It took longer than I thought to update this. I have been working on this all week because I have had hardly any homework. Yay!
I am so glad that you like this story so far. It really does mean a lot that you review because I was worried I wouldn't get positive feedback. Thanks to people that have reviewed. There is no Draco and Seraphenia interaction but in the next chapter he will turn a 360* change. EVIL hahaha….well maybe not evil but significantly dark. But there is another Slytherin…
Let the reviewing commence!
Chapter Two: A Blaise in the Fire.
Seraphenia's POV
There are a lot of things going through my mind as Lavender drags me like a dog on a leash behind her. Of those multiple thoughts, three stand out boldly.
The first is why hadn't Blaise told me he attended Hogwarts?
We are by no means strangers. When I was in the hospital, the damage done to my body was so severe I had to be taken to a muggle hospital in California. That is where I met Blaise. His family is loaded with pureblood supremacists; however, his father's sister is not. He spent the summer with his single, free minded aunt and her two adopted children in Muggle America, complaining nonstop from the stories I heard. Every day the four of them would volunteer at the hospital I resided in. I don't think he particularly enjoyed nursing to the sick and in need.
I met Blaise my first day in Level 1 trauma. The worst ward to be in. When I was stable, we were introduced. I could read his face easier than a book. He did not want to be there. A few days later I was moved to Intensive Care Unit and he became my 'psychological enhancer'. He was to report to me daily to boost my psychological intake of all things normal. It was critical to keep my mind enriched with activity while in captivity.
The main problem was my name. Some journalists don't understand the meaning of privacy. Mom was positive that I would be followed. The alibi we concocted was that there was a plane crash. The ministry created temporary muggle documents. My new name was Josie Deccan. I had to think, speak, and overall act muggle. It was harder than I expected. I never left the ICU until I was able to go home. On the bright side I got a private room, surprisingly at the request of Blaise himself. He can be honorable when he wants to be.
I hadn't the slightest notion he was a wizard, and him me for a whole month. It happened on accident.
"Magic doesn't exist."
"It does too. You just need to find it."
"I have found it. It's called science. You know, why the earth is round, the sky is blue, gravity, all that good stuff. There is no such thing as magic."
"Science? That's what you Americans call it?" Blaise throws his arms in the air for emphasis. He laughs. "Magia è dappertutto cara."
I love it when he speaks Italian. I try to pay attention the best my rapidly moving thoughts will allow me. Some days I deliberately get him hot so he can shout Italian obscenities at the innocent nurses. It tickles me pink. Plus Italian sounds better than I had thought it ever could. It makes living in this bubble worth the prize in the end.
"And what do you know about magic tricks? Are you a magician?" I ask.
Blaise leans back in the chair. He puts his thinking face on in concentration. The sun hits his dark skin and brings out the natural luminescence he has. I hadn't noticed before, but his eyes, they glow than any regular brown hue. The definition in his cheeks is more defined too. He's drop dead gorgeous. And everyday he comes in and treats me as if I'm the most beautiful girl in the world. I am the most important part of his life. He ignores the scars I have physically and emotionally.
I refuse to take the blankets off of my body for the doctors, just when it is crucial I have to. I don't want to be reminded of what that wolf freak Greyback did to me. I'm lucky he did not bite me. I was left with a nasty wound in my arm. The first time I showed Blaise he was in a semi-permanent state of shock. And he held me. That's all. No talking. No crying. No pity. He cradled me in his arms until I fell asleep. I wish I could tell him the truth. He deserves to know. He has been nothing but kind to me.
Blaise rests his elbows on the side of the bed. "In fact, I am a powerfully trained magician," he says slyly. The twinkle in his eyes over powers me.
"Do tell Mr. Zabini."
"Close your eyes."
I shut them tight. But I open them a bit to peek and to annoy him. "Hey! I said close your eyes Jo!"
"Okay! I'm sorry," I say. I close my eyes tightly for realistic effects. I open them to see through my lashes. Blaise takes a wand out of his pocket. He points it at the porcelain doll his aunt gave me last week. The nurse accidently knocked it over.
"Reparo," he says under his breath. It was not intended for me to hear. I open my eyes seeing the doll putting itself back together. I don't know what to think, the fact that Blaise is a wizard or that he just performed underage magic in the presence of muggles and a witch acting like a muggle.
"You used underage magic!" I hiss. I grab his wand from his hand. He can get us both found out, that idiot.
Blaise snaps his head in my direction. "Underage magic? What do you know about underage magic? I told you to close your eyes. Now I'm fucked thanks to you!"
"Maybe if you were thinking properly—look. I know what I saw! I saw that doll put itself back together. You stupid British Italian."
"What do you know about thinking properly? That's why you're in the hospital, right?"
That caught me off guard. It was really low. Ever for him and that's pretty low. I roll over onto my side to face the window. There are times when I want to scream into my stiff pillow. It smells like hand sanitizer and generic laundry detergent. Not the kind of smell that mom uses in the wash. She puts in real cotton, lilac, and fresh air to get that special smell only she can make. I want to pull my hair out from the roots, throw something, and do anything so I can feel human again. The snooty comments are what drive me crazy.
I've given a couple of interviews for The Daily Prophet and the St. Valley Times. Questions have been dropping from owls into the ministry every minute, its like clockwork. Mom visits when she can. I got an owl early this morning from her. She sent a contract from the U.S. Quidditch Team with a letter telling me to write that when I finished my schooling I would return to my future position. At least this time she wrote 'with all our love, mother and father.'
"Why did you lie to me Blaise? Do you really think I'd tell anybody that you are a wizard?" I ask softly. I thought we could trust each other. On the contrary I haven't told him I'm a witch either.
"What do you want me to tell you Josie? It isn't exactly an icebreaker to say, 'Ciao I'm Blaise. By the way I'm a wizard.' You are a—muggle and you can't know a peep of our world. Fuck!"
I can tell he wants to say filthy muggle or nasty muggle or disgusting, vile, incompetent, stupid, muggle. One of those.
"That's not what I meant. We can trust each other. What'd you do it for anyway? You know the risks."
