A/N- I own naught but Marie Antoni, Sherwood Crotkis and his sister, plus the plot. But all other characters or settings are J.K. Rowling's. Except the part about "The Society", that's mine. YAY!
Chapter One
A dark rain accosted the bay windows and the rough stones of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The flashes of lightening illuminated the dark corridors and brightened the face of the lonely boy sitting at the window. He sighed deeply and pushed a shock of hair from his face. He leaned over a small book intently.
Amber eyes stared from behind the brown curls lying across his forehead; try as he might to suppress them. He held his wand six inches from his face, muttered "Lumos!" out of the corner of his mouth, and re-lighted his wand; the last thunder strike had jolted him so badly that it went out. He leaned a bit closer into his journal, quill flicking madly. Sherwood Crotkis was notorious for the midnight delvings into his own psyche, although many were used to it, it was still not a welcome commodity in the dorm.
She looked at me today, journal. Those beautiful green eyes bored right into mine, and I started. But why would a girl like that have a crush on poor, miserable, silent Sherwood? Moaning Myrtle, maybe. Besides, back home there's Sarah to think about. But after she stopped writing last Christmas, somehow I think she has lost interest in the long-distance relationship thing.
Sherwood stopped writing and stared out the window. His window faced west, where, across the wide and briny sea, lay a girl whom he had loved his whole life. Or had he? Perhaps Sarah did not return his affections. At seventeen years of age, Sherwood had had a few girlfriends, but he always came back to her. She was just different. She stood out in a crowd like a patch of sunlight amidst an overcast sky. She was his sun. But apparently, for her, he didn't even merit candle status.
Journal, I think it's time to break things off with Sarah. She hasn't written for a while and obviously does not carry the same respect for me to even talk to me about it. No to mention mom keeps going on about this really fine guy she's been hanging off of lately. What about that Marie Antoni? I should ask Amy about her.
Just then, a groggy voice called out through the darkness. "Oy, you! Turn out that light, you hear me? Some of us have a game tomorrow morning, in case you cared." With that sudden burst of noise, Sherwood doused his wand, closed his journal, and replaced both under his pillow.
The rest would have to wait until the morning light lay across his face in a blaze of splendor.
But no light met his eye upon it's opening. Dark sky and an even darker room greeted his sleep-ridden mind. His ears opened to the slight sound of his fellow Hufflepuffs greeting the new, blustery, gloomy day.
He sighed deeply; a sigh filled with emotion, deep sorrow, and lifted his weary body from the warm comforts of his four-poster. Sherwood groggily crept to his trunk; inside laid the golden Quidditch robes that were the symbols of his past. The robes he used to wear so proudly were forsaken: rumpled and tossed aside like so much garbage. He had not returned the robes to the Captain, as he should have, instead, when he touched the cloth, he wrenched his hand away sharply. The memory of the robe had burned his skin like an ember from the dying fire downstairs. The memories of a past that was joyful and bright gave way to his future and present that were no brighter than the sky outside.
Instead, he pulled from the wooden container a pair of jeans, a yellow sweater and his cloak; painstakingly putting them on. It was so warm in his bed, so soft, so comfortable, but no, his empty stomach gave a loud, wavering rumble; reminding him of what still needed to be done. So thus he left the common room for the drafty corridors, entering into the candlelit Great Hall.
Sherwood gazed upon the four tables in gleaming finery, groaning under the weight of the many breakfast plates. The head table was also groaning, not because it was filled with an enormous weight from one of the teachers, but because of food, and the teachers were tucking in with exemplary fervor. Above, the enchanted ceiling was filled with the November sky, bright flashes that illuminated the tables and the faces of the grim students.
Today was the much anticipated, almost dreaded, Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match. A solemn, ominous feel flew through the crowded hall, saturating every wizard's body and eating at their soul. The tension was almost unbearable. In order not to look even more the fool than everyone thought he was, Sherwood crossed the room quickly, staring at the floor, feeling as though all eyes were on him. He resigned himself to a spot surrounded by first years, a place no normal seventh year would have been acquiescent to be in. With a great sadness about him, he looked down at his plate and began to eat.
