The corridors buzzed like the inside of a hive; some students flitted around, hastily running for their next lessons whilst others hovered lazily outside classroom doors. I scuffed my foot impatiently on the marble floor, eyes fixed on the closed door of the DADA class. I wondered briefly whether the students were in such a hurry in these corridors to escape the clinging cold of the dungeons. A snap of clothing as it whipped past my face startled me from my fixation and I eyed Professor Snape warily as he stalked past his students. He turned abruptly at the door, seemingly fixing each one of us with an icy glare. I bit back my amusement at the similarities between his personality and the dank dungeons he preferred to inhabit.
"Judging by the lacklustre air about you all, I'm guessing most of you passed your OWLs by luck alone. We'll see how easy it is to wittle you down once you realise that it'll take more than luck to get more than a Troll this year."
I heard Hermione sniff from the back of the group and I narrowed my eyes at the greasy professor. He returned my look with a twist of his lip and once again turned his back to the class, unlocking the door and sweeping inside. The rest of the class followed behind hesitantly and I heard multiple gasps as to the front of the class. I took a seat at the back, my eyes following theirs and I realised with a jolt of horror that three graphic pictures rested against aged easels. My eyes fixed on the twisted form of a woman, her mouth open in a scream and her eyes glassy with agony. My hands fisted upon the table and I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't need to read the plaque on the frame to know what that curse was.
"Sit down, you're wasting my time," Snape drawled from the front and the remaining stragglers rushed to a seat. Somebody raised their hand as Snape made to turn to the chalkboard and he sucked in his cheeks, giving them a sour look.
"Sir, what are those pictures?" the student swallowed with difficulty.
"Past teachers may have spared you the sight of the spells they warned you about, but I do not coddle. They are there to teach you what it looks like to suffer underneath Dark magic. It is not enough to just tell you that Dark magic is painful and twisted, often it must be seen to realise its… grotesque nature."
The questioner sank into her seat, her eyes inadvertently flickering to the pictures although her face grew paler with each glance. I grimaced, trying to keep my eyes on my desk. Snape began to write on the board. His spiky writing was sharp to the eye and the words merely confirmed what I already knew about the pictures.
"Can someone tell me what the kiss of a Dementor involves?"
"They suck out your soul," somebody whispered from the back and everyone swivelled to look at him. Blaise Zabini was hunched in his seat, his brow puckered as he pressed his lips into a thin line.
"A sufficient answer; the soul is the essence of your person. You can be kissed by a Dementor and still function biologically, but without the ability to do anything on the spiritual plane you might as well be dead. In fact, it would probably be preferable. There is no way to kill a Dementor, but you can repel it. How would you do so?"
Snape scanned the room with a bored expression, tapping his wand lazily on the desk. I watched Hermione's hand twitch on the desk but she didn't raise it. Nobody said a word. Snape turned to the board again and scribbled the words 'Expecto Patronum' beneath 'The 'Kiss''.
"What about the next picture?"
I let my eyes wander to the middle picture, stomach churning at the pool of blood and body parts that glistened even in the absence of light. The word on the board read 'Inferi'.
"It's just a bloody puddle. What are we supposed to think?"
Everyone turned again to look at Draco, who sat half in shadow beside Blaise. The part of his face that was showing was gaunt and I sucked in my bottom lip, eyes narrowed. Snape's eyes narrowed also, his arms folded across his chest.
"This puddle is what is left of a man after he has suffered the wrath of an Inferius. During the wars before you were born, there were enough people killed to build an army of them. They are formed by Dark magic; reanimated corpses bound only to their master's will. They will destroy anything that stokes their bloodlust. No wizard stands a chance against the power of the Inferi. However, they can be shielded against; how?"
This time Hermione did raise her hand and Snape rolled his eyes. She took his silence as liberty to speak.
"Inferi are creatures of the darkest of magic. Therefore, anything that produces light or heat could repel an Inferius. A whole army of them though, that could take something as wicked as Fiendfyre; but that could also not work, being of a dark nature itself."
"Correct," Snape drawled, unable to find fault with her explanation. I bristled slightly at his condescendence.
"And what about you, Miss Dolohov. What can you tell me about the last picture?"
I met his gaze with a fiery glare and bit into the side of my cheek so hard it drew blood instantly. I stayed silent, avoiding the picture by keeping my eyes on his face. The entire room was silent except for the occasional creak of a chair as people turned to look at me. Eventually I let my eyes fall to the last picture and I felt the same wave of sickness roll over me. I noticed he hadn't written anything in the bored. He wanted me to say it. My mind flitted briefly to the memory of fourth year; the squeals of the spider as it had writhed in pain, the same squeals that were ripped from my throat in the confines of my own home. The next breath I took was with difficulty.
