Author's Note: I found out that FanFiction was being a tad annoying and made everything Italic. For some, this hurts their eyes, and I apologize. I've changed it, so I hope that your eyes shall be spared! The italics are usually flashbacks or thought; you're smart enough to figure it out. Also, is being all weird about tabs (which I put every new paragraph) so please bear with it! Please review at the end, I would really appreciate it!
- Prologue -
"You freed the house elf, didn't you?"
"Father, I-"
"Did you or did you not, Arthur?" His voice, level and calm, but I could hear the surfacing snarl.
"…I did."
A blunt pain stung my cheek, and I found myself lost for words. I promised myself I would have stood up to him, but what's happening now? Nothing. I'm being a compliant child again.
"First the Mudblood, then this; what went wrong?!" he yelled.
What went wrong? Father was talking about me, how I, as a child of two pureblood, former Slytherin wizards, went… anti-pureblood.
"Don't be too harsh on him, Scorpio. He probably didn't know that," cried my mother, fear creeping into her voice.
"I knew," I said quietly. There, my so-called defiance. My mother stared at me, stunned, eyes pleading for me to take it back. "I knew," I repeated, louder, more confident.
Father stared at me, cruel eyes regarding me. Then, his hand rose and I flinched instinctively. But as it went down, it went not against my cringing features, and instead to slice through the air.
"Miscreant!" he commanded, and instantly, a small, hunched figure shuffled towards Father, before bowing deeply.
"What has Master called me for? Miscreant will –"he began, a squeaked when polished shoe came kicking its way. "—happily oblige!" Throwing itself at the man's feet, it stayed there, shivering in fear.
Ignoring it, Father turned to me. "It seems like it wasn't enough for me to generously take you in. I thought the untainted blood in you would do, but it seems your own... ideals will cause friction in this household." Pointing at the cowering house elf at his feet, Father continued. "I know you and this servant are close, as revolting as it is. One more rebellious act and this house-elf will suffer. Don't believe me?" hissed Father, black hair dishevelled. "Crucio!"
Tortured screams and pleads came from the clawing mass of rags on the floor; Miscreant's. I mouthed wordlessly, my protest dying in my throat. Stop, say it, say it, I shouted inwardly to myself.
"Stop," I whispered hoarsely, contrary to the blood pounding in my ears. The screams died down to a whimper. My father turned his head up, pupils unfocused.
"Promise me, you will act accordingly as to the honour of the bloodline and Slytherin," he demanded.
I hesitated and my father panicked; he pointed his wand back at Miscreant. "Promise!" he screamed. Mother held back sobs, silent tears running down her face.
"I promise."
- Act One: Encounters on the Hogwarts Express -
The sliding of the door caused Arthur Kirkland to break his gaze from the window; there was no point anyways. Father and Mother would not want to dither around Mudbloods and Muggles. Many families filled the platform for the Hogwarts Express, fussing over to-be first-years or berating troublesome seniors; but not Arthur's.
A brown-haired boy had stuck his head inside the compartment through a small gap; green eyes examining the space. His gaze fell upon me, and his features contorting into a look of disgust.
"Ugh, no space here, amigos," he commented, with notable Spanish accent, slamming the door shut, despite the three spaces left unoccupied by the blonde. This left Arthur with a lingering annoyance, glaring at the shut screen. A few seconds later, Arthur saw a blonde, wavy haired boy talking beyond the transparent door, before the boy slid open the door, berating an unseen fuming friend.
"—words must have more love in it. You're never going to pick up girls – oh hello," he said, looking at Arthur. A nerve twitched somewhere inside him; this French accent ticked him off for some reason.
"Get out," Arthur managed to mutter, turning back to the window. Ignoring him, the boy sat opposite Arthur calling out to 'Gilbert and Antonio' to come join him. A grinning albino and the unhappy brunette from before came in, the brunette half-dragged here.
"Kesesese, I'm the one and only awesome—" began the albino, pointing to himself with his thumb. "Gilbert Beilschmidt, your master and overlord! Heheheh!" He sat down beside me, murmuring the word 'awesome' again and again under his voice to a tune.
"Please don't," Arthur mumbled, scooting closer to the window, wanting to distance himself from them. He felt a glare from a pair of emerald eyes; who Arthur deduced, was Antonio.