"Trust? And what about you? What do you know about wizardry? You said magic isn't real."
"I didn't think you'd actually use a charm considering I didn't know you are a wizard. Don't worry about the underage magic law. In America the age is fifteen for the basic crap and seventeen for more complicated spells."
We don't say anything for a bit. He's probably pondering what to do. Obliviate my memory or let me be. "What do you have to say for yourself? Obviously you aren't a muggle because you read me the A.M.M. handbook."
"You're right. I'm not a muggle. I'm going to be in my fifth year—well, I was going to be. I studied at Dwarfullton," I say. Mother said it would be a breach of security if I told anyone I was a Dwarfullton survivor. Oops.
"Josie, please look at me," Blaise says. I turn over to see the soft features on his face. "I'm so sorry."
"You don't have to be. By the way, my name isn't Josie. It's Seraphenia. I'm sure you can figure out the rest."
Blaise puts two and two together. He lights up like the Fourth of July. "The Minister's daughter! Merlin."
"That's what they all say."
"…Pureblood?"
I hesitate to answer. If I tell him I'm a half-blood, he will probably faint. If I tell him I'm a muggle born, he will have a heart attack and die. If I tell him I'm a muttling, he'll slit his own throat, jump out the window, and Avada himself on the way down.
"…Yes," I lie.
"Lovely."
Honestly, it wasn't very smart of Blaise to use magic in front of a supposed muggle, so it is his own fault. We talked for hours after that sharing our stories and whatnot. He told me about his pureblood family in Italy. His mother's name is Noemi. She can't speak a lick of English and when she tries it comes out like gibberish. His father, Giuseppe, is a…uh…I don't know what he does exactly but it involves the ministry and something about muggles. I think. He has a sister named Marquette. Blaise said she is a very promiscuous witch. He left it at that. The light of his life is his brother Luka. When Blaise talks about him the pureness of his heart is easily seen despite what he thinks of non-purebloods. It made me smile. He loves his family more than he loves himself, along with the flaws that they have.
Blaise said he couldn't stomach muggle-borns—he didn't call them that—and had little respect for half-bloods. Our conversation shifted to muttlings. He doesn't like those as well. I gave him a neutral opinion on how I felt. We would read muggle books and discussed what we read, against his liking but he did it to make me happy. The day last day I had seen him was the same day he found out I was a muttling. August 9th. I was in my hospital bed. I left the hospital a week later. I was going through a rough patch. The realization of what had occurred at school had finally sunk in. Blaise held my hand. That is when it happened. That idiot leaned down and kissed me.
I roll over in the bed. Since arriving here in this place crawling with muggles, some who need a strong silenico charm, I haven't had any thoughts of what put me here in the first place. I've been in this retched hell hole for the past two months. The food I'm forced to eat is worse than vomit. The doctors don't want me to go outside just yet. All I do is walk around the hospital three times a day. At breakfast after my fruit, lunch before my crackers, and if I'm lucky I can interrupt dinner with my insistent wailing.
The loneliness creeps up behind me. I can see my reflection in the window of my room. I look ghostly. My skin is sickly pale, no longer the peachy pigment it usually is. My hair is no longer a healthy black sheen; my curls are losing their coil -spring figure. The rims of my eyes are a bloodshot red. My body has been pulsating black blood throughout my veins for a couple of days now, a lethal trait for demigods. When a demigod has been away from their natural element for a long period of time, our souls become desperate. The survival instincts kick in to attack for what we need and starve our bodies for the resources we are without. I haven't come within an inch of heat. Heaters, lamps, and blankets can only tide my symptoms over, not fill its hunger. The soul drains life from me to keep itself satisfied, and I drain life from its source to keep me alive. There has been no sun in weeks. I think the nurse is becoming annoyed from changing the light blubs so often. Thanks Zeus.
I look at the clock on the bedside table. Two o'clock. Where is he? Blaise is usually here at 1:50 PM everyday to begin our reading session. He's the one that picked out this damn book, well, I did, but I had to get him involved somehow. Blaise is the only visitor I have all day. This does not include the nurses and their shots, the doctors and their funny machines, and the occasional bird flying by. I wish my mother were here. The only time I've seen her is in the St. Valley Times that is owled to me. Her excuse is she can't leave her position at the ministry. I miss her dearly. Since the attack, she has become more vicious and irritated with the simplest of details.
"Knock, knock," a voice from the door calls. I ignore him. I don't want to look his way. Not when I'm like this. Blaise would be devastated if he found out I had lied to him. I really want his friendship. It's all I have here. I huff and stretch my legs, feeling the book we are reading on the edge of the bed.
"Have you been reading at all today?" he asks. I ignore his question. "You are the one that picked out this muggle book. It's your own fault if you don't like it," he says annoyed. I kick the stupid book of the bed. It hits the sterile floor with a loud thud. "Don't think I'm picking that up. This floor is soiled…what's wrong? Are you not talking today?"
"You are late," I say to the wall.
"By ten minutes. Are you really going to scold me for ten minutes? I had to do errands with my aunt today."
"Go away. You bitter Italian."
"Bitter? I am not bitter. You are the one acting like a child because I was ten minutes late. What is going on Sera? The point of me being here is for you to interact and talk with others. You know, so you don't drive yourself crazy all day…and so you remember to go to the loo."
"The only reason you're here is because your aunt is forcing you to volunteer. If I were you I would want to be on the beach doing cartwheels and building bonfires. Sleeping under the stars at night. Not spend my summer in a nasty hospital talking to trauma victims. It is hardly invigorating."
"We don't do that in England. Hell, we don't do that in Italy. I find you very invigorating."
"Well then there is something wrong with you."
"Maybe there is. Okay, so I don't find hospital invigorating work, but it doesn't change the way I feel."
"About what?"
"You."
What could he mean by that? The way he feels? Romantically…that's a load of garbage. No one has looked at me in those terms since Jack, and he didn't do much anyway. I found Blaise just staring at me at times. He would stare when I wasn't looking, blink four times when caught, and go back to the topic at hand. His eyes would dilate from time to time. I forgot what that means according to Gossip Witch magazine, but it must have been important. Blaise stutters more than he used to and his hands are sweaty. The nurse checked his blood pressure the other day because I said he didn't look so well.