In pausing for a moment, he glanced up and saw a girl at the Gryffindor table looking just as excited to be there as he. She had long curly blonde locks, bright green eyes and was shorter than the first year sitting next to him. He guessed her to be around 16, despite her lack of stature. She was sitting among the famous, almost notorious, trio of Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. Nearby, sat the fifth year Ginny Weasley, looking happy to have Harry nearby. The trio was obviously ignoring her, and was making a point for it to be known. Even Ginny Weasley, apparently the same age, was ignoring her.
The girl at Gryffindor chanced a smile at him, but he just stared glumly back. Ever since the death of Cedric Diggory, an event that changed Sherwood's life forever, Sherwood smiled little and was silent much. He only smiled when his girlfriend back in America wrote, which was infrequent. No, instead her smile was snuffed out like a candle in the dreadful gale they faced.
Sherwood drew his eyes from her and back down at his breakfast plate. He pushed away a few curls, and then began to eat once more. All the while he felt a pair of eyes on his head, watching him, with every move he made. Just then, the Gryffindor table burst into a rousing chorus of "Weasley is our King", which drew his attention back to the table across from him. Sherwood looked for the girl and spotted her staring at him.
The girl was not participating in the festivities as those around her were so blatantly doing. Instead, she was staring glumly at him, her face contorted with a kind of intense boredom. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, she rolled her eyes in an extremely exaggerated fashion. He smiled, and laughed out loud, then a second later frowned in disbelief. This girl, whom he hardly knew, had made him happy, if only for a split-second, happier than he had ever been at home.
He quickly rose from his seat, his right arm tipping over the jug of pumpkin juice on the way, and sprinted from the hall. Unfortunately for the poor distraught Hufflepuff, in his desperate flight through the crowded hall, he had bumped the most temperamental sixth year there was.
"Oy! Stop there! I'm a prefect!" screamed Draco Malfoy as he recovered his spilled glass of pumpkin juice. Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles menacingly.
Despite the angry yells and the threatening sounds that erupted from the distraught sixth years, Sherwood Crotkis sprinted and sprinted. He was running so haphazardly that he ignored the irate prefects, not noticing where his feet were taking him. He ended up in the owlery, which was definitely not where he wanted to be. He looked at his tawny screech owl, Tybalt, and Tybalt stared right back at him. The golden eyes stared with a kind of pleading intensity, making Sherwood take a step forward, with which he consequently stepped in a rather large pile of owl feces.
"I'm sorry Tybalt," Sherwood answered those eyes, pleading himself. "But I haven't anyone to send you to. My mum and dad wouldn't have anything to say to me and I haven't anything to say to them. I guess I could send you to someone on campus, but I can't think of nary a one. You'll forgive me Tybalt?" Sherwood asked as he stroked Tybalt's shiny brown head.
The owl fluttered his wings for a moment, then sort of settled himself to enjoy Sherwood's attention. Sherwood stroked the owl, looking around at the dimly lit and drafty owlery. He began to shiver slightly, even with his cloak around him and the warmth of the hundreds of owls on perches towering over and around him. He let go of Tybalt, who took flight to sit with a number of birds from another part of the owlery, and then walked without thinking down the stairs and into the corridors.
He was thinking about so many things that had happened in his six years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Two years ago, he had been a part of the limited quantity of students at Hogwarts who had actually believed Cedric to be dead and Voldemort to have returned. Yes, he was not afraid to speak the name of the one whom so many feared. Many didn't realize how widespread Voldemort's evil had become in the days of his utmost potency.
Back in the time of Voldemort's reign of power, before the Potter's were killed and The Boy Who Lived "triumphed" over darkness, Voldemort's wrath spread to the shores of America. Sherwood's own father had been what was called a "Vanquisher", the American equivalent of an Auror, and had led raids against the members of the "Society", the branch of Death Eaters in America. His mother had disapproved of his father's interactions with people "of that sort", but he had felt the need to protect his country against the threat of people like the Society and Lord Voldemort.
His thoughts were so immersed in what had lead up to his present life, he hardly noticed where he was going until he stepped into the Hufflepuff common room. He started slightly to feel the warmth of the embrous fire still burning in the hearth, the vacant chairs unoccupied by students with much happier, more enjoyable, or at least more bearable than his own. He crossed the empty common room with wide, drawn out steps.
He walked up the winding steps to the seventh year dormitory room, and plopped on his bed, lost in thought once more. In the gale, winds lashed and rain stung the castle, beating and abusing like a wounded beast. Sherwood was somewhat frightened by the storm, but wouldn't admit it, even to himself. Thinking of things even remotely frightening, led him to Snape's double potions on Monday. Two days was hardly enough time to prepare especially with that horrid two foot essay due...