"Look, if you don't like me, just go away and do us both a favour," he announced into the air, hoping the brunette would get the message. With a slight jolt and rumble, Arthur noted the Hogwarts Express has started its journey to its iconic destination.
"Oh, I wonder why I don't like you, bushy brows," snarled Antonio, "Especially when you tried to hex me with a slug-spewing curse!"
"I was trying to hit a hovering fly next to your ear," retorted Arthur airily. The actual fact was that Father had told him to stay away Carriedo family, and Arthur couldn't resist a shot at the boy.
"You were trying to make a fly spew slugs?!"
"Awesome!"
"That will not have been beautiful."
Their comments were cut short as the door slid open again, and another student stood there, luggage levitating behind her. Jet-black bangs covered most of her face, leaving out her mouth and nose. She grunted and apologized under her breath and turned to walk away when the blonde boy invited her in.
"There's always space beside me for a pretty girl, mon chéri," he flirted, patting the space beside him. The girl stopped, considered, and tucked her bags into a provided space, taking the offered spot.
"J'apprécie votre offre, mais comme je ne suis pas votre 'chéri', ne le prends pas comme que je vais permettre à vos mains lubriques sur moi," she spoke, flawless French accent in her voice. The blonde suddenly paled and laughed nervously, apparently figuring out what she had said.
"Of course not, mon chéri -er- I mean, miss. I am not that type of person," he replied to her French; the colour on his face did not return yet. The Spaniard had also paled, apparently well-versed enough in French to understand the gist of what the girl had said. Gilbert just sat humming, oblivious to his spooked friends.
"Excuse the pervert, young lady. My name is Arthur Kirkland, and I am proud to say the French student is no acquaintance of mine," Arthur began, unperturbed by the unusual start. The girl hesitated, eyes hidden behind the long, black bangs, and then nodded. The apartment fell silent except for a slightly off tune humming of the albino and the sounds of the train.
"Well if we're making introductions, I am Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Pleased to meet you," Antonio said the venom in his voice from before gone. Now you would believe him as a farmer's boy from a far-off countryside, nice and unconsciously flirtatious by nature. He offered a tomato to the girl; God knows where he got that from.
"Ah!" said the blonde, jolted out of his daze. "I am Francis Bonnefoy, and fate must've brought you to me. No mere coincidence could deliver such a beautiful mistress as you." An elbow to the ribs was what he got from Antonio, who had not yet forgotten the warning the girl had said.
"Gilbert Beilschmidt, at your service," the white-haired boy finished with an over-exaggerated flourish with his hand. He ignored Arthur's quip of "I thought you were overlord and master", and leaned forward to the girl's direction. "What's your name?"
Silence followed for a few seconds. Maybe the girl didn't know it was directed at her? Gilbert was about to repeat the question when a cry sounded in the corridor. "What was that?" Antonio asked, eyebrows furrowed in worry and curiosity.
"You do know that the famous Harry Potter is just in the apartment next to us, right? Along with the infamous Weasley twins and the rest of their siblings, of course," replied the girl, rapping her knuckles on the wall behind her.
The trio stood up quickly, fighting for the first entrance through the door, shouting, "The-Boy-Who-Lived? You don't say?" and "Maybe I'll see his scar! They say it's in the shape of a lightning bolt; awesome!" A wild scramble marked their exit, along with more footsteps towards the direction they headed too. It was now just the girl and Arthur in the compartment, with the rattle and rumble of the Hogwarts Express on its way.
"Not going to see the famous exhibit?" asked Arthur, smirk playing on his lips.
"Please, I'll see the boy at Hogwarts; I'll have the whole seven years to goggle at him, if he lives that long," replied the girl, turning her view to the passing countryside. The din loudened as Harry Potter was probably being grilled by the questions of You-Know-Who and his experience.
Ten years ago, You-Know-Who ((Voldemort)), a cruel Dark Wizard, had attempted to kill the Potters, a wizarding family. He would've succeeded if his own Killing Curse had not rebounded back and left him next to nothing and powerless. The Dark Lord fled, leaving a small year-old boy orphaned, named Harry Potter, with a lightning bolt scar to remind him of the fateful night. No-one knows why countless well-known wizards have fallen to the Dark Lord and not a small baby boy. That's what made Harry Potter so famous.
