Disclaimer: See Ch 1. Song use is Foo Fighters- The Pretender.
Behind The Crimson Door
Chapter Twelve: Just Trying To Save You
I'm the voice inside your head
You refuse to hear
I'm the face that you have to face
Mirrored in your stare
I'm what's left, I'm what's right
I'm the enemy
I'm the hand that will take you down
Bring you to your knees
~*~
Staying away from the Slytherin Prince was proving to be more difficult than previously thought, even in sleep. Ceres Genavieve had spent her unconscious hours dreaming of just that person, saving her life once again, this time vanquishing the demon on his own.
Every time he would look at her with that same soulless look in his eyes, that gaze, silently telling her to stay away; not to ask questions, not pry into his mind. And yet at the same time it said to come closer, urging her forward. Every time she awoke, whispering his name in pure confusion, and not his surname either.
Ceres Genavieve did not sleep in that morning.
Everything went by in a blur until Professor Umbridge put the smooth passing of time to a grinding halt. She didn't recall breakfast, or whatever they had supposedly learned in Care of Magical Creatures. She never once noticed those lethal silver eyes on her, though they were so any moment the two were in the same room. Mental sparks flew as the class was instructed to copy chapter two word for word, as many times as possible in the time allotted. In all her years of the occasional idiotic teacher she had never once seen anything this bad. And that was an extensive list to top. Even the platinum blonde two rows in front of her, who see she so wasn't pay any attention to, seemed less than pleased.
There wasn't much to the chapter, as it turned out, not even the tiniest inkling of actual magic. As soon as it was rewritten once on the parchment before her the Gryffindor took out a spare piece and began jotting down a list of possible ways one could get a demon inside the grounds. Pity how only one day prior the girl was listing possible secret admirers. She shook the thought off before it could gain further hold. So focused was the young witch that she never noticed the somehow towering figure of the stout and shrewd Professor only inches away.
"Genavieve,what exactly are you doing?"
"Work," the girl replied, "very important, otherwise I would stop. Is there a problem Professor?"
"Yes," she clipped, snatching the paper titled Possible Suspects (For Murder) from her workspace and brandishing it before her. "This is the problem."
"Really? I thought it was the lack of actual magic being taught in this classroom, at the school of Witchcraft and Wizardy, but obviously you know much more than I do. Tell me, what is the problem m`am?"
Everything stopped. Quills were deadly still, even Peeves could be seen watching the spectacle just outside the door. Never had there been such stillness in an occupied classroom of Hogwarts.
"The problem, Genavieve," she began in that sickeningly sweet voice that Ceres knew just had to be frigging bonkers, "is the belief of propaganda such as this."
"Propaganda?! There's the corpse of a demon killed in defense by yours truly that says otherwise."
"And who is to say you did so in self defense? What proof do you have Ms. Genavieve that the creature was not in fact summoned by your own hands?"
The American felt before she heard Harry Potter stand up, and knew this was it. This time she could not let him speak. This time she had to be brave. This time she had to save him from the Ministry's pet hound of hell. With every ounce of power she could muster Ceres aimed her wand at the Boy Who Lived behind her back with the mental command of "sit down. silence." Much to her surprise, it actually worked, the jinx, and she held the wand there as instructed in previous text books.
"Well the fact that it tried to kill me, for one. Oh, and that I'm not a ruthless chaos lord. I doubt a girl my age could figure out how to successfully a demon, unless you know something I don't professor?"
"I clearly know many things you do not, Genavieve. Detention,"
"Screw you,"
"Every night this week,"
"I'm going to take a nap Professor, hope that's alright, I'm suddenly not feeling well. I think it's the sickeningly awful literature."
"My office, promptly at 6:30."
Ceres left before the shrewd hag could spew out another syllable. She didn't care that Draco was watching her every step of the way. Nope. Not one frigging bit. She wasn't entirely sure how she got there but some way or another the girl found herself curled up in the professor's chair of a very abandoned classroom somewhere on the 8th floor. At least she wouldn't be late for Charms. Hogwarts; a History was spread out on her lap, most particularly the chapter on its spells and enchantments; the magical force field that stops intruding wizards and muggles from entering the grounds
"The only known exemption to this seems to be the house elves of the schools employment, who of course can come and go as they need for various tasks about the castle. As their magic is much different than our own, but no less powerful, it operates on a different set of rules, and thus allows them to apparate throughout the castle. The spell itself is said to be the work of all four Head of Houses; Salazar Slytherin procured the anti-muggle charm…"
Now there was a thought. Demonic magic was much different then that of any human being, it too operated on its own set of rules from the kingdom of Dis. What if that was all that was needed? In this way, couldn't a demon therefore apparate into the castle as commanded without the need for inside help? It certainly had its possibilities.