"Holy, cow." Sherwood grabbed his bag and sprinted from the room. He careened through the empty common room, through the drafty corridors and into the bright and merry Library. Maybe he'd find someone in the Library to help him with it; he wasn't the best at Potions anyway.
The cheery Library was silent and welcoming. He sat down at an empty table, pulled out a paper sheaf, grabbed some books and looked around. The Library was steadily emptying, all but the librarian, Madame Pince and some bedraggled students scurrying to finish their homework before the big game.
Across from Sherwood, at a table shoved up against the wall in the haste of the students, sat that girl. She had her face hidden behind One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, but the bright curls were unmistakable. He tried not to stare, but it was terribly troublesome. He didn't want her to see him struggle with Potions, as he always did, but he wanted to be near her so awfully. He glanced back down at the assignment paper he had whipped out of his backpack upon his arrival at the Library and sighed. He had better get working.
Upon a second glance, he noticed that she had lowered her book, peeking out over the top at him. She quickly ducked back behind it at his glance, but looked up again. Sherwood peered back and chanced a wavering smile. She smiled back, a smile that spread from cheek to cheek, enveloping her whole face, and his enlarged. She gathered her weighty books and rose from the table. As she drew herself to her full height, her alarmingly tall height of five foot two, and walked over to his table, taking a seat across from him.
By now, all of the students rushing to the match had disappeared and the tables around them were empty. He realized automatically that she had indeed intentionally come to sit across from him. The only other person in the Library was Madame Pince, although she was busying herself with the forbidden section of the library, straightening books. Though she was obscured from view, the few odd ear-splitting screams were enough to show the whereabouts of the intolerable Madame Pince.
Sherwood was somewhat taken aback by her sudden appearance that he was speechless until her salutation broke his silence.
"Hi," she said, somewhat breathlessly.
"Hi," he replied.
"I'm Marie Antoni," the bravery quavering in her voice was almost inaudible, almost.
"Sherwood Crotkis." He held out his hand, as if to shake, and she extended her own. For a brief moment in time, they touched, and though there was no shock or any spark, the pulled away quickly. "Seventh year, Hufflepuff, you?"
"Fifth year, Gryffindor."
He looked back at his parchment, his handsome face pulling into a terrible scowl. As he looked up again, he noticed she had shoved her face back into the book. She had only recently picked up An Exhaustive Almanac of the Most Difficult Potions, and was reading with fervor. Sherwood leaned back in his chair, immobilized with shock.
"You, like, potions? He asked, his voice not even attempting to mask the obvious disbelief.
"Yes!" She exclaimed, her exclamation made Madame Pince show her face as she shushed Marie profusely. "I mean yes," she whispered. "Why?"
"I don't think I've ever met a fifth year who did, that's amazing."
She blushed slightly. "What are you working on?"
"Snape's two-foot long essay on '100 Reasons Why Alchemy is Useful in Every-day Life'." Sherwood grimaced, his face contorting into a bizarre rendition of a human face. He then handed over the paper on which he had written down the assignment. "Awful, eh?"
"Not for me. Do you need some help? I'd gladly oblige."
"I'd like that, but wouldn't it seem weird? You know, a fifth year tutoring a seventh year? I mean, could I possibly make it up to you?" He was thinking of what his friends would think of his audacity to ask a fifth year for help. Well, what friends he had.
"Don't mention it. Plus, you're helping me, reviewing and all that jazz for my O.W.L.s this year." O.W.L.s were ordinary wizarding levels, the exams fifth years took. Marie said this with a sweet, charming, enticing voice, with a winning smile draped across her features.
"I love you! You are wonderful!" Sherwood had stood, come around the table and scooped Marie into his arms, twirling her around as he exclaimed. "Potions is my absolute worst subject, ever!" Madame Pince was livid by this point. With a painful stare, she made Sherwood place Marie back in her seat, and re-seat himself.
"Well good, let's get to work..." Marie began, but Sherwood broke in, rather rudely.
"I know! Next weekend is the Hogsmeade trip, right? I'd like to buy you a butterbeer. Okay?"
"I'd like that," Marie said, with another smile, "But we have to focus now. Now, in this book, Alchemy..."