"You have superb French," remarked Arthur in an attempt to start a conversation.
"Thank you," said the girl, eyes still observing the shifting landscape. "I learnt from Google Translate."
"I'm afraid I don't know what this 'Google Translate' is," informed Arthur, thick eyebrows quizzically knotted together.
"Never mind," muttered the girl. She took her gaze from the window and took out a book.
"The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection- by Quentin Trimble?" asked Arthur, reading the title of the book. "That was on the book list wasn't it?"
The girl nodded. Silence again. Arthur sighed. "I'm afraid we got off the wrong foot, thanks to Francis. I'm Kirkland, Arthur Kirkland, nice to meet you. You are?" Arthur held his hand out, looking at the girl expectantly. She smirked, as if Arthur confirmed some type of suspicion.
"Well, I'm afraid, you wouldn't want to shake my hand, pureblood."
Arthur was taken aback, and immediately drew back his hand. The girl had somehow known he was a pureblood; Arthur wasn't sure whether he should be proud or suspicious. He had immediately assumed that she was a pureblood too, given that she had rejected Francis right off the bat. Suddenly, the girl in front of him seemed to carry something fatally contagious. "Are you a Mudblood?" he managed to get out.
Mudbloods were Muggle-born witches or wizards, with no wizarding ancestry. Being a pureblood, Arthur found this highly… upsetting.
"Something of the sort; maybe worse, depending on who you are," she brushed off.
"Are you ever going to answer my question fully?" asked Arthur indignantly. After waiting for a non-existent answer, he continued talking, determined. "You're going to make this trip mighty awkward, young lady." She turned back to her book, putting on a concentrated face.
"You're the only one making it awkward. No-one asked you to open that huge flap of a mouth, bush-brows."
Ouch, that bush-brows comment sure packed a blow for Arthur's already injured pride. In any normal circumstance, Arthur would have stormed out of the compartment, but this girl intrigued him, with her half-answers and mysterious nature. For now, Arthur did not care if she was a Mudblood or anything; he just wanted answers.
"At least give me a name or something of the sort to call you by," he whined. The girl looked up from her book, and behind those bangs, Arthur sensed a calculating stare from under them. Suddenly, he got the insane urge to take back the statement and jump out the train window.
The eye-contact fell back to her book. "Shadow," she said. The suicidal urge disappeared.
"What?"
"Shadow. That's what you can call me."
"Is that your first name or last name?"
"Neither and both."
Arthur finally plugged the questions, and carefully sorted out the cryptically-given information 'Shadow' had given him. A rattling sound came, and soon, smiling lady with a trolley knocked onto our screen. Sliding open the screen, Arthur politely greeted her.
"Hello, dears, anything from the trolley? Oh, another bunch of first-years, or –er—a pair of them anyways. Was I interrupting something?" she said, glancing from Arthur to Shadow. Arthur flushed underneath his golden hair, while Shadow just stared at the trolley.
"I'm sorry," she began, pointing to a package labelled 'Chocolate Frogs', "but I think that just moved. It's not really a frog, is it?" The trolley lady chuckled in reply, handing Shadow one.
"Of course not! Here's a sample, my treat! Anything else?" she replied, looking brightly at Arthur. Browsing through the products, he picked a few and paid the right amount of Knuts and Sickles.
"Don't you want to buy anything?" asked Arthur, staring at Shadow. The girl shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his look. "Let me guess, don't have any money?"
"It's not that!" she snapped, then blinked. "I-I just –" Her voice trailed off, hands drifting to a small bulge in her pockets. The trolley lady seemed content with watching this little drama unfold.
"Just what?" demanded Arthur.
"I might not know how to use the wizard currency," muttered Shadow. A small 'ha' escaped Arthur's mouth before he could stop it; behaviour that just isn't right for a pureblood. Coughing he held out his hand.
"Hand me the money," he said. Noting the suspicious glance from Shadow, he rolled his eyes. "No pureblood in their right mind would steal money and keep it." Feeling the added weight in his hands, accompanied by a small jingle, Arthur gestured to the trolley. "What every intrigues you, take it."