"What do you mean by that?" I ask him. My heart picks up speed thinking of the possibilities.
"…nothing," he says.
Blaise pulls over the chair from the far wall and brings it over to me. He wipes it down with tissues. "I'm sure there are lots of people in England and Italy that aren't as stuck-up as you. Who wipes down the seat with tissues?"
"Are you calling me stuck-up because I wiped down the seat with tissues?"
"I didn't call you modest. Why don't you take some notes, use them as a reference."
The stiff bed is weighted down near my feet. A bag rustles loudly. I can smell the sweet sugar of those muggle doughnuts he knows I love so much.
"I brought your favorite. What are these called…Krispy Kreme. How can you stomach this garbage?" I ignore his comment. He despises those drug-like treats. Blaise doesn't have much of a sweet tooth. "Are you going to tell me what the bloody hell is wrong with you or do I have to stare at your shapely arse in that hideous gown?"
I move my hands to the slit in the back of my gown to cover my bare skin. The use of proper clothes means nothing here for muggles. Blaise laughs loudly. I roll over to face him trying to hold his sides to stop from laughing. His cunning grin falls to the floor.
"Bloody hell Sera! You look worse than what the cat dragged in," he says. I roll my eyes at him angrily. "No need to get snippy." His attitude becomes more serious than before. Blaise crosses his right leg over the left. "You were fine yesterday. What's wrong? Are you rejecting the medicine?" he asks. "I'll call the nurse if you want me to."
I bite my lip to the point that it is numb. Letting it go I say, "No. The medicine is fine. I just had a realization. A realization that I know for a fact will haunt me for the rest of my life."
"That is very dramatic. Has the nurse let you watch those rubbish soap operas again?"
"It's true, Blaise I'm being serious here. I am alone. Do you see anyone else from Dwarfullton waltzing back into my life? No. Do you understand? They are all dead! They aren't coming back!"
"That is not true Seraphenia. The aurors are finding more survivors everyday. You have me," Blaise says. His hand touches my cheek. He wipes away the tears from my skin.
"And what am I supposed to do when you go back to England? Hmm? I barley talk to the nurses let alone the doctors. What am I going to do when I get out of this fucked up place? Go back to the way things were?"
"We can write to each other…" his handsome face frowns again. Blaise is deep in thought. "…I know how to use a phone, my aunt made me…owl…"
"It wouldn't be the same. You're the only one that treats me human."
"If I didn't find you invigorating I wouldn't have stayed for as long as I have. I have so many emotions for you."
"Really? Tell me one." I sit up and reach for the doughnuts. Opening the box, I take out a nicely glazed doughnut and take a bite. "You want one?" I offer to him. He shakes his head. I stuff my face with a second treat before I can finish the first one—
"I…I love you Sera."
I bite my tongue. Did he just…? "Blaise…you don't mean that. We've known each other for less than two months."
"I don't care."
Blaise stands over on the bed. He takes my hand in his. It is so much bigger than Jacks. I have a warm tingly feeling in my tummy. His hands radiate warmth. My body yearns for it. I hold him tight. He leans down to my height, bringing my face to his. His lips are so close to mine I can smell the spearmint on his breath. It's so sweet and intoxicating. Blaise pulls me to him and his lips touch mine so softly.
The feeling is so mind bending it's unreal. His hand tangles in my hair, tickling the delicate strands. He lifts me up against his solid body. I moan into his mouth. Blaise pushes me back on the bed and crawls on top of me. I grasp at his muggle leather jacket clumsily.
"If you hate muggles why are you wearing a muggle jacket?" I ask.
"Just because I hate them doesn't mean I can't wear their clothes. You are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I don't care about your name," he groans. I can feel his excitement through my gown. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to throw you over the bed and ravish you."
It doesn't matter to me that we are in the hospital making out, snogging. I just know how much I want him. He makes me feel so special and wanted and loved. Blaise kisses me again. His hand grips my hair tightly as he pushes the hem of my gown up around my thighs. His hand sneaks up my gown to touch my waist and up further to the side of my breast. The black blood in my veins grows stronger with our kiss. Blaise's strength grows weaker. I can't fight what I want. He is so warm. It's an attraction I can't stop.
I bump into Lavender's body with an abrupt stop. "Why are we stopping?" I whisper to her. I look over the railing on the stairs. They could go on forever.
"We have to say the password to get into the tower silly. Someone has forgotten it again," she says.
Whatever happened to using keys?
The lightening bolt on my forehead burns painfully. But I push it aside. I can feel a surge of power form between our kiss. I sharp burst of light sparks. Blaise pulls back in pain.
"Hey! You shocked me!" he laughs. I begin to laugh too but the pain is back. I reach up to hold it in agony. I scream for it to stop. I stand from the bed and hide in the corner.
"Sera! What happened?" he shouts.
"Nothing. Go away," I tell him.
The tips of my ears grow to points. My front of my teeth grows sharp deadly vampire-like fangs. Shit. I should have known better.
"No! Stop telling me that. I want to help you."
"If I told you, you'd hate me."
"No I wouldn't. I promise. I could never hate you Sera."
He promised. I turn around. Blaise's jaw drops to the floor. He points at me in a violent shake. Here I am; standing before him; my forehead glowing, pointy ears, black veins on my face, and fangs. "Oh…oh my god—you—you're a—MUTTLING," he growls in disgust.
My bottom lip quivers. "Blaise please let me explain."
He whips out his wand from his pocket. He points it at me. "Explain what? You said you were a pureblood. You are nothing but a filthy, lowlife muttling. That's all you'll ever be. I take back what I said," he says gravely. Blaise storms out of them room slamming the door behind him.
Oh Merlin. And to think I thought I would have killed him.
Blaise had traded in his annoying use of insolent humor for the new choice of hurtful slurs. He nor his aunt and her two adopted children didn't come back. I had thought he was my friend. I didn't think he would act like the others with that blood status nonsense.