But those ideas would have to be entertained at a later hour. Charms was set to start in less than five minutes, followed by Double Transfiguration and, she cringed, detention with Umbridge.
Both classes Ceres performed less than admirably in. The flask was scaly and fairly reptilian, less crystalloid than lizard-like. Stupid iguana. McGonagall gave her a penetrating stare that clearly said the wise woman knew something was most definitely up, but would not comment any further. At least not in a public classroom.
Charms had been much of the same, and dinner dragged by in a miserable slum where the witch was certain she had been vaulted with questions and hadn't answered a single one. She was very glad in that moment that the men could not get in the girls dormitory. Harry hadn't yet decided if he was going to thank or hex her into oblivion, but he certainly seemed to be leaning toward the latter. So much for saving his ass.
In truth, the remaining of the day went by far too quickly, and it seemed mere minutes in time as the American dragged her corpse of the passageways to the office of Dolores Umbridge, High Inquisitor from Hell, bitch queen Professor of Defense Against Fuck All. No, that's not want the plaque on her door read, but Ceres wished it had, it would have been far more accurate.
She didn't bother knocking.
"Come in Ms. Genavieve, do have a seat,"
Eager to have this portion of her evening over as soon as humanly possible, the witch elected to simply do as the woman asked. She sat down in the uncomfortable looking wicker chair, the pink cushion lumpy and wretched. The meowing of porcelain kittens was already giving her a headache. A tiny white table sat before her, equipped with the standard parchment and an oddly metallic quill.
"This evening you will be writing lines. I'm sure you are familiar with this from America?" Ceres nodded, though archaic and never used in fifty years, the Professor continued, "Good. Tonight you will be writing 'I must not tell lies.' "
"How many times?"
"As long as it takes for the message to sink in."
The girl sighed, figuring she'd be here all night, so might as well to get started. Then there was something amiss.
"'Scuse me Miss, there's no ink."
"Oh, you wont need any ink dear."
Huh. Maybe it was a special punishment quill. It would run out of ink when the task was done. Certainly it would save her from an embarrassing mess in the least.
This was not the case.
A sharp, stinging sensation seared through Ceres skin as she wrote on the parchment in oddly red ink "I must not tell lies." Shrugging, she pressed on. And it happened again. And again. Finally two lines later did she feel the blood spilling over left hand. There was no need for ink, the Gryffindor realized, she already had ten pints on her, inside her. The horror on the girl's face must have been apparent, for Dolores looked at her with an innocent smile that was sadistically kind.
"Is something wrong dear?"
Ceres Genavieve knew just what the elder witch was playing at. The tactless American, push her hard enough, and she'll whine to the staff. And this Ministry bitch would have them fired one by one until Hogwarts belonged to Fudge and his government of nutcases.
She would not let that happen. She would not be broken. She would smile, yes just like that, reply "Nothing at all, Professor," and carve out the crime in flesh. The next hours of self-inflicted torture were spent musing over whether or not the wretched excuse for a witch had ever read The Merchant of Venice.
The time did not pass quickly, or easily, but it did pass. When the candles down to their last quarter of wax, the elder woman looked at her left hand, not the repetitive paper, and said Ceres was done for this evening. They would work on it again tomorrow. Splendid.
The witch immediately ran to the common room of her beloved Gryffindor house, but would not be there for long. No, detention was fine. Yes, she needed the password for the prefects bathroom. No, she had not run into Malfoy, but a relief from the stress of her current life was needed and if Hermione Granger did not grant her the password she would swim with the squid. The American transfer student had simply lost all capacity to care.
Ron gave her the password. Hermione hit him with a book, luckily not a large one. A poof of black hair emerging from the boys dormitory signaled her exit. Ceres Genavieve, bathing suit in hand, ran from the sanctuary she had grown to love. She did not look back.
Perhaps if she had remembered just who the other prefects of Hogwarts were, the young witch would not have been so eager to leave.
Then again, perhaps it would have only made her run faster.
A/N~ So I'm severely disappointed in you guys. A dozen plus new adds and favs, and the only review is from my best friend. Lucky for you I'm in a charitable mood and updated anyway. Reasons for you guys to leave me at least three reviews next chapter: Draco confesses, it doesn't go as planned. At all. Ceres past playing catch up. Oh! And a hot-shit kiss scene. Yea. I wont post it until I get at LEAST three reviews. Start typing now.
