Unhallowed

Part 1

There I was…again….laying up awake…like always. Sleep eluded me. Some would call it a perk, but when you lived in a world that slept for a quarter of the day, not sleeping called on me to think of creative ways to stay entertained. A small burning played at the back of my throat to the same beat as the piano sonata that thrummed in my ears. The music emanated from across the room while I lay awake on my bed, arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling. Earlier I had been writing, but the thoughts began to slow more slowly, and the viscous flow seized up to what became writers block. I gave up staring at my computer a few hours ago. This gave me time to contemplate what I was going to do for the night. I entertained each idea briefly: attempt to continue writing, pick up a book, go out for a coffee, go to a club, go hunting. Each image flickered momentarily before I dismissed with a sigh. I was several things. Frustrated, first of all.

When you never have to sleep you take pains to stay entertained. I danced, I read, I wrote, I attempted to study several muggle endeavors such as mathematics. Chemistry and physics were fundamentally interesting, though abnormally challenging. So I relaxed into write. I wrote about my experience as a half-breed. About being an outcast. About fictional character experiencing some symbolic depravity in which I found myself. I wrote on the importance of muggle ideas in the magical world. Trying to explain the importance of concepts of mathematics, physics, geology, chemistry, etc to an audience that could operate effectively without knowing such things. It was difficult to not attract attention when publishing so many books, but a pen name kept my secret safe. Isis Lovecraft. It had a ring to it. Writing books had perks as well as disadvantages. The greatest perk was probably that I came across so much interesting source material. In the wizarding world, nothing ceases to amaze. History, rebellions, charms, transfiguration, potions…half-breeds. I enjoyed studying that, which may appear as narcissism. Studying oneself always seems to bring about that kind of response. The last book I published on the subject of half-breeds, however, dealt primarily with ethical considerations. Narcissism being boundless—being mine, it would have to be. I chuckled to myself. I considered myself a bit longer, and though there may peculiar, even amazing things about myself—I do not have myself to thank. I am a result of my parents.

We cannot choose our parents, or there is no way I would be here, awake… at 2 am…alone. We cannot choose our origins, but we always have a choice of our actions. Some people feel that parents, friends, or social position make choices for us. They don't. They can make decisions hard, and they can make the correct decisions painful, even lethal- but they have no power to choose. Only I do. I have the power to take my parents and my past and my darkness and not let it rule my life.

But why did I have this damn burning in the back of my throat. I didn't choose for it, but I could choose how to deal with it.

It was dark outside, and I was thirsty. My eyes focused on the miniscule spots on the barely lit ceiling and my ears became consumed with the music filling the room.

I gave in. I would go out to dance tonight. Isolation here in this small apartment in Barcelona wasn't the best, but at least I was away from the past…mostly. I had moved here five years ago, when I was 10—or rather I ran. I disappeared. I had heard tight lipped rumors that my father was finding his way back into the world; facts which made my decision to leave all the more easy. I had never met my father…or my mother. They had died, though in different ways. My father had sealed his own fate with death when he all too enthusiastically hunted down the Potter family. My mother died in a witch hunt—well not because she was a witch, but because she was a vampire. It was a witch hunt in the wizarding world. I never met her, and I was left to grow up with various pure-blood wizarding families. I had been raised around horrible thoughts and despicable actions—but although I was witness to it, I wouldn't let it rule me. I would choose.

Laying down for some long was growing tiresome, so I settled on choosing to go out to the nearby club. I dressed in black flats, black wash jeans with silver threading, and black peasant top that came off the shoulders. With my hair half-hazardly pinned into a bun and a dusting of makeup and a light jacket as I walked to my favorite dance club. Though younger, I looked older. I felt older too, but my condition ensured that I looked as old or young as need be.

Walking down the street that evening was warm. It tended to warm in Barcelona, and if I wasn't so hesitant about trying to move again, I would probably try to leave. I missed the stormy weather of Britain and the chilly rain it brought. After walking a few blocks I slipped into the club my senses were overcome with a plethora of sensations: the delicious warmth given off by everyone around me, the mixed tang of alcohol and too much cologne, and the comforting wash of pounding music. I always found music comforting. I allowed me to escape the present when my thirst was too overwhelming. It allowed me to be close to people, but to escape to my happy zone.

Not everyone was equally appealing, just as not all regular food was equally appealing. The allure of different blood's scents depended on a person's essence. Some essence was quite nice, almost comforting, other completely repulsive. Being around pure-blood wizards I never battled my thirst too much because all of them repulsed me greatly: as if they rotted at the core and that putrid ichor leaked into their blood.

I began to let my senses take over, and my instincts to kick in. It was dangerous with the burning in the back of my throat. But I have the choice I silently reminded myself. I slowly made my way to the center of the large crowd and began to let my body move to the beat. I used to be so nervous, but then I remembered that so is everyone. Everyone is just as self-conscious and self-aware as I am. Although you're the only one looking for dinner…shut it…They are all just as worried- we're just worried for different reasons. I focused on the heavy pulse of the music. I only concerned myself with the feeling of the music beat through me and the warm bodies rub up against me. I moved slowly through the crowd as I danced. I was drawn to some, and repulsed by others. Generally at places like this, however, I ended up with a general sense of disgust in the pit of my stomach which helped tie up the beast that lurked menacingly under my skin. The beast that made my teeth ache and my throat burn. The same putrid essence that repulsed me, lurked somewhere deep within me. I tried so hard to keep it boxed up, tied up, sealed tightly away. The thought of that darch ichor flowing freely through my essence turned my stomach, so I refocused on the music that poured over me in the dim lighting.