The second thing I'm worrying about is would he tell I am a…muttling. Blaise had been furious that I had 'lied' to him of my blood. Truthfully it was none of his business. When he winked at me at dinner tonight, he did it to scare me. He's warning me to stay in my place and in the background. I'm one step ahead of him I have to do that anyway. The third thing is what the rest of the school will do once they find out my blood purity.
The Fat Lady opens her portrait door. Lavender pulls me by my hand into the Gryffindor common room. All the furniture is painted in shades of crimson red to sunrise gold. The couches, curtains, wallpaper, carpet, everything; even the wood has a tinge of red. The new atmosphere is a breath of fresh air. Almost. Back home, Turt Shore was underneath the ocean, looking up at the fish swimming above our heads. The clown fish and the dolphins were the friendliest. They visited daily to play games. Our favorite was dolphin Quidditch. The clown fish replaced quaffles and dolphins were brooms. Occasionally a few sharks would pass by but most of them didn't mean any harm.
The warm room is utterly silent. Most of the Gryffindors are looking at me. The others that aren't are trying not to turn this way but they just can't seem to resist. I feel empty. I feel exposed to the bone so much that there isn't anything else to take. Stripped of what dignity I have left. No one will give me the time of day. I feel like if they had a quill they'd write on my body what they thought of me. How can I blame them? I told what I saw, I lied that it never happened, and then I said I couldn't remember, now I'm claiming I hadn't meant what I said before. That muggle saying 'the truth will set you free' isn't working in my favor. The more I try to explain the more I set myself back ten more steps from where I had been originally. Acknowledgment is the only thing I want at this point. I'd do anything for it.
One person I can recognize is a brunette that sat next to 'Ronnie Pooh' down the table at dinner. She's very pretty. Her eyes are soft around the edges so she must be friendly. Her hair is held back with a barrette. The red head next to her resembles 'Ronnie Pooh' to a tee. Sitting on a crowded table are two other red heads. Twins. They must be related to 'Ronnie Pooh' and the other girl. Both of them send me an awkward smile.
And I snap.
"Are you kidding me?" I shout. Heads snap up from their actions to focus in on me.
Lavender tries to pull on my arm but I shoo her away. "Come on Seraphenia. You don't want to cause a scene," she says.
Lavender's intentions are in the right place, don't get me wrong. She also hasn't asked me anything personally. What my favorite color is, muggle vacations I've been on, favorite holiday, book, birthday, my middle name for heaven's sake.
"Is that all I'm going to get from you people, a bunch of meaningless smiles? Is it because, what, you feel guilty about the attack? My embarrassment at dinner, oh, or the fact that you don't know how to talk to me because you think I'm some shattered soul? Well, I'm not. It happened, okay. Ogling at me like I'm living in a cardboard box with fake sympathy isn't going to take it back. Don't believe every word you read or hear. I know I don't have the best history with…sticking to one story, but I'm not who you are judging me as. If you have any questions don't talk about it to someone else. I wouldn't do it to you. So, don't do it to me," I say.
A tall boy with brown hair and a roundish face steps from the crowd. His argyle sweater vest is the first thing that captures my attention. I don't think I've seen an uglier pattern of wool before. I like it. Reminds me of Sabrina's muggle plaid pants she wore any time she got. I hated those pants. The boy looks at the ground the whole time while he's walking. He stands in front of me. "Neville Longbottom," he says.
I let go a breath. Finally. "Hello Neville. I'm Seraphenia. Everyone calls me Sera…err…they used to. It's lovely to meet you."
Neville reaches behind him and holds out his hand. "Care for a chocolate frog?" he asks. I eye it hungrily. I haven't had a chocolate frog in a while. Not too long after I made seeker on the Patriots, my very own trading card was announced. I never got to see it. Mother tried to keep everything related to magic away from me as much as she possibly could. I wonder what it would say. That I'm talented and smart or courageous and thoughtful? Loving? Loyal?
"Did you just take that from your back pocket?" I ask Neville.
Neville moves from one foot to the other. "…Yes…"
"Then, no thank you…actually, on second thought, I think I will. Thank you Neville that is very kind of you." I take the chocolate frog from his hand. Taking a bite from the frog, I flip over the card. What do you know; it's my card with a short description about me.
At the young age of eleven, Seraphenia Zachariah was named the Most Desirable Player on the Turt Quidditch team at Dwarfullton School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In her third year, she won the 200th annual North Sanctum Tournament, and remains as the tournaments youngest competitor and only female winner. Other than being the daughter of Minister Zachariah, she is most famous for her rebellious attitude and ruthless shenanigans. She has currently been named seeker for the United States National Quidditch Team.
If I could crumple up this god damn card and give it to a sea dragon I would. I am not rebellious nor do I participate in any type of shenanigans. It must be referring to when I spoke up for the muggles in one of my mother's trials. Is that a problem? I'm sick of people who think they know what's best for me telling me to shut-up. I'm not known for anything else? A damn Quidditch player and winning a game, that's it? It's like I'm some stupid animal without proper training.
"How can you expect us to believe a word you say? Do you know how many times you backtracked over your story? What, did the fall twist your logic?" a boy asks. "You-Know-Who is not back. He is never coming back." He grips a newspaper tight in his hands. I can imagine him thinking of that paper as my neck.
"Seamus you don't know that," the redheaded girl says. "None of us were there at Dwarfullton. Don't be a git."
"I do know that Weasley. For one, I know that Zachariah is a liar. Rita Skeeter says so herself, and she isn't the brightest bulb on the lamp. You know what she said about you? She said it was your fault that Voldemort attacked your school. I don't doubt that. You were Miss Professional Quidditch Player; the Golden Child because your mother is minister. Acting all high and mighty, better than all of us who are suffering. Well, now you and your precious little family have been knocked off your pedestal, back down to the real world to show everyone who you really are. A liar, a cheat, and a fake. It doesn't take a git to see that."
