The Slytherin Ice Princess
Chapter One
Her petite body is lifted to her bedroom by spell. The silky black dress drapes below her. The curly raven hair drawn back in a midnight blue ribbon embroidered with roses, leaves her pale face exposed to the world. Her expression is peaceful, but troubled at the same time. Her mother trails behind sadly, feeling as if it is the end of her daughters life. There a platinum blonde haired boy with a pointed face, and stormy grey eyes gazes upon the ground with tears in his eyes. She is gone. His almost identical father rests a cold hand upon his shoulder, though not in a comforting way. After so many years of service to the dark, his heart and soul have drowned in the engulfing shadows for the rest of his days.
Nearby, many other children weep. Pain and anguish reflects in their eyes. One girl, the tallest of them all, with violet eyes and blue black hair, hums softly. Trying to tune out the world with her own sweet sound of mourning, though to no avail. She breaks down in tears. A boy of chocolate curls and colbalt blue eyes wraps his arms around her shoulders, shushing her softly, trying to hold back his own dew of despair.
Another girl, the strongest one of the group, feels the pressure of depression upon her shoulders. She begins shaking uncontrollably. Tears begin leaking from her hazel eyes and golden brown hair falls in front of her face, shading it in a dark way. A boy stands beside her, not knowing what to do. He decides to hold her hand in his and allow her to rest her head against his shoulder. His piercing black eyes that are usually hard with steel soften during this moment of silence. The hair that is black as a moonless night, decides to fall in front of his eyes at the perfect time. No one could see the salty drops fall until it trailed down his cheek.
The last boy. The one to make a joke at a time of solace, finds none come to his mind. The dark blue eyes are the last to fill with tears for he is in denial. His first friend is dead. The black hair has lost its shine and the form of spikes that it once took, well, they now hang limply.
The group was not one to show emotions, having built a barrier a long time ago during their... training.
They watch sorrowfully as she dissapears behind an oaken door, her mother and a sixteen year old girl following, alert.
Sierra lies within her bed, the breath of air hardly reaching her lungs as her chest rises and falls. Whispers surround her. Two people are... argueing? Her turquoise eyes flutter open and the scene of her mother and Hervana dissagreeing with what the other says. When they notice her conscious presence however, the whispers cease to continue.
"Sierra! Oh, my darling! I thought you were dead!" Her mother envelopes her into the most sincere hug she has ever recieved.
Hervana stands quietly, her red eyes showing amazement and curiousity. She stares unto the magenta walls and goes into a trance of thinking, motionless.
"How can it be? The poison inplanted in her drink should have killed her within seconds." She mumbles to herself.
"Mother," Sierra begins. "Do you know who put the viper's venom in my drink?"
"Are you sure that is what was used?" Hervana, snapping out of her state. Her mother withdraws from her daughter to hear what is needed to be said.
"I am positive. That particular snake is my characteristic, is it not?"
"No, that is true. However, whoever has commited the crime is not aware of that." The inhabitants of the room go silent.
"But, Hervana. No one, but the Serpentine Family, you, and I know that. It is supposed to be a sworn secret amoung all." Sierra has hit the heart of the problem and she looks upon the leader questioningly, as does her mother.
"That is what makes this investigation all the more difficult. This fact can lead to anyone at all. You can trust no one Sierra. Especially if someone finds out the mixture that can kill you." She finishes quietly, dropping her eyes to the ground.
Silence once more.
"What do you propose I do?" Sierra asks, whispering so that it is almost inpossible to hear.
"You are going to have to hide from civilization until the person is caught. It would be safest if you are a muggleborn that no one has ever heard of before. A bookworm would be perfect, unnoticable, unpopular, invisible. Harry Potter is going to Hogwarts this year along with you. Become friends with him at all costs. The closer you are to him, the safer you shall be." Hervana responds logically.
"Am I aloud to stay in contact with my friends?"
"No. As of now, you are dead to the world. Sierra Clementine Ventina no longer exists." She waves her hand over the blanketed form of the girl before her. As Sierra slowly changes, Hervana says solemnly, "Welcome to a new world. Your name is now Hermione Jane Granger."
I sit up so fast that my back feels sore. Sweat drips down my forehead and onto my cheeks. Although that was long ago, seven years to be exact, I still cannot get over the haunting memory.
Flashes of my friends standing before my grave. Tears falling swiftly, dressed in black. However, the boy I love and who loves me, falls upon his knees, and weeps for all that is cruel. I killed them that day, not just myself. My death causes all their hearts, their souls, to become colder than the ice that froze over the earth long ago.