"It's the Cruciatus curse."
"What do you know about it?"
There was a challenge in his question and I met his eyes again, anger replacing the sick feeling in my gut.
"You know exactly what I know about, you heartless bastard," I hissed. There was a brief spasm in the muscles under his eyes before Snape returned to the same sour expression.
"Twenty points from Gryffindor. Now answer the question."
I heard the sharp intake of breath from both ends of the classroom; one from Hermione, the other from Draco. I stood from my seat, planting my hands on the table to stop the shaking.
"The Cruciatus curse is a curse designed to cause torturous pain. It is an Unforgivable and rooted in the history of the darkest of magic. It triggers every nerve in your body, like every individual one has been set alight. You'd never have known you could feel so much until you can feel the fire licking at your skin. It's worse than anything you could ever imagine. It takes the air from your lungs, so that even screaming the agony away isn't an option. All the victim can do is take the pain and hope it will kill them. The worst part about it is knowing that the caster wants to bring you this pain, wants you to feel it. They know that it won't kill you, but it makes it easier for them to murder you if you're begging for death at their feet, doesn't it Professor?"
Snape stiffened; his eyes were hard and dark like the unforgiving surface of obsidian. The entire class had gone deathly quiet. The only sound I could hear was my own ragged breathing in my ears and I realised I was crying, the hot tears searing trails into my cool cheeks.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor for your insolence, Miss Dolohov," Snape sneered through gritted teeth, "and I think a detention this weekend will also do you misbehaviour well."
"Fuck you," I growled, snatching up my bag and storming out of the classroom. I saw Draco shift in his seat but Blaise held his arm, whispering something in his ear even as his own eyes followed me to the door. I didn't look back as I slammed the door behind me.
"Miss Dolohov, I'm afraid Professor Snape will not have you back in his class."
I looked away from McGonagall, sighing deeply.
"In all honesty, Professor, I doubt I need to take the class anyway. I didn't get an Outstanding in my OWLs because I was lucky," I repeated Snape's words with spite, absently taking a biscuit from the tin McGonagall offered me. Her expression was sombre.
"The consequences of your actions run deeper than that, Miss Dolohov. The detentions have been revoked, which Professor Snape disagrees with. He did not take kindly to your insinuations."
"Insinuations," I repeated quietly. McGonagall pulled her lips into a thin line. She nodded my dismissal without a word and I stood from my seat, the door clicking softly behind me.
I lounged on my belly in front of the fire, half dozing as the warmth washed over me like a blanket. Harry had his feet tucked beneath my stomach, his bottom lip between his teeth as he flipped the pages of his Potions book. Hermione glared at him occasionally from her own book. She huffed as he muttered something to himself and I glanced between the two. Ron cleared his throat. Hermione huffed again pointedly and Harry slammed the book shut.
"Stop that! It's just a book, Hermione!"
"It's cheating," she replied through clenched teeth. Harry rolled his eyes.
"You're just uppity about it because it worked."
Hermione pursed her lips, slapping her own book onto the table between them. Harry stared at her, an exasperated look on his face.
"You shouldn't follow the instructions of a book so blindly, Harry. What if it's a trap?"
"It's hardly Riddle's diary, Hermione. It's just a second-hand potion book that somebody altered to achieve better results. If something goes wrong, it's my own fault."
"So you'll just cheat until then?" Hermione snapped. Harry sighed, throwing his head back against the chair.
"I don't know what I find worse; the fact you still think following different instructions is cheating or the fact you think something going wrong is inevitable."
Hermione stuck her nose in the air, snatching her book from the table and storming out of the common room. Ron cleared his throat, muttering something incoherently before following her. Harry threw the book onto the table with a frustrated growl. It slid off the edge, landing beside me. I picked it up, but he wasn't looking. I flicked it open. The book looked just like any other, if you ignored the dark smudges in the margins and on the space around the edge of the page. However, when I looked closer I realised the smudges were lines of cramped writing, or single words that read like spells, with arrows illustrating complicated wand movements. I squinted at it; the scrawl was familiar, but I couldn't place it in any clear memory.