The boy only known to me as Seamus, for less than a minute, frowns with disgust at me. I can feel tears well in my sockets. I close my eyes to try and find that happy place. To find that comfort that has been missing for so long. I scan through the memories of my happiest moments. Mom's reaction when she won minister, dad witnessing me walk through the gates at Mt. Olympus, adopting Pip, Uncle Seidon and Hermes arguing, Fran trying out for Quidditch, Sabrina falling out of her chair during a potions exam, Jack kissing me for the first time, my short lived happiness with Blaise…
I think of the one person that hasn't totally ignored my existence since I got here.
Draco.
The way he spoke was like lying on the beach and letting the sun caress me with each ray. His exquisite smile greeting my quivering bones excitedly, digging to their very core. His steel grey eyes penetrating my blue ones, deflowering me with a single stare. I can just anticipate the feel of his warm breath on my neck. His hot tongue trail a path directly below my ear, letting the air make me shiver. His hands embrace the curves on my body while he whispers sweet nothings, breathing in his scent. His lips in places that would make Aphrodite blush redder than a rose.
I haven't the slightest idea who Draco is and here I am thinking thoughts about him in inappropriate ways. Jack never invoked those emotions out of me. As much as I wanted to, I didn't feel sexually attracted to him. I didn't want to upset him and I did sort of like him. We couldn't move past the stage of kissing and the occasional shedding of a thin layer of our robes. Yet, here I am, fantasizing Draco would attack my mouth with his. Brush my hair out of my face and tell me it was all going to be alright. I felt a presence between us when we were outside of Dumbledore's office. He acted sweet and kind. Not all Slytherin's are disgraceful, they can't be. Blaise is an exception.
"A git to see what?"
I turn my head around. Potter and 'Ronnie Pooh' are standing behind Lavender and I. I move aside to let them in the room. The tension can be cut with a knife. Potter walks further into the room. All eyes are on him now. It's insanely quiet in here now. I notice that most of the people in here have The Daily Prophet in their hands. I step behind a first year with one and take it. There is a picture of Potter with his name turning to 'Plotter' in the title. The picture changes to my school photograph last year with my last name changing from 'Zachariah' to 'High-Class Liar'. Only one person could come up with a tag line so catchy; Rita Skeeter. I swear to Merlin, that woman is the one that's a High-Class Liar. She can't pull a quarter of the truth out of her miniature skull to save her life.
Seraphenia Zachariah? The Victim or The Instigator? By Rita Skeeter.
It's known all over that Seraphenia Zachariah, who also happens to be Minister Zachariah's daughter, is the wizarding world's Golden Child. But how far is her innocence true? Is she golden as she claims to be or an apple rotten to the core? Waking up in St. Valley Hospital in the middle of June this year, Miss Golden Child has been doing numerous interviews and appearances for her mother's ministry. It seems that each time when asked whether she saw He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, her story has changed countless times. Is the Golden Child losing her way? Or have her real intentions come shining through?
Seraphenia Claudette Zachariah was born April 1st in muggle America, the fifth child of six children to Tara and Klaus. The Zachariah's lived a sheltered life, hiding their children from magic in suburban Chicago, Illinois. Letting their children attend muggle schools has corrupted their minds from the ideal Wizard Society. Tara Zachariah, nee Tara Caine, is offspring to a long list of pureblood witches and wizards on both sides. The Caine's were some of the founding members of the wizarding world in America. They are at the top of the hierarchy. It came as a shock when the youngest of Winifred Smith-Caine and Thomas Caine decided to marry outside of American pureblood status, opting for Klaus Zachariah, a supposed pureblood from Greece.
The Golden Child rose to fast fame in her first year at Dwarfullton landing the spot of seeker for Turt house. She eventually led them to four consecutive Quidditch Cup wins. In her third year, she competed in and won the 200th annual North Sanctum Tournament; the youngest ever to make the strict qualifications. And to top it all off, in January this year, she was the number one pick for seeker playing on the U.S. National Quidditch Team for the start of the regular season, filling in her brother's coveted position. The Wizarding World had cheered for the new seeker and her family legacy on the legendary Patriots, buying her team uniform, and wanting her autograph.
Was the fame and fortune all part of the plan for Zachariah?
When the first documented eye witness accounts of Death Eaters flying over St. Valley Square, Zachariah was specifically asked if she had seen a threat while on Coast Watch. She had assured to the ministry that she had indeed seen it, but had not reported it. With this new added evidence, it was implied that the terrible and legendary Dwarfullton Attack could have indeed been prevented. Fast forward to one month later in July, when asked again about her duty on Coast Watch, she claimed she had not seen a thing. Why deny? Is there something that she is hiding?
And where does He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named fall into this? Zachariah also claimed that she had fought him one on one when trying to escape the sinking foundation. How had she escaped? It is not possible for a young wizard or witch to escape the hands of The Dark Lord and live another day. Except Harry Potter and we all know the lies he tells. Which leads me to think only one thing left for me to think at this time: Is there an association between The Dark Lord and Seraphenia Zachariah?
Why should you think this? It is simple, actually. My sources have informed me and The Daily Prophet that Dwarfullton School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was allowing the teachings of dark magic in their Defense of the Dark Arts classes. Miss Zachariah had the highest scores in her class. When these accusations were made against The Utopian School, the A.M.M. quickly came to the defense of its professors. Due to the high protection of wizarding law in America, I am not allowed to mention any further details.
Is it possible that Zachariah could have broke wizarding law and used dark magic to escape the clutches of The Dark Lord unharmed? Is the A.M.M. producing dark wizards?
It is obvious that referencing Zachariah is no good use. Her partying, outlandish, and downright foolish ways have condemned and embarrassed St. Valley Square and made America the laughing stock of the wizarding world. Sales for her Quidditch robes are at an all time high. Is that just a simple coincidence or is the story of, as muggles call it, crying wolf given her the upper hand?
The bottom line is: How can we trust a girl who doesn't remember what word she said last let alone what she had for breakfast?
I put the paper under my arm. What the hell does Rita Skeeter know? Stupid old hag, she wouldn't last two seconds if she dueled with that nut-case Voldemort. Hell, she's crazier then he is. At least he let's you know why he's going to kill you. The Skeeter bitch just writes whatever she thinks will sell. And obviously this new edition of the prophet is selling. I can feel vile urging itself up my throat. The ministry couldn't be able to find out that I had used dark magic because I had done it wandlessly. Wandless magic is untraceable.
