Now, here goes chapter seven. Have fun reading. And, by the way, you don't want to miss the lovely banner made for this story, so make sure to check out my bio page.


– chapter seven –

Surprises

When Robert entered classroom number eight on Monday morning he received quite a surprise. He would, for the first time since he started Hogwarts, be having a class with students of his year from all Houses. Taking a swift look around, he counted seven Ravenclaws and five Gryffindors; among them sat his friend Helen Sullivan who waved and grinned when she noticed him looking at her. Beside him three more Hufflepuffs were going to study Arithmancy. And at the front of the classroom three more students were already seated: Slytherins. Two of them were boys, the third a girl with long, smooth black hair. He took a closer look and was surprised for the second time that day when he recognised her: it was Isla Black.

The two Slytherin boys shared a desk with each other while Isla sat on her own, right behind her housemates. Robert didn't have the courage to place himself next to her or even in the direct proximity of the green-wearing snake's heirs, but he chose a table close by, next to Helen. He mused that from where he sat he could – that is to say, if she wanted to as well – get in contact with Isla.

Robert's third surprise came an hour later, after the professor had dismissed them. While Robert had been talking to Helen and simultaneously stuffing his book and parchment into his bag, his quill had rolled off his desk. After bending down to pick it up and surfacing, he noticed a small parchment note on top of the desk.

I never thought you to be a mathematics person.

--

Arithmancy was an interesting subject, and I had been looking forward to it for two years. I had always been good with logic and numbers, and when we had to decide which extra subjects we'd take from third year on, I made a thick cross next to Arithmancy with my quill. Ancient Runes was the other subject I chose. Divination had never been the kind of magic a Black practises, and Muggle Studies would never be a topic I'd discuss. Care of Magical Creatures might have been interesting, but father and Phin didn't recommend it.

I was going to have my third Arithmancy class this week, and it was the last class before the weekend. The professor had promised to delve into much more interesting material than we had already discussed after only three weeks of having had this class. I was happy.

Upon reaching my desk in the classroom, I discovered a little, folded piece of parchment on top of it. It was wrinkled all over, some edges already torn; it looked like someone had fingered it constantly, either out of insecurity or nervousness. Curiosity grew within me; after I had put down my bag, I hastily grabbed the note and opened it. There, in possibly the neatest handwriting a sloppy writer can produce, read:

I'm always good at surprises, Stella, am I not?
Solaris.

--

He was disappointed. Somehow he had hoped she would answer his little note but nothing happened. He saw her three times a week in Arithmancy, three more in Astronomy, as well as during meals in the Great Hall. But never did she try to open herself up to him. Rather, she kept close to her housemates. He looked at her, pleaded with his eyes – all for nothing.

This went on for three entire months.

Until he found another note on his desk in Arithmancy:

Are you interested in joining the Arithmancy club?

--

The club had been founded by Professor Smyth for all those that wanted to continue studying Arithmancy even after classes were over. Actually, it wasn't really studying; rather Professor Smyth gave us quizzes and exercises to train our brains, to keep us busy and to show us different ways to successfully approach a complex task. There wasn't enough class time to work on exercises like those, and so I loved going there. It meant a change from the usual stiff and strict classroom teaching.

The first months I was the only third year student in the club. All in all there were around fifteen students; the majority consisted of fifth and seventh years preparing for their examinations. But it was fun nonetheless. One day Professor Smyth asked if I was interested in bringing some other third year student with me into the club so I would have a partner to work with.

I said I would think about it.

Four weeks later, I decided to invite Hitchens, although I couldn't quite explain my decision to ask him, even to myself – it had happened out of momentary intuition, because from observing him secretly I could tell that he seemed as interested in the subject as I was, which surprised me a lot. From what I'd experienced of him in first and second year, especially, I would have categorised him to be more of a philosophical person. But to err is human – that's what Hitchens would probably say. So I gathered my courage and invited him. I never expected him to accept the invitation, but he did.