"It doesn't look dangerous, does it?" Harry was looking over my shoulder and I shrugged. He was looking for reassurance, but for some reason I couldn't give it. It looked innocent enough, but something in the pit of my stomach churned with unease. I flipped through the pages until a single word caught my eye. I ran my finger over it, brow puckering in a frown. The word felt cold beneath my fingers and I felt the ice flow through my veins briefly. I snapped the book closed and stared blankly at the front of it. I knew that spell, had seen it. To think it had originated in the book of a teenager made me feel sick.
"Just be careful, okay?" I whispered, handing him the book. Harry glanced at it before shoving it deep into his book bag. His toes tickled my stomach as he shifted from his seat, flopping on the floor beside me, his face to the ceiling. He appeared to be deep in thought and I shifted my weight on my forearms. He turned his head, his hair sticking up and his glasses askew as he grinned at me goofily.
"What are you up to, you goose?" I teased, pushing his hair back from his forehead with the back of my hand. He caught my wrist with his hand and tipped me off balance and I punched him lightly in the side.
"Oh, you wound me," he gasped, putting the back of his hand to his forehead and rolling his eyes back.
"Whatever, Harry," I laughed, rolling back onto my stomach. He mimicked me, both of us staring into the fire. The reflection danced in his glasses, setting his eyes aflame. I nudged him lightly with my shoulder and he bumped his head softly against mine.
"How do I deserve a friend like you?" I murmured and he looked at me sideways, his eyes bright with confusion.
"Katie, I-"
"-HEADS!" somebody yelled from the other side of the common room and we both swivelled to see the battered Quaffle flying at our heads. Instinctively I reached up and snatched it from the air before it could strike me. The fifth year walked over, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"Nice catch," he chuckled nervously and I smiled at him.
"Thanks, but maybe next time aim for his head instead. It's thicker than mine."
"Hey!" Harry squawked as the boy walked away blushing. I held my hands up defensively, trying to hide my smile by burying my face in the carpet. It didn't work. Harry lifted me off the ground, crushing me to his chest as he spun me around in circles until I screamed for mercy. He set me down on unsteady feet and flung an arm over my shoulder.
"I didn't know you had reflexes like that! How did you keep that secret hidden?"
"I guess I never found it important enough to tell anyone."
Harry marched me over to the noticeboard, slapping his hand against the Quidditch try-outs sheet. I shook my head vigorously. My words seemed to be stuck in my throat.
"Just think of it as a bit of fun really," he said to me as he scrawled my name underneath Seamus'. I swallowed with difficulty.
"Fine, but if it's a disaster I'll castrate you Harry James Potter."
Harry just grinned at me.
The familiar choking coldness wrapped around my neck, caressing my skin like the fingers of faceless enemies. Every shallow breath I took obscured my vision in a puff of white cloud. I stumbled on the rumpled edge of a bloody carpet, the smear of red still wet. It glistened as I lowered the candle next to it and I recoiled as my knuckles brushed through it. It was warm and sticky and I dropped the candle in my haste to get away. It clattered against the stone floor, the flame snuffed out as wax spilled to the ground. I screamed into the dark. I stumbled to my feet, my pyjamas soaked with blood. There was somebody slumped against the wall, their shape outlined by the slant of the moon that peeked through the thin window in the hall. I clumsily made my way over, my knees stiff. They were still as I neared them and I felt hot tears on my cheeks.
"Privet?" I whispered but they didn't stir. I tried again in English. As I came up to their side I slipped again, landing with a wet thud in a pool of blood at their side. I cried with earnest now, shaking the limp body with damp hands. I didn't hear my father approach behind me until the candlelight washed over me, throwing the body into deeper shadow.
"Papa!" I whimpered but he looked past me with cold eyes. He stretched the candle further, throwing the face into light and when I turned I didn't understand it. The face I usually saw was not there; instead I was staring into the face of the stranger on the train. Blood pooled at the corners of his mouth, red tears in his glassy eyes. Then he opened in his mouth in a wide grin and said my name.
I didn't realise I was shrieking until his hand closed around my throat.
My eyes opened to a world smeared with red and I slammed my palms against my eyes, rubbing them until my eyes felt raw. I swiped the back of my hands across teary face, staring down at the blurry outline of my bare legs tangled in the blankets. I slumped back onto my mattress, burying my wet cheeks into my pillow to mask my heaving breaths. There was a rustle as somebody resettled themselves and I listened to the even breaths of my roommates until I drifted back into a fitful slumber.
A/N 'Privet' is the phonetic translation of 'Hello' in Russian. If you think the spelling or translation is incorrect, please feel free to leave me some feedback and I will happily amend it.