Potter passes by me and Lavender heading up the stairs. I can feel the loss of pride radiating off of him. We're both in the same boat. The news of Cedric Diggory's death in the Triwizard Tournament made it all the way across seas. Potter said that Voldemort was back. I hadn't listened to him at first. There was no need to. Dwarfullton wasn't a threat to that type of violence. Death Eaters were a foreign language to us. Dwarfullton did try to prepare us by teaching to use dark magic to our advantage. Headmaster Twill wasn't blind that there would be times when mainly using defending spells wouldn't be enough. You have to do what you have to do. If that means breaking the law, so be it.
About a month before the attack in February, I was picked to compete in the 200th annual North Sanctum Tournament. The North Sanctum Tournament is a bit like the Triwizard Tournament, with more violence and more rigorous obstacles. It was an honor to even be considered for an entry, to have your name in the same sentence. One player from Canada, the U.S., Mexico, South America, and Central America, are chosen to represent their region. Sometimes two players were chosen from the same school.
After each mission, a player is eliminated until there are two left. The first mission was capturing a Yeti. Yes, a Yeti. They are as real as snot in a baby's nose. I managed to cage mine with minimal problems. Some are quite friendly actually. The second mission was traveling by foot to Arcadia Isle to bring back a feather from a Hippogriff, capture an Imp, and a vial of Acromantula venom. Sabotage was used. The bridge I had to cross to get over an abyss was missing planks, that Canadian bitch Penelope Tanner pushed me in front of a Hippogriff when I was approaching it. Damn beast could have knocked my block off. She placed first in that round because of that shady business.
The third mission was battling a Boggart. Mine was a werewolf. Terrifying creatures. In second year, I saw a classmate get attacked by one in the Forever Forest. Almost killed him too. His name was Mick Johnson. Dwarfullton had to quarantine him every full moon. It baffled me because…we don't have any werewolves on our side of the water, England sure, but not in America. It looked right at me. It had a scar-like rumpling of skin under the right eye. I ran back to town screaming bloody murder. In the tournament, I could have sworn it was the same werewolf that attacked Mick. There was something else out there other than that Boggart werewolf. A real one. I remember seeing a shadow of a man before seeing the werewolf. I used Protego to shield myself and it ran away in the night. I had taken out my father's pocket watch. It read three o'clock in the morning. My mission started at 3:30.
The last mission was between me and Brett McDonald, a sixth year in Rodis, who wasn't the nicest person on the planet. The third mission is also the most dangerous because there were no rules to stop the other person, just get to the North Sanctum first.
The Forever Forest is in the country side behind St. Valley Square and is at the north edge of The Open Territory. The North Sanctum is a protective clearing inside the forest. I remember it being a wooded area like the other parts of the forest. The ground would dissolve into itself and reveal a hole in the ground. You had to jump down and it led to an ancient tunnel like maze. That tunnel led to the sanctum which had the whole school in stadium seating. The Open Territory is a green space that is unprotected by magical means. It's highly recommended not to travel there alone. There is no protection of magic once you leave the edge of the Forever Forest.
The Roaming Hills was the last mission to complete. Brett and I were dropped in the middle of nowhere on the hills with only our wands. Every so often, the hills would shift position. So if you saw an elf ten feet away from you and the hills moved, that elf would be in another location before you could blink. It's easy to figure out how the rotation works if you pay attention to landmarks. The way to get to the sanctum was by portkey. Brett and I touched it at the same time. Instead of taking us to the forest, we were dropped smack dab in the middle of the Open. We dueled for some time before I grabbed the portkey and ran to the forest. Running across a war zone is not my choice of an adrenaline rush. I did win the tournament in the end by a fingernail, so I guess it can't all have been a waste.
Potter stops right at the stairs. "Seamus? Dean? Good holding?" he asks.
Dean, who I'm guessing is the darker of the two and because he looks nowhere near naïve as Seamus is right now, says, "Alright. Better than Seamus is actually."
Seamus throws the prophet on the table and stands from his chair. I look back and forth from Potter to Seamus then Seamus to Potter. "My mum didn't want me to come back this year," Seamus says.
"Why not?" Potter asks. I can see it in his eyes that he's uncomfortable with Seamus on the offensive. I take a step forward in case he might need backing up.
"Let me see, eh, because of you. The Daily Prophet been saying a lot of things about you Harry, about Dumbledore as well."
"What, your mom believes them?"
"Well, nobody was there the night Cedric died."
I see the tall figure of 'Ronnie Pooh' standing by my side. I nod my head over to Potter. "You're his friend? Maybe you should step in before they both say a piece they'll regret," I tell him. 'Ronnie Pooh' stalks behind Seamus waiting for the time to intervene.
"Oh, well I guess you should read the prophet then like your stupid mother, it'll tell you everything you need to know."
"Don't you dare talk about my mother like that!"
"I haven't got anyone who hasn't called me a liar."
Seamus points to Potter crazily. "He's mad is what's goin' on. Do you believe the rubbish he's commenting on about You-Know-Who?" 'Ronnie Pooh' comes from behind Seamus. He stands beside Harry with poise ready to defend him. I wish I had someone who would jump in the defense for me. The A.M.M. can only do so much now that I'm not in their jurisdiction. And from what I've seen of Umbridge that is not a good thing.
He stands next to Potter. "Yeah, I do. Does anyone else have a problem with Harry?"
The room stands in silence. Potter and 'Ronnie Pooh' hurry up the stairs. Lavender reaches for my hands and squeezes it. "Sorry about Seamus. Are you okay?" she asks. I don't answer her. I let go of her hand and creep up behind this Seamus fool.
"Something happened that we don't know about. I think Potter knows," Seamus babbles on. I tap him on the shoulder one time. He turns to face me, once again with disgust etched in stone on his face.
I thought I could be brave enough to stand up to someone as grave as Seamus. Merlin knows I have seen worse in the world than him. But at this moment, this specific moment in time, I feel so small. So miniscule compared to him. I am not back home; on my own shore. The damage has been done for whatever else I'm worth. There is no one here to back me up.