I know that what I do now is right for my well being, but it is also cowardice that brings me to hide out as this girl, a muggleborn, a bookworm, an insignificant life form that everyone loves... and hates.
I whip back the sheets of my bed and touch that cold hardwood floor of my room. It sends unwanted chills up my spine as gooseflesh sprouts about my arms rapidly like a growing storm. Unwanted, like my life that of which is a lie.
Walking across the room, I notice that the window is sprung open, allowing the cold midnight air into my room, fluttering the thin red drapes. Closing it, I look into the vanity standing beside it.
Intricately carved with roses, black ebony. It was my fifteenth birthday present. I have an obsession with the Victorian Age, so, naturally, it was made in such a fashion.
I look into the reflection, no longer seeing the girl I want to be. Before, I could look deep into my own soul and see myself, but no more. I am nothing like I used to be, nothing, at all. Golden brown hair and eyes of hazel, just like Cleo's. Lowering my gaze to the top of the vanity, I see a paperweight made of Rose Zircon, my birthstone. My eyes travel back and forth from the paperweight to the mirror and I find one solution.
My small hand encloses the rock, my arm raises it, and my heart smashes it into my tormentor. As the shatters fly everywhere, I fall upon the floor, and do nothing to stop the tears that fall. Shoulders shake uncontrollably and I find no solution to the aching pain of deception.
Something is shining under my vanity. A shatter of the mirror, nothing more. That is what my mind tells me to believe. Finding curiousity overtake me, I crawl closer and stick a reluctant hand into the shadows. When the small object enters the bowels of my hand, I hope to feel pain strike through me as blood trickles from my palm, but no. It is as smooth and beautiful as I remember it.
A black topaz heart locket. Empty, but that does not distinguish its importance. The silver vines with tiny engrave leaves encircle the small body. It hangs from a delicate and simple silver chain, bright and shining in the little light coming from the moon peering through the curtains.
I remember its purpose, but where is it? I race across my room and to the nightstand placed next to my bed. I dig through the contents of loose parchment and quills to come across... an empty bottom. Giving up crosses my mind, but that is not an option. Slowly, an image of myself flashes before my eyes:
The nine year old child crouches next to the cabinets of the nighstand. Reaching into her pocket, she draws out the topaz locket. Placing it up against the silver symbol of a viper dangling a necklace in its mouth, a sound of many locks opening reaches her ears. She begins crawling in,and then, she disappears.
Long ago, I had realised that I have flash memory. It was difficult to control at first, but I soon figured out the concept and how to use it. Many years of... training and it was perfected.
Kneeling before the nightstand, I open the cabinet. There, in the back, is the same viper with the necklace dangling, but is coated in a thick layer of dust.
I push the original necklace against the engraving with my palm. Slowly, I turn it and the same sound of many locks opening returns. A gaping hole begins to form, growing larger as each second passes until it is possible for me to crawl through. Grasping my wand, I do so. The passageway is designed after the archway to Diagon Alley, though smaller in scale.
Inside there is nothing special. Brick corridors with a few extinguished lanterns. As I wave the rose wood wand, the fire comes alive within the torches. It is quite dank in here, though it is rather large. The ceiling is high enough for me to walk through, but my just brushes it. The further I venture, the colder it gets. I quickly grab a lantern to shed some light on the darkening hallways.
There, at the end, is a black rose. Beautiful, extremely beautiful, but deadly to me. Beside it is a simple black leather journal. Yet another symbol on the cover. Not unlike the one before, but slightly different. A silver carving of a rose. Beautifully simple. That was my grandmother's saying. Sienna Dormino.
I pick up the small book and open it carefully. I wouldn't put it past myself to have put some curses upon because of my friends constantly trying to read the contents. Luckily, there are none, well, at least I think there are not.
The last entry is from the day I 'died'.
October 31
Dear Diary,
Another trajedy has befallen me. The lie of my death has become hard to bear even after just two dreadful hours. The cries of my friends let the guilt of my actions seem ten times worse. I wished for an outlet, and I got one for my 11 birthday. Throughout all this, I shall live up to my titles. The Slytherin Ice Princess and Queen of Serpents. Both are very honorable, but they both carry the weight of responsibility. I was made Queen of Serpents through blood, but Slytherin Ice Princess is a different story. I shall explain...
That is enough for me to read! No more needs to be seen by my eyes. I race through the corridors and crawl out the cabinet. Shutting the doors behind me, I promise never to return to that place of memories that are all to painful. Despite this, I crawl onto by bed and fall asleep, the locket and diary still clutched in my arms.