Working with him on complex tasks was difficult at first because I had to get used to him again, but as soon as we were familiar with each other's working style, we got along fine. We always solved the tasks correctly, the next time faster than previous; after only two months we usually "won" by solving the logical problems before the other students.

The last club meeting before the Christmas holidays had gone on longer than ever before. The task had been keeping us busy for three entire weeks, and Professor Smyth wasn't keen on letting us go without the solution. So it was already after nine o'clock p.m.; we would have to hurry if we didn't want to get caught out in the corridors after curfew.

Since both our common rooms lay in the castle's basement, we walked down together, still discussing the latest task. But when we reached the great marble staircase leading to the Entrance Hall, we had worn out the topic; silence accompanied our steps.

'I'm not sure how to react…' Robert suddenly said out of the blue.

Surprised at his words I returned the statement, 'To what?'

'You.'

His answer met me unprepared. 'Me?' Having no idea where this would lead, I stopped walking and looked questioningly at him.

He, too, stopped when he no longer noticed me at his side and turned around to return the gaze. His blue eyes caught my grey ones. 'Yes, you. I don't follow your schematics. One day you come forward and talk to me, the next moment you withdraw yourself, even for months sometimes. Is this what you call friendship?'

It took me a while to process his words, spoken with sincerity that burned my soul; but I couldn't take it right then. So I walked off abruptly leaving him to stand alone in the hall, answerless.

--

Robert sputtered and tipped over his glass of juice. Wide-eyed and entirely surprised, he stared at the owl that was carrying a little note of parchment in its beak. With shaking fingers he detached the owl's burden, and when the bird took off again, he opened the folded note and read:

Solaris,
I treat you the way I do because of who my family is, who
I am. It has nothing to do with you, believe me. You are a really nice person. I would like to be your friend very much, but you need to understand that it won't be easy, for either one of us. So choose wisely: my friendship, no matter what it will cost, or your safety.
I'm sorry.
Stella

Although Robert had a good view of the Slytherin table, he didn't dare look over to meet her gaze. He knew she was watching; he felt her gaze burning in his heart. But something deep down inside him held him back.

Within the matter of only a few seconds he had chosen; he would not continue meeting her in the club's meetings. It was the best decision to make in this situation, for his own safety… and hers.

--

'What did you write him?'

'Huh?' I looked up from the essay I was currently working on and gazed across the table to Savaric. 'What should I have written?'

'That's what I want to know. What did you write him?' He quickly stood and grabbed his chair, turning it a quarter of a circle. He then sat down again, relaxing back against the chair's back, crossing his ankles and laying an arm comfortably on the table's smooth surface. His head was turned towards me; his eyes held a curious gleam.

I looked back down onto my sheet of parchment and concentrated on my Transfiguration essay again. Innocently I said, 'I have no idea what you're talking about.'

At this point, Savaric would have usually lost his patience; he didn't like it whenever someone tried to take him for a ride. And I could live with his furious reactions, having already experienced that side of him since I first met him. But his behaviour then was completely new to me: simply staring, silent and unmoving. He waited.

After ten minutes the silence became irritating, and I looked up at him. He still stared at me, unblinking as I held his gaze. Figuring that he would stop this stupidity sooner or later, I returned to my Transfiguration homework. But when Savaric still didn't say anything after another twenty minutes, I became severely annoyed from his expressionless stare. Sighing deeply, I forcefully slammed my quill onto the table with my flat hand, then I looked up and glared back at him.

'What are you doing? Is this a new method of yours to try and make me hit the roof?'

'No,' he slowly answered, without diverting his eyes from mine. At least now I knew that his soul hadn't departed from his body. 'I'm merely waiting for you to answer my question.'

Sighing for a second time, this one filled with frustration, I responded, 'What question?' My tone clearly transmitted my anger.

But apparently Savaric didn't get it – or he didn't want to get it. Calmly he responded, 'Half an hour ago – or to be exact, thirty-three minutes ago – I asked you a simple question: What did you write him?'

'Who?' I huffed.

'That Hufflepuff Mudblood,' he elaborated, unusually patient.