Seamus laughs in my face and says, "You are suspect number one. There is no way in bloody hell I'd ever believe a word out of your mouth."
I hold back tears. I haven't been here a full day yet and I'm already getting attacked. By a boy named Seamus no less. If I could, I'd let off some steam by shooting a few lightening bolts but I don't want to give myself away. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and push past Seamus. Running up the stairs, I don't have the slightest idea on where the hell I'm going.
"Seraphenia! Slow down! I can't keep up with you!" Lavender shouts from down the stairs. I follow the shape of the staircase past a window, a statue of a lion, and an archway. I look inside and see six canopy beds in a circle. The bedding is red and gold like the common room and the wood is dark. One bed has a brown trunk resting on it with a teal and orange strip down the side.
I cross the room to the bed. I am surprised that my trunk was able to be saved. My finger slides across the rough leather gently. The dent from first year is still present. Rudy Collins was the biggest klutz I've ever met. He was a good friend even more. On the balloon ride over to Dwarfullton, Rudy had been hitting a Bludger back and forth with another first year. He missed hitting the Bludger and instead it crashed through a wall, to the luggage cellar, and right into my trunk. Thank god no one was hurt. He started arguing with the other first year, forgetting that he had the bat in his hand. The bat flew out of his hand and hit me right in the mouth. Then he accidently back handed me trying to apologize.
What a start to a beautiful friendship.
To the right of the trunk is an empty animal cage. Where could that little thing have gotten to now? I turn to my left and spot the creepiest thing I've seen in a long time, and I've seen some creepy things. In the corner next to a bed across the room is a framed portrait of me surrounded by candles, a broom, a Quidditch uniform, and multiple newspaper clippings of articles and pictures tacked to the wall. I move from my spot and gaze intently at this…shrine.
One photograph is of me at mom's swearing into the ministry. I have four older siblings and one younger sister. My older sisters Chutney and Kellie look radiant. Kellie's sandy blonde hair is swept up in an elegant up do with golden highlights to match her dress. Chutney opted for a wavier style for her chocolate brown hair. Her curves fill out the black and white stripes of her gown in all the right places. Their matching navy blue eyes are shining brightly.
Standing next to them is a twelve year old me with bushy cave man hair. My face is smothered with freckles. My smile is so happy. I wore a purple tutu against my family's wishes. On my right are our older brothers Billy and Laurence. Billy is the oldest. He turned thirty-five last month. He has a wife too; her name is Mindy, a muggle-born witch. He works as a healer in St. Valley Hospital.
It is a little discouraging having to go to school the fifth of my siblings. Billy set the bar extremely high. Laurence and Chutney lowered it with their brainless antics but it managed to rise when Kellie graduated. Laurence is a professional Quidditch player for Ireland. He sees Billy almost every week with a new broken bone or brain damage, although I think the brain damage isn't due to anything Quidditch related, he has natural stupidity. The man is very flirtatious and not for his own good. I deal with it because he gives me free tickets to the All American Wizards concerts. Chutney is the third born. There isn't much I can say of her because she does it all on her own. Her personality is so spontaneous it's ridiculous. I get whip lash from talking with her for the shortest times. Plus it doesn't help that she has taken up that muggle habit of saying the word 'like' every other word in her vocabulary.
I find more of myself in Kellie than anybody. She's quieter and laid back than the others. Kellie isn't that much older than I am, but she takes on that motherly role when mom isn't available. I remember her reading muggle books to me every night before bed so I could go to sleep. When she visits muggle America, she brings back little gifts for everyone. She told me that she is thinking about teaching at a muggle school. She'd be good at that, she is a walking dictionary.
Sitting in Laurence's arms is my sister Dianna. She is the youngest. She gives me the chance to be a role model. I want her to look up to me and be proud that I'm her sister. I want to create a world for her that is safe and where she can hold her head up high and not be shameful. I miss my family so much. Right now they are living in muggle America. They have given up so much already to keep me safe. I'm the only one that inherited the demigod gene from our father.
Seeing the differences between us makes me hate that I take them for granted. Mom and dad are standing behind us with beaming smiles. Dad and I are the only one's who stand out with our jet black hair. The rest of them have variations of brown and blonde hair. Mother is a natural blonde. Next to our family photo is a picture of me pushing a reporter into a fountain in town. I couldn't go anywhere without a reporter sneaking around a bend. You would think I had the cure for fucking stupidity and everyone wanted a piece of it. It was a hassle keeping the world at bay. They eventually got he hint.
My eyes travel to the next one. This other photo gives me chills. It was of me after I had been pulled out of the ruins of Dwarfullton on a stretcher. My arm hanging off the side is limp. The title above the picture says, 'Minister's Daughter Found Alive!'
It's disturbing seeing a picture of me this way. Mom never let me look at any papers if there was a picture of reference to the attack. The strangeness is beyond words, similar to watching in the third person.
Lavender walks in the doorway. "Oh! Seraphenia there you are. I see you found the…"
"Shrine. Yes, it's very…um, tasteful," I say awkwardly. "It matches the colors of the room. Red and gold." It doesn't match the colors of the room but small talk has its name for a reason. Lavender walks up beside me. She points to the family photo.
"Your brothers are extremely handsome. Billy's my favorite. I could snog him all day long if I could," she says.
"Please don't say things like that to me Lavender. The images are too surreal," I say. "Besides he is a married man…" I go into a daze. I hear something. A crunching noise is coming from the other side of Lavender's bed. I hop over the bed and hang my head off the side of the bed. My hair falls to the floor blinding me. The bed skirt moves. I lift it up to see Atticus, hiding underneath Lavender's bed with a red and gold scarf hanging innocently from his mouth.
"Atticus! Hand over that scarf!" I shout with authority. Atticus is my Kneazle. I got him as a present from Laurence last year against mom and dad's orders. I had a muggle pet chinchilla named Cuddles. He died from eating muggle rat poison when I visited Kellie. Plus mother hated him being loose in her house; she said that if it got lose again she would make a nice coat out of Cuddles and his vermin little friends. Atticus is a very overprotective and very jealous little animal. Sometimes I think he is a reincarnated human. The XXX rating he has does not help. The cat is too damn smart for his own good.