Apparently everything intrigued her, and she bought a bit of everything. With a 'ta', the trolley lady left, leaving Arthur to explain the system of Knuts, Sickles and Galleons to a, for-once, interested Shadow. Sitting beside Shadow, he held out three different tokens. "These little bronze ones," began Arthur, pointing to the smallest of the tokens, "—are Knuts. They are worth the least out of both of them. The next ones," he continued, pointing to the medium-sized silver ones, "—are Sickles. They're worth twenty-nine Knuts to one Sickle. Now these ones," he said to a nodding Shadow, pointing to the big, golden coins, "—are called Galleons. They're worth more than both Knuts and Sickles; seventeen Sickles to a Galleon. That's like," he explained, putting on a thoughtful look. "A lot of Knuts," he finished.
"Four-hundred and ninety three Knuts," muttered Shadow.
"I knew that," he said quickly. He didn't want anyone lower than a pureblood knowing he was a little slow on Arithmancy. A sliding of packaging followed by a cry of surprise came from Shadow, as a Chocolate Frog leaped from its pentagonal prison.
"I-It's alive," she stuttered. Looks like her calm and witty demeanour was slowly failing her in the wizarding world, thought Arthur. He decided to take advantage of that.
"Yeah, and so is your first of your card collection," Arthur smirked, pointing to the half-hidden card in the package. Curious, Shadow picked the card up gingerly, as if that was about to leap out of her hands too. "Albus Dumbledore," he observed, leaning over. "You know him right? Definitely." A stormy expression surfaced Shadow's features, eyes hidden by her bangs.
"He's moving too," muttered Shadow. Arthur nodded and was surprised when she ripped it. "Just like the real one," she spat.
This girl has an agenda with one of the most powerful wizards in history, thought Arthur, a little scared.
"Do you have something against Dumbledore?" he asked. He took the murderous aura directed at the paper shreds as a 'yes'. Shadow tore another Chocolate Frog out of its package and started by nibbling it. A little contentment returned to her face, shown bit the perking of her mouth. "Try this," Arthur said, taking a little joy out of watching the girl's face lighten up at the taste of a Pumpkin Pasty.
"That taste pretty good!" she remarked, "Pumpkin." Laughing, Arthur held out another package.
"If you like those, you gotta try these!" he exclaimed, opening the package.
"Hey, I never said you could open those," muttered Shadow, but curiously staring at the package. Arthur popped one in his mouth and made a face.
"Soap!" he cried out in disgust, scraping his tongue with his teeth. Shadow chewed on one and swallowed.
"I just got blueberry," she said, sticking her tongue out (which was slightly blue). Arthur put on a mock-frustrated face.
"Dare you to try another one!"
There was a small pause as they waited; then a gag and coughing from Shadow. "What the—? It's like… blood? What is this stuff?"
"Berty Bott's Every Flavour Beans!" crowed Arthur.
"Every flavour? You've got to be joking!"
"Was the blood flavoured one and the soap one not enough for you as proof? Come on, another round!"
"It's your turn; those things are straight from the devil!"
The door slid open again to reveal a short-ish, pudgy boy who sniffled a few times, asking about a toad. Unfortunately, neither Shadow nor Arthur had seen this toad, and the boy dejectedly closed the door.
Unexpected bouts of laughter came from the odd pair; enjoying their journey on the Hogwarts Express. They hadn't yet noticed, the trio of boys from before hadn't returned yet.
"Who knew that Caterpillar Brow could lighten up, eh?" whispered Antonio, peeking into the compartment. Two more pairs of coloured irises observed the happenings inside the compartment.
"She's really something, huh?" asked Francis, watching as Shadow flicked a jellybean at Arthur.
"Don't go falling for her now, Francis. Remember what she said to you before, whatever she said to you," reminded Gilbert, even though he too, was curious of the girl. Francis was about to comment about her harmonizing 'inner and outer beauty', when a few pair of footsteps were heard.
"Get out of the way, you peasants," snapped a voice from behind them. A silvery-blonde boy stood with two hulks, obviously annoyed at something. The trio made way for the other trio, pulling faces at their backs when the silver-haired one stalked off.
"Nasty boy. Draco Malfoy was his name, no?" asked Francis.
"Yeah, why?" replied Antonio, glancing at Gilbert.
"A Slytherin that one; through and through."