A/N: Hi I don't do A/N's much but I would like to preface this entire shitstorm of a story by saying that 1) this is a big departure from my usual style and length of writing and 2) I'm getting the plot out of my brain at a very high velocity because the story takes precedence for this sort of thing so my writing will be very very different, A LOT more careless and pedestrian. BUT I REALLY WANTED TO TELL THIS STORY AND THIS IS THE ONLY WAY...! Otherwise I get too bogged down in the writing and lose interest :(
This chapter is a prologue, taking place during Mikasa's first year at Hogwarts. Once the first year stuff is out of the way (which will happen quickly) there will be a timeskip so no worries about prepubescent ick. Thank you for your patience!
With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing!
DRACONITE
Chapter 0. between a second and a second
In the fall months of her first year the upperclassmen began whispering of a silent wraith that haunted the north tower. Not two days had passed when her Gryffindor of a brother got himself flung down the northern stairs into a two-week coma. When Eren rejoined the waking, Deputy Headmaster Grisha Yeager dropped by the Gryffindor table during breakfast, shoved a howler in Eren's hands, and ambled away as his fiery vows to transfer his son to Durmstrang thundered about the Great Hall.
Although Professor Yeager was furious, he did not lodge a single complaint against the north tower ghost who had very nearly killed his son. Hours and hours of dark, indignant thoughts churned in Mikasa's head before she decided to take justice into her hands. Past curfew one night, she tiptoed out the dungeons and crept past the shadows in search of the north tower.
"What on earth is up here, anyway?" she muttered as she stole up the dusty stairs. The walls rang cold and hollow.
Just as she brushed a cracked step, a deep, alien snarl overcame her like a shock of frost:
Insolent brat.
"Who's there?!" said Mikasa.
Losing grip of her wand, she seized the banister, heels trembling over the narrow steps. Coldness wrapped her bones then—but not her bones—not wrapped—no, it bloomed deep in her marrows, gripped her jaw tight and blue, slowed the fog of her stormy gasps, darkened the corners of her eyes.
You hear me?
"Who—what are you?" said Mikasa. Her wand, her wand, but no, her fingers were fire and ice, and her mind, she wanted to shove it out of her mind, how could it be so cold in her mind—
Tell me your name.
And I will set you free.
So cold. Colder than the gallows of song and sight.
"…Mikasa," she said.
The slowness left her then. Her spirit felt light against the cool, hollow draft. She clung to the banister, shaking. But in spite of all anticipation, in spite of all hope and doubt, all unbearable desire to know, the strange, inhuman world that had finally stirred fell silent once more.
After Tuesday Transfiguration, she caught up with Eren and recounted her strange fright.
"You spoke with it?!"
Mikasa chewed. The terrible voice had drowned out the thundering of her heart, but it never once rung in her ears. This she was certain of. (And the cold. The cold. Her bones.)
"Mikasa—didn't you hear? It's worse than the Bloody Baron, it's cursed!" Eren shivered, bouncing on his heels. "It hasn't let people in the bloody tower for centuries! It doesn't even pretend to get along with the other ghosts. No one's heard from it, and no one's been able to do a thing about it! Look, I've asked Sir Nick, and I've talked to all the Third Years in my House, I swear, no one's heard of anyone actually speaking to it—"
"Eren," said Mikasa. "Your spit is getting on my face."
"Oh. Sorry," said Eren. "But still! You've got to see, Mikasa, if what you're saying is true, then this…this is really bad."
Mikasa lifted her head.
"Why?"
"Because the last time someone heard it speak," said Eren, "that person died."
"I'm not sure Mikasa should be fearing for her life," said Armin.
Mikasa played with a corner of her sandwich, watching leaf-shadows flicker in her lap. A giant tentacle broke above the lake to chase the water birds away.
"Think about it," said Armin. "It's just a stupid rumor the older students are circulating to prank us. Honestly, Eren. Headmaster Smith would never allow an actual danger to remain in the castle. It's simply too risky. The Board would've sacked him a long time ago. And besides," he jabbed a finger in Eren's face, "if you really believed that dying was a possibility, then why did you try to enter the tower in the first place? Do you understand how Mikasa and I felt when Doctor—when Professor Yeager told us that you fell down all those flights of stairs, that you weren't waking up?"
"…I was just curious," muttered Eren. He shifted under the weight of Armin's eyes.
"You had all of us in a terrible fright, Eren," said Armin. "You've simply got to stop rushing into these things."
"I agree with Armin," said Mikasa. "If you're going to do stupid things, don't do them on your own."
"Okay! Okay! Bloody hell, I'm sorry! I won't! Again!" said Eren. "Why are we talking about me, anyway? Weren't we just agreeing that Mikasa's life could be in serious danger?"
"No," said Armin.
"I can take care of myself, Eren," said Mikasa, and that was the end of it. "You just concentrate on finishing Professor Zoe's essay. Doctor's orders."
