashing!" he said enthusiastically, moving to sit next to me. He slid on the slick earth, however, and his feet splashed into the lake, disappearing beneath the dark surface.

To help steady him, I grabbed hold of his arm (though I probably should have let him fall into the lake and drown) and he stumbled back to sit beside me.

The laugh that left him was suspiciously close to a giggle as he kicked his feet in the water, now stable and seated. "Slipp'ry."

"Are you drunk?" I asked, still feeling uneasy about Sirius' disposition. He seemed unusually chipper, the kind of happy that someone pretends to be when they're in pain. I'd seen the same tight-smile, devil-may-care attitude this year when Regulus decided to nip into Nott's stash of alcohol. Drunken Blacks are one-in-the-same, it would seem.

Nodding, he said, "Started early." He pushed the bottle in his hand towards Grace, its contents splashing about within. "Want some?"

I hesitated and probably should have stayed hesitated, but my hands reached out on their own accord, wrapping around the neck of the bottle. The first swig was aweful, just like I remembered, burning all the way down. The second wasn't any better. But, as Black and I passed the bottle to-and-fro, it became a little easier.

"Party's over?" I asked, unsure of how to make small talk with someone I didn't know.

"Nah," he chuckled. "I sneaked out."

"Didn't you help plan this party?"

He shrugged, "Wasn't having fun. Lost my date."

"How -"

"Marlene hexed her. But then she was snogging Fabian -"

"Greta?"

"Marlene."

"Oh."

"Yup. Though Pete was a riot...down to his boxers and a lampshade. I dunno where he got the lampshade."

We stared at one another for a moment before we both broke out into a fit of laughter, both falling back into the grass. And as the laughter subsided, that's when it happened. I'd like to recall that he made the first move, but in reality, I'm pretty sure I jumped on him like a cat in heat.

I blame the alcohol. And it was terrible, from what I remember. All hands and teeth and tongue, just desperate clawing for some sort of affection that was leading us nowhere. Hands wandered to places they shouldn't have and tongues began flicking ears and laving necks. It was a mess. I'd had plenty of decent snogs but that wasn't one of them.

It wasn't until his hands gripped my hips, pulling them purposefully into his, nipping at my collarbone that was exposed for his exploration, that I began to realize that things weren't quite right.

And when I said, "Stop," he did.

It was the simple word that seemed to snap him out of whatever alcohol-infused haze we'd been existing in and he rolled away from me, searching the ground for the bottle we'd lost sometime between laughter and snogging.

And when it was found, he simple tipped it upside down, in an exaggerated display to show that it was empty, spilled out onto the earth.

"It's all gone to waste, now," was all he said, before stalking off back to the castle, leaving me to wallow in my newly found self-loathing and the vague subcontext of his words.


23 June 1978

It's how I found out that I hated Sirius Black and that I disgusted myself, all at the same time.

"Go on, mate," James Potter piped in, far too loudly as he squared us up. "What happens next?"

"They all get a taste of Sirius Black!"

The duo guffawed, closely followed by the echoing sniggers of Peter Pettigrew. Greta even laughed.

I raised my eyebrows, fighting the urge to snap back at the morons. I knew I shouldn't; I needed to keep my head down for one more day. Then I'd be free. The words I was pushing down began to turn to bile in my throat.

Gideon began tugging me along behind him and I cast one more look at the group of boys, whose members now included Remus Lupin. He gave an apologetic smile that I almost didn't catch before I followed my friends away in silence.

There was no battle to be fought, here.


My head hit the library desk with more force than I'd intended during my dramatic display of impatience. Slughorn had sent me on a special mission to fetch one Severus Snape, and my friends had abandoned me in my dark mission. I had the extreme misfortune of being exceptionally gullible as a First Year and Potter had asked me to give Snape a note. Only, he addressed him as Snivellus, so when I handed him the note (which turned out to be a rather crude drawing of Snape being devoured by some sort of snake), I also addressed him as Snivellus.

He hasn't been overly fond of me since. Then again, he never seemed particularly fond of anybody, except maybe Lily Evans. I didn't know the whole story, only that they were friends up until he called her a Mudblood in front a whole lot of students.

"Exams are over," I seethed as he glowered at me over the top of his textbook. "Slughorn wants you and I'm supposed to be getting ready for the feast!"

"You've delivered your message. I don't see any reason for you to stay here, pestering me about it." He shot me one last glare before diving back into his reading.

"Slughorn's exact words were, 'fetch him'. That means I can't go back without you."

This time, he didn't bother glancing up at me. "Are you Slughorn's dog, now?"

I sniffed, crossing my arms over my body as I let the room slip back into silence.

My foot began tapping on its own accord - I swear it - until I was the recipient of yet another dampening gaze. I wasn't about to get on Slughorn's shitlist the very last day of school. I was almost free. That meant I wasn't going anywhere without Severus Snape until I'd brought him to our Head of House.

Unfortunately, I wasn't sure how to accomplish this in any other manner than bugging the hell out of him until he finally came with me.

I plucked the newspaper from beneath his elbow, causing it to slip. Grinning sheepishly as he sneered, I glanced down at the top headline.

MORE DEATH EATER ALLEGATIONS DISPROVEN

I stared down at the picture. A dark-eyed man with a brutally handsome smile shook hands with the Minister of Magic, Harold Minchum, making eye contact with the camera for only an instance before glancing away again.

The caption read: "Igor Karkaroff during his statement to the press after being found innocent of all allegations of being involved with recent Death Eater activity..."

Startled by a snort of laughter, I turned to find Snape no longer engrossed in his work but leaning over my shoulder to read the paper.

"Karkaroff is about as innocent as Grindelwald," he said. "At least he got off."

I forced a tight smile, unsure of how to respond to that. Instead, I cast one last glance at the man in the picture before I followed Snape out of the library.

End Notes:

*dusha moya (душа моя) - literally: 'my soul' ; term of endearment