I grab Lavender's scarf. "What the bloody hell is that thing doing with my scarf?" Lavender screams. She bends over to snatch it from him. "Give it back you beast!"
Atticus hisses at her and she jumps back. "Don't do that. You're scaring him," I tell her. Atticus crawls from under the bed and sits down at Lavender's feet with her scarf.
"Scaring him? He stole my scarf!"
I pick Atticus up and cradle him in my arms. His paw lands on my cheek. Thank goodness he adores me; he could slice my face like meat. I gently take the scarf from his mouth and put it on the bed. "Say you're sorry," I tell him.
I hear running up the stairs. The redhead and her friend come in winded. "We heard screaming," the redhead says. "Are you guys alright?"
"That monster stole my scarf!" Lavender points at Atticus. He claws at her near fingers like food.
"He didn't mean it Lavender," I say.
"I don't care. Just keep that bloody beast in its cage where it belongs. Shouldn't allow it here anyway."
Lavender takes her damn scarf, lifts the blankets on the bed and throws it underneath. She pats down the rolls for 'extra security'. She pushes rudely past the two girls, leaving the room. For a moment, the three of us stay in silence. We don't know how to start a conversation. The redhead sits on the bed across from Lavender's.
"What's your name?" she asks. I look up from playing with Atticus. My ears feel rejuvenated. It's odd to have someone ask your name when they know damn well who you are. For months I have been living this lie to please others around me and to act like and invincible player in a dangerous game. The simple question of, 'What's your name?' feels different and similar at the same time.
"Seraphenia Zachariah. You can call me Sera if you like," I say. She nods slowly. She crosses the distance from the other bed and sits next to me on Lavender's bed. She pets Atticus softly behind his ears. He nuzzles to her side.
"I'm Ginny Weasely," she says.
"Charmed."
The other girl sits in Ginny's old spot. She sits on her hands. "Hermione Granger," she says. "You're Sera, right?"
"Yes," I answer.
"What year are you in?"
"Fifth. You?"
"Fifth."
"I saw you earlier with Potter. With the redhead too. At dinner I mean. You don't have to be nervous around me. Unless you royally piss me off. But then," I point to Atticus, "you will have to deal with this guy."
"He's a Kneazle isn't he? I have one too. His name is Crookshanks."
"That's an unusual name. Atticus is way better."
"That's what you named your pet? A human name?" she laughs.
"It's what we do in America. Muggles dress their dogs in tiaras and glitter. I tried once with Atticus but he ripped the poor thing to pieces. Mother deemed it a waste of time to sew."
I flop down on the bed with a sigh. Ginny does the same. Hermione joins us. "What's your mother like?" Hermione asks.
I think about her question. No one has really asked me that before. I wouldn't call her a pureblood supremacist like Blaise's parents or agree with Death Eater tactics, but mother…is somewhat tolerant. She comes from a high-class, wealthy background. She wears expensive clothes, muggle and wizard, especially the coats. She loves fur coats. Sometimes I think she is a hypocrite because she preaches for blood unity but is fearful to associate with people below her blood status. She works for days at a time, making laws, overseeing trials, and other minister obligations. Mother is constantly getting on after me and my siblings about sticking to our standards.
'What standards? We're half-bloods. At least dad and I are. You and the rest of them—' I would say before she cut me off with her usual answer of 'Seraphenia, you know I'm trying to work with the ministry to get muttlings recognized as purebloods. I'm trying the best that I can without risking your safety. You just have to hold out for a little bit longer and until then you will be a pureblood and like it.' Then she would flip her hair behind her ear and put her fur coat on.
"She works a lot. Too much for my taste. My father is like that too. The ministry keeps both of them busy. Mother can be cold at times but she is tolerant of other bloods.
"Your family has house elves?" Hermione asks letting the shock seep through.
"Yes. It isn't what you think. They are free to go. Wear the best clothes. They just prefer us I guess. I've known since I was a baby. I don't know what I would do without them. They are family. The elves raise my sister and me for the most part. It wasn't always like that with the others," I say.
"My mother is opposite," Ginny says. "She loves everyone. Despises using house elves. Cooking is her favorite thing to do. For Christmas she tries to fatten me up. Says I'm not eating enough."
"Mine says I eat too much."
"Want to trade? For how long though is the question. Say…two weeks. Over Christmas. I go to America and you stay here."
"Deal. Mother once bought new robes for herself instead of picking up my allergy potion. What is your mother like Hermione?"
I can hear her breathing. I turn my head to see her chest rising and falling heavily. "They are dentists," she says.
"Dentists. You are a muggle-born?"
"..Yes."
"You shouldn't have to be ashamed. Back home everyone doesn't care—I take that back. It isn't as much of a problem. Mother makes me go to the dentist regularly. I can't be the minister's daughter with crooked teeth. My sister Kellie lives among muggles. In fact, I grew up in a muggle neighborhood. Chicago. We had to sell the house when mother won minster. We live in a wizarding community in the states now. Timber Fall Lane. I wouldn't say it is a mansion but it does have its perks."
"That's nice."
"How many siblings do you have?" Hermione asks. "I'm an only child. I wish I had a brother.
"Oh no you don't. Six including me. I have five other people I have to compete with for attention. Billy, Laurence, I call him Laurie, Chutney, Kellie, me, and Dianna. You have any brothers or sisters?"
"Too many. Bill—our brothers have the same name—Charlie, Percy, Fred and George—they are twins—Ron, and me. It can get really hectic when we are all home."
"Ron? Lavender called him 'Ronnie Pooh'. I think she would have cut me if I ever laid a finger on him. I think the girl is a little bit nutty."
Hermione snorts. "Nutty doesn't cover half of it."
Atticus climbs on my stomach and rests. I reach under Lavender's sheets and take out her precious scarf. "Here you go Atticus. I think you've earned a prize. I'll buy her another," I say.
"Hey Sera?" Ginny asks. "What is your favorite color?"
Translation for Blaise: "Magic is everywhere dear."