"Ugh. Don't remind me." Eren sighed. "He hasn't nagged at me as much recently, though. Thank Merlin."
Tossing her sandwich to the tentacle dancing in the lake, Mikasa gathered her books and shook out her sleepy left leg.
"Heading back to the dungeons?" said Armin.
"Gross," said Eren.
"I agree," said Mikasa. "And yes."
"I think I'll return to the library, too," said Armin. "I'm meeting with a few other First-Years from my House. We're brushing up on Zdzislaw's intermediate theory of pigment hierarchies in textile transfiguration before we head over to class in the afternoon."
"Gross," said Eren.
If she were honest, Mikasa never expected to find companionship in Slytherin House. When she stepped away from the Hat the evening of her Sorting, a thick of whispers greeted her. Only when the second student was sorted to raucous stamping and clapping did she understand that she was unwelcome.
"Oi, Ackerman," an older boy had drawled at her, as she was preparing to lift her knife and fork. "Merlin knows why you're in Slytherin, since none of us want you here. The Hat must be going senile. But hey," he sneered, "you're an Ackerman. You probably—ha—saw that coming! And you still have the nerve to show up in our school, at our House!"
The whole table exploded in jeers then. She remembered trembling, lowering her head, feeling Eren and Armin and Dr. Yeager's eyes on her, feeling their fury thrum above the din.
And it hurt. It hurt in every limb, every bone, every shred of breath. She had never been given a chance to explain. And even if she were, she wouldn't know where to begin. All her life none of them ever told her why they hated her. They simply did.
Ackerman, they shouted.
Ackerman.
Ackerman.
"Ackerman!"
Mikasa snapped awake. Leonhardt hovered over her, arms and eyebrows crossed.
"Get it together already," she snapped. "We're going to be late for Potions. Lenz is already waiting downstairs. I don't want to become Zoe's test subject if I can help it."
In the first week of classes, Eren had arrived eight minutes late to Potions, interrupting Professor Zoe's specially-prepared dramatic enactment of star-crossed lovers imbibing the Draught of Living Death.
No one was late to Potions after that.
"Got it," said Mikasa.
This was typical Leonhardt, as she had come to recognize in a month of being her bed-neighbor and potions partner. Cold and curt. Compared to the other girls, however, she was far easier to get along with. She didn't give a damn about Mikasa being an Ackerman. In fact, she didn't seem to give a damn about other people at all.
Mikasa appreciated that. She could do worse than pick up a thing or two from Annie Leonhardt.
"There you are!" chirped Lenz from the foot of the stairs. "That's good, I think we can make it in time. We still have fifteen minutes."
"Hey, Ackerman," said a Fourth-Year by the fireplace, "running late for Divination?"
"Furnunculus," said Leonhardt.
"How did you know that spell?" said Mikasa, as they leapt out of their common room, dodging hexes and cries of adolescent anguish.
"That was brilliant," said Lenz. "The blackheads were a nice touch."
"Don't mention it," said Leonhardt.
They crossed the threshold with five minutes to spare. Lenz located her partner, a strange girl named Blaus who ate more than she breathed. Last week she even gobbled up some of the assigned potions ingredients, nearly costing her and Lenz their grade. Mikasa couldn't imagine how anyone would find pickled slugs appetizing, let alone edible.
As Mikasa hauled her cauldron into place, she caught—no. Professor Zoe caught her eye. There was the usual manic gleam. But something more, too, something hidden, something unsettling. She couldn't look away. And suddenly her bones shivered, as if caught in a strange, deep cold.
"I'M HERE!" said Eren.
"TEN POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!" said Professor Zoe.
Mikasa blinked. Just now, did something happen…?
Wrapping her arms in her robes, she chewed her sleeve, and decided to put off the whole matter for later. Perhaps she would visit the north tower tonight. It was possible the whole night was a strange dream, a warped manifestation of her bitter thoughts, but...
I will set you free.
She jolted. Leonhardt asked her if she needed to go to the hospital wing, she's been so pale and jumpy lately.
No.
In a part of her she could neither find nor explain, she knew the voice would come to her again.
And when it did, she would be ready.
So it's her, hmm.
Professor Zoe looked over the girl as she diced her roots and de-legged her spiders. Mikasa Ackerman. Yes, there was something uncanny about Mikasa Ackerman, in the blacks of her eyes. But she wouldn't have honed in on it if Headmaster Smith hadn't asked her to.
Mikasa Ackerman. Last of her bloodline. Placed under the care of the Yeagers since infancy.
And now…
Deputy Headmaster Grisha Yeager was missing.
And the north tower of Hogwarts was waking.
Headmaster Smith told her to keep an eye on Mikasa Ackerman. Headmaster Smith knew far more than he was revealing. But even if he told her all of it she wouldn't know what to do with any of it. That was why Hogwarts needed someone like Erwin Smith.
For now, she could only watch. Wait.
Even if she couldn't shake off the strange darkness bleeding into the shadows of her dungeon.
TBC