Strategically placed between two very handsome guys I let my eyes bore into theirs as I continued to dance. I focused on their fragrance, their pulse, their movement, their hungry eyes as they raked over my body slowly. I allowed my eyes to flutter closed as I danced closer to one of them. Even with the physical closeness and the music to help loosen me I still felt numbness: a cold that overwhelmed and numbed my senses. My emotions had always been so intense: happiness, sadness, anger. It was like a roller coaster, except even at its highest point, it was an uncomfortable ride. I struggled for so long to try and deal with those overwhelming emotions. Slowly I realized that numbness helped ease the discomfort they brought. Now most of my emotion was locked away in box…the same box as that dark putrescent ichor. I closed my eyes and tried to let the music take me. Partly because it helped me feel alive, and partly because I hated feeling dead. You are dead. The thought flickered. No…only half….and it doesn't have to consume me. It didn't have to consume me—but half dead felt more comfortable than uncontrollably alive.

I tried not to focus on any one person for too long, and to just dance and excite that spark of humanity I know that was buried somewhere beneath me. This went on for what seemed like several songs, and in the end I did manage to become consumed enough to forget that burning in the back of my throat and the warmth radiating from the room that promised relief.

It was getting late. Or early. Not that it makes much difference since I'm not gonna sleep. People had been slowly existing and entering the club all night. Those that exited though, were not replaced with more dancers, they were replaced with people that sat nonchalantly at tables and the bar: dispersed throughout the room. That's when he stepped through the doors and I immediately choked and noticed him. Throughout the wee hours of the morning more than an average number of adults had been taking up residence in the club. No one I had ever seen before, but none of them danced. They all sat at tables, at the bar, and talked amongst themselves or not at all. But then he entered. And the whole night made sense.

In that instant I did not know whether to panic and dissaparate, or to wait and hear him out. I hadn't seen him in five years, but he hadn't changed a bit. He stepped into the club in muggle clothes, dark as his look, and his lank black hair delicately falling over his waxy sullen complexion.

Severus.

Severus whose intentions I was never sure of, though none of them, I suspect, good. He seemed far more empathetic than he let on, though I tried to hide my ability to read people, as it was a trait my father always exploited in his own "work". Anything that made me different from a regular witch I always tried to cover up, but the talent came so naturally it was difficult. The most difficult to resist was tearing through people's mind to find information I needed, or to influence them to do what I wanted. It sickened me more than a little to think about it. To tear a sentient being's free will away like that, and it was a talent that I needn't practice to know I possessed. It always lurked their tempting me, but after my first encounter with it—I was always reminded to be disgusted enough to not be tempted.

My father, I realized. He was the reason I left…but was he the reason I would return? Severus worked for my father. Was unquestionably loyal to him—so much so that even my father's other followers were disturbed by it…or jealous. I panicked. This must be why he's here. He's found me. He's going to take me back to my father.

Fear paralyzed me. Fear paralyzing me was generally welcome when it was fear that I lost control of my hunger, but this fear was not welcome. Don't think about him now. You left him…you're stronger than him. Better than him. He does not define you, you do.

But no matter how many times I repeated the words in my head I did not believe them. If I was easy to cry, tears would swell in my eyes, but I was not, and my face would remain impassive.

Then Severus stood before me as I continued to dance, acting as nonchalantly as possible.

"Hello Genevieve," he drawled out quietly. I dared to meet his dark eyes that were slightly hidden beneath is equally dark eyes.

Severus. Do you mind if we speak like this? I silently inquired.

If you'll keep the prying aside, then I suppose it is a start. He acquiesced. I believe you know that this day has been inevitable. Its time.

Panicked beneath my calm façade I continued, Time for what, exactly? I was contemplating dissaperating to my apartment- to pack- to leave- to keep hiding. But I was all too aware of the 12-15 other bodies that must have the wands anxiously hidden. I continued to dance.

To stop hiding, Genevieve. You have…..won the trust of a few notable wizards. They would like to….hmm…they would like offer you an education… and a future. His thoughts were broken and it took much will power not to pry further. I had my father's knack for mind reading…and manipulation- but if I had won the trust of some miscellaneous wizards, why abused this unknown trust? Take my hand and we'll dissaperate.

Let me think. I quickly responded. Severus's awkward stance had attracted the attention of a few sleep deprived dancers. I made my way away from him as I continued to dance and lazily sweep my eyes around the room. 13. A hunting party. Thirteen always came to hunt. And I was the prey. Perhaps only if I disobeyed. Severus had never directly hurt me, but his form of authority and discipline was always subversive.

After an entire song wrapped in thought and music and warmth, and entire song of weighing the costs and benefits of the perhaps trust of perhaps notable wizards I returned to Severus. He held out his hand lightly, palm up.

And what is our destination? I enquired coldly and hesitantly. He gave no response. He simply continued to hold out his hand. His eyes bore into mine as I fought the urge to delve deeper into his conscious and find what I desired: the truth.

I let myself be taken with the idea of promise, of hope. Of being appreciated instead of despised. Perhaps my control of bloodlust. Perhaps my writing. Perhaps my father… or my mother.

No matter what crossed my mind I could not figure what would redeem me, and so I resolved myself to this not working out as well as Severus proffered. We walked outside where to where there were no onlookers.

I stretched out my hand and gingerly touched his. Then the pull violent pull at my belly button began and we dissaparated.