Pale blue eyes stared back at me from behind the dusty glass of the mirror. I swept a clump of violet hair away from my face and placed it back into the tangled mess hanging down my back. It was naturally black, but some experimental spells one night after a little too much butterbeer had left me with bright purple streaks coupled with the occasional flash of crimson. Needless to say, my professors were not best pleased and I had promised them I would correct it as soon as I could create a counter-charm.
I had actually figured out how to change my hair back about a month before, I just wanted to see how long I could get away with it.
Gathering my hair up in order to brush it, I noticed for the first time that it was actually getting quite long; since it now fell way past my shoulders. I had been too preoccupied since the outbreak to focus on trivial things like the length of my hair, though I should really have noticed since every morning I have the exact same routine: wake up, shower and then stare in the mirror as I monitor the effects of what The Ministry of Magic are calling an 'unexplained virus'. To be honest, I'm skeptical.
I pulled open one eyelid, leaning closer to the mirror. My pupil didn't look too dilated, but this morning in particular I noticed a larger number of dark blood vessels on my inner iris when I looked closely.
"Shit . . ."
My eyes were still predominantly blue, and from even a short distance the change in colour wouldn't be recognisable, but I knew it wouldn't be long until they began to spread. I had a couple of months if I was careful how much I drank.
Opening my mouth, I was relieved to find that, for now, my teeth were still straight. However, my unhealthy pallor was a great indicator as to that fact that I had definitely contracted the virus - or whatever it actually was that was causing students throughout Hogwarts to inexplicably become vampires.
Usually, having pale skin wouldn't be a problem for me, since my style was alternative to say the least. I grew up in Northern England, but as a young girl I was constantly visiting my relatives in London - a city buzzing with a mongrel mixture of fashions and cultures from every part of the world. My aunt took me to the markets in Camden for the first time on the summer of my twelfth birthday and instantly I was drawn in by the multitudes of black clothing. Ruffles, lace, leather, chains, small splashes of colour bursting amongst dark fabrics. There were boots with platforms so tall I was convinced they could never actually be worn, black satin dresses with petticoats and ribbons lacing up the back; made so intricately I couldn't help but marvel at each one until my aunt got bored and suggested we moved on to something else. I found tshirts with logos of all my favourite bands, so many, in fact, that I couldn't possibly pick just one. I was enchanted.
I only had £30 in my pocket that day, but when I returned to Hogwarts in September, I had undergone a complete transformation. I stepped off the train with thick black eyeliner applied more like oil paint than makeup. My lips matched too, with a purpleish-black lipstick which I had been practising applying for at least a week before the beginning of term. Under my uniform I wore a band tshirt bought for me by my aunt, despite how warm it was, and in my trunk I had posters of all my favourite bands rolled up neatly and ready to go up in my dorm room.
It was excessive, I know. Looking back at it now I realise that I was pretty much every cliché in the book. I was a walking advert for the standard gothic teenager who tries too hard to be edgy but actually looks no different from everyone else attempting to establish their individuality.
Despite all this, even five years later, as I caught a glimpse of the faded poster of my favourite band behind me in the mirror I still smiled, because without the brattish, angsty preteen pop punk princess of pitiful pseudo-Paganism who decided one day that she was was a goth and her new name was 'Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven' - I wouldn't be who I am today.
I must add that after a great amount of ridicule from my classmates, which looking back I probably deserved, I quickly reverted back to my real name, Ebony Raven.
The pallidness of my skin now, however, was far from a fashion statement. No matter how much I tried to cover it up, there seemed to be a constant corpse-like darkness around my eyes, set off by the sheer whiteness of my cheeks. It was one of the first symptoms I began to show, and it's what had me assigned to a coffin almost immediately after mentioning it to Professor McGonagall.
With a sigh I stood up, realising that no matter how long I stared at myself, it wouldn't change anything. I dug through the clothes in my trunk, wishing that school uniform wasn't mandatory. It didn't take me long to get dressed. In the end I slipped on some grey socks and sensible shoes and looked down; it just wasn't me. I knew that chances were one of my professors would have something to say if I didn't stick to the uniform rules - I had been warned more times than I could count about my dress sense. However, like every other time, I just couldn't resist doing things a little differently. With a grin, I switched the dowdy, old fashioned socks for a pair of fishnets and the dull flats for my Dr Martens. I closed the door to the room behind me, knowing I was already late.
It was snowing outside; something I hadn't really accounted for when I had traded the thick warm socks for thin, interlacing tights. I pulled my robe tightly around myself as I made my way as fast as possible to my Care of Magical Creatures class. I hated having lessons first thing in the morning, especially since I almost always overslept. Alarm clocks aren't always effective when you're being forced to sleep in a coffin 'for the safety of the other students'.
I brushed the snow out of my hair and heard laughter from behind me. Four Ravenclaw girls, whispering and giggling in amongst one another, passed me. I can, at times, be a little hot-headed, and the way they were looking at me told me that I was their main topic of conversation. Riled, I considered making some cutting comment, but instead I breezed past them, deciding that some battles were not worth the trouble.
"Ebony!" I turned to see Draco walking towards me, looking a lot more suitably dressed for this kind of weather than I was. A smug smile crossed his face as he saw me shivering in the snow, "Cold?" He tightened his scarf as if to taunt me.
"Hilarious, Malfoy." I retorted, looking unimpressed, "What do you want?"
"Ebony," His face was suddenly closer to mine and, much to my annoyance, I felt a flush of heat in my cheeks, "Your eyes-"
"Yes, I know." I pushed his hand away before he could touch my face.
"You need to drink." He said offhandedly, still examining my eyes, "Being in denial won't do you any favours."
I was irked by the condescending sharpness of his tone, instantly snapping back at him that it wasn't actually any of his business. We were friends, but his superior attitude really got under my skin at times, and this morning, given the circumstances, I had very little patience.
"Well whatever," He turned to leave, "I'm just saying that you can't change what's happening by starving yourself." He threw his scarf at me and walked back the way he came.
"Draco, wait!" I sighed, looking down at the spontaneous and quite uncharacteristic act of kindness in my hands. He didn't look back, and for a moment I stood staring in confusion before gratefully wrapping the scarf around my neck and hurrying to my lesson, hoping I wasn't too late.