'When would I have written him something?'

'He received an owl yesterday morning and tipped over his juice from shock.'

I shook my head, my face morphing into a mimic that dismissed the subject, and said, 'That owl could have been from anybody.'

'It was from you,' Savaric stated tonelessly.

Leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms in front of my chest, I asked, 'What makes you believe this?' As soon as the words had left my mouth I could have slapped myself for letting my voice sound defensive.

He shrugged in a non-committal way. 'Mainly because you practically stabbed his worthless head with your intense stare…' His eyes caught mine and darkly warned, Stop lying, I've seen you staring.

Argh… him and his over-attentiveness… How I hate it! my mind shouted, and all my inner alarm bells rang noisily. Nevertheless I asked, 'And?' I couldn't keep my mouth shut. That was a mistake…

Savaric got slowly up, walked stiffly around the table and glared darkly at me the entire time. Upon arriving next to me he bent down, grabbed my chair and turned it towards him, me still sitting on it; the chair's legs scraped loudly over the stony floor. Savaric leaned in closer, supporting his weight on the chair's seat that wasn't covered by my thighs. His face was so close to mine that it dominated my vision. 'I have warned you, Isla. Stop. Lying. And stop. Being. Disrespectful. Now tell me, what was in the note you sent him?' His tone was cold and the words were delivered in a whisper, but I got what Savaric wanted me to learn: he was much more dangerous to meddle with than my father. And from one look in his eyes I also learned that Savaric wouldn't hesitate to clobber me should my attitude not change.

I breathed deeply several times, then slowly, silently with hesitant pauses, told him everything about Robert and the previous months' happenings. Savaric listened intently, his eyes tightening menacingly when I mentioned how I invited Robert to the Arithmancy club. But when I revealed that Robert no longer met me there, he straightened himself up.

'You will no longer attend in this club either,' he growled, still standing in front of me.

'What?' I shouted, incredulous. 'You can't forbid me going!'

I never saw the slap coming. My head was thrown backwards with the force of the back of his hand against my mouth and crashed against the high chair's backrest; it hurt, both my head and my lips.

'If you want to find out what I can and can't do, go on, continue attending this club.' He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him. His fingers gripped my chin tightly, and my head was bent back very far; my neck cracked with every inch my chin was lifted. Soon my entire spine hurt, yet Savaric still raised my chin higher and higher. Tears started to roll down my cheeks, and my hands moved up to grab Savaric's arm.

'Please let go,' I begged, panting from the pain, my voice whining, 'you're hurting me.'

'Am I?' he asked, smirking maliciously. 'Then this shall give you an idea of what I'm capable of doing – to you, if necessary.'

He let go of me a second later, which was a too sudden move that let my neck crack once more. My hands flew up to my neck and throat, massaging both. My breath was still hitched, and I looked warily up at him. Savaric returned my gaze unperturbed with a dark glare, then he turned and walked away, grabbing his possessions lying on the table in order to retire to his dorm. I watched him go, a strange feeling bubbling in my stomach; I tried to concentrate on that feeling to find its origin – and discovered something I had never thought possible.

I was afraid of Savaric.

Gulping down the tears I stood also, grabbed my half-finished essay and other possessions, then hurried into my own dorm. Carelessly I threw everything on top of my open trunk before hurling myself into my bed, attempting to get my thoughts in order. An idea formed in my mind while lying in the cool darkness for several moments. Smiling contently at my own brilliance, the lids sank over my tired eyes. Tomorrow before breakfast, I decided, I would write a letter to father.

--

I knew that father had got my letter and answered it when his eagle owl, Orion, landed neatly in front of my breakfast plate two days later, a roll of parchment tied to one of its legs. Orion stared indignantly at me with his dark amber eyes, very much resembling the look father would probably have sent me if I had asked my question in person. I gulped down the nagging feeling and reached over to detach father's answer, which turned out to be a more difficult task than it should have been.

Orion clicked his sharp beak once, in warning; then he pecked the back of my hand. 'Ouch!' I hissed and quickly tore my hand out of the bird's reach. The following beak's clatter sounded suspiciously like malicious laughter.

'Fine, I get it,' I snapped at the bird, 'father is angry.' Orion cocked his head and blinked several times. 'No, that's not it,' I feigned thinking, 'maybe he's furious?' A confirming 'hoo hoo' of Orion turned my insides to ice; by then I had a good idea of what to expect from father's letter. But at first I had to get if from this stupid bird!

'Would you please be so kind and let me detach father's letter?' I politely asked. When the eagle owl still didn't lift its leg, the beak clattering dangerously again, I added, 'Or do you want me to pluck you like a chicken made ready for cooking?' Orion didn't need to know that I would ever harm him, because I loved animals, owls of all kinds, in particular, and father's wrath would be terrible if ever he learned I harmed his owl.

For the fourth time, the beak clattered angrily. Orion pecked my hand again, but he also lifted his leg. Hissing a second 'Ouch!' at the pain, I quickly grabbed the parchment and then tore my hand out of Orion's beak's harming range.

'Stupid bird,' I mumbled and shook my hand.

Orion had heard my last statement and when taking off hit my head with his long, heavy wings, similar to father's reprimanding slaps I often received. I threw the bird a dark look, but Orion had already flown away.

'I see you've found a new friend,' a male voice said sarcastically, and upon looking up, I saw Savaric sitting across from me. 'And if you want some very good advice: You probably shouldn't threaten such a proud owl, it could be offended.'

'Oh ha ha, very funny,' I scoffed into his widely smirking face. Sending Savaric a death wish with my eyes, I unrolled the parchment. Father's neat writing gave no signs of what the content was about or the emotions with which he had written it.

Isla,
If I may remind you of your education: When have I ever taught you to contradict a superior? Do I really have to tell you that,
again, in a letter?
Read carefully, I won't answer such a question of yours ever again.
Yes, Savaric has authority over you. Remember your betrothal ceremony and the oaths you have vowed, remember the feeling you experienced due to the magic sealing with each wrapped layer of ribbon. There is your answer. You have promised to be his; therefore
his word is your law.
No, I do not have more authority over you than Savaric has. I have given up that right with your betrothal ceremony. Therefore I'm not in the position to tell him to let you attend the Arithmancy club. You have to talk to him on your own if attendance is your wish.
However, knowing what great marks you received due to the extra-curricular school activity, I shall
advise Savaric to let you continue attending the club. But the final decision lies with him and is his alone. You will have to accept it, no matter if you like it or not.
Remember, you are a Black. And Blacks behave according to their duties. Your duties are to be a respectful, behaving daughter and to become Savaric's obedient wife. Do not bring shame on your family.
Perseus Black

As I had thought, father's answer wasn't very pleasant; the tone of his sentences played into my imagination and I felt like he had scolded me in person. But nonetheless the sharp tone had somewhat lessened towards the letter's end, sounding more like slightly angered talk instead of furious lecturing. Yet the content didn't make me happy either. Father's letter had been my only chance to ignore Savaric's order and continue participating in the Arithmancy club.

The rustle of feathery wings in front of me brought my attention back to the table. Sitting at the same spot Orion had only moments ago was another owl, blinking up at me; the bird had one of its legs within my smashed potatoes and didn't seem to mind that tiny circumstance of discomfort. I didn't recognise the owl but knew the writing on the parchment, indicating me as the letter's addressee.

Quickly I lifted the tiny, tawny owl from my breakfast plate and detached the letter. The bird took off immediately after that; small crumbles of smashed potatoes rained on my fellow Slytherins, some of them wildly and loudly swearing after the poor little owl. I felt a bit of pity for the bird, then looked down to read my second letter of the morning.

Isla,
I have seen your letter briefly and have a very good idea of what your father will write. He is right, you know. But you should never forget that you are at first
you. That should be your most important duty.
I love you,
Mama


Jade, thanks again for your wonderful word.

Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. I hope you can forgive me for the wait. Chapter eight is back with me, so stay tuned to find out how it will continue.