Chapter Eleven

Never For You

:.:.:

I'm seated in a kitchen vaguely familiar to me, with a child in a high-chair before me. It's a girl who can't be any older than a year...and resembles me. I'm trying to feed her, collecting something colorful and mushy on a spoon and bringing it to her lips, only to have her turn her head every time.

"Sweetheart, you have to eat," I say it, but it isn't in my voice. I recognize it as a voice I've only remembered hearing in my dream. It's my mother. And that makes the baby...

"Demetria, please," I beg. "I know you miss Daddy, but he won't be home for a while. He's away at a Quidditch tournament." I explain it hopelessly, as though Demetria me er, the baby would understand.

"I miss him too," I tell her, tears bubbling at my eyes.

But they never do spill over, for a knock comes at the front door and it's not long after, before the door is sent flying back into the house. I immediately retrieve my wand and take to my feet, standing protectively in front of my daughter. A shadowy figure remains in the doorway, only stepping forward enough to stay out of the light of the kitchen.

"If you've come for Aiden, you won't find him here," I say sternly. I, myself, can't tell who this figure is, but I as my mother apparently can.

"I know," says the figure, hood covering his face, but it is definitely a man...with a familiar voice. "I've come for a different Harris."

He looks past me and I don't even look to my daughter, simply push her high-chair back further and take a more protective stance before her.

"I'd sooner pledge my own allegiance to your vile leader than let him anywhere near my daughter," I seethe.

"Than this'll be easier than I thought."

The man sends a nonverbal spell of some kind in my direction, but I automatically incant "Protego!" in my mind and my Shield Charm blocks it. This doesn't stop the Death Eater safe to assume he is, anyway who continues to cast jinxes and hexes in my direction. I block each one for not only myself, but my daughter who is now crying, until I'm Disarmed, my wand sent flying.

"Cruci !"

I experience a sensation I've previously felt, myself. Energy surges throughout my fingertips and white light shoots from them. But it is nothing like the simple jet of light I had sent flying. My mother sends a radiation, illuminating the entire kitchen and sending the Death Eater to his knees, writhing in pain.

I seize the opportunity to Summon my wand and grab my daughter, propping her up on my hip, as I bolt for the door. I just barely make it out when I send a distress flare up into the air from my wand, but that's all I have time to do before I find myself frozen where I stand. It isn't the Full Body-Bind Curse, but I'm still immobile, my daughter, however, is not. She continues to cry out, still attached to my hip, though not for long.

The Death Eater grabs me by the waist and brings me back into the house, using his wand to seal the front door back in its place. My eyes being the only part of me I can actually move, narrow to angry slits, especially when he takes my baby from my grasp.

"Don't cry, young Harris," he wickedly coos, placing her down on one of the first few steps of the staircase. "This won't hurt your Mummy...much."

Now he turns to face me and picks up where he left off. "Crucio!"

I'm no longer frozen. I drop to the floor, screaming out over the baby, one thousand white-hot knives boring into my skin. My body is twitching, I can feel it, I can still feel my bones breaking and growing back. My vision blurs, but I don't allow a single tear to fall now.

"Now, unless you wish for your precious daughter to suffer through that, as well," begins the Death Eater. "I suggest you keep still."

What else can I do? I lay on the cold, marble floor, staring into her hazel eyes that remind me so much of Aiden...

"A wise choice," he tells me, grinning viciously, and makes his way to me now.

He grabs me by the hand, forcing me to sit up, and then presses his wand to my inner left forearm. I know what's coming next, but I can't bring myself to watch, can't even bring myself to look away from my daughter at all. She's still crying, though not as loudly, and her eyes never leave mine either, as though she, too, knows what is going on. But when the black ink on my forearm catches the corner of my eye, I finally look to see it happen. Only, it doesn't stay. Jet black ink once pouring from the Death Eater's wand stops, my forearm glowing one minute and free of the Dark Mark the next.

"What is this?!" he demands. "What have you done?!"

Something heats up around my neck. "You can't take my Light," I say simply.

He slaps me across the face. The baby cries out again, and I'm reaching for my wand because he's about to reach for his. First, he turns to the baby and coos softly, "It's nothing personal" before turning back to face me, wicked grin in place.

"Expellia !"

"Avada Kedavra!"

It feels like someone kicks the floor underneath me... No, wait...

Someone kicked underneath me, but it was Viktor in the bunk below mine. I must've been a bit restless. My hands almost instinctively search for the locket, first around my neck and then somewhere tangled up in the blankets, but to no avail. I thought that was how this worked — after a dream about my mother or the locket...

But it wasn't just a dream...that was how she died... Wasn't it? But she was already a Death Eater...wasn't she? Her and my father...but it didn't sound like they were... That couldn't've been an Order member after her like that...

This life is not for you.

I thought you wanted this for me.

Never for you.

But all these years...

We'll talk more when it is safe.

Could it have been that everything was a lie? Everything about myself and my past I thought to be true... Who my parents were... I didn't even know. I watched my mother die and I couldn't remember a thing of it. And what of my father?

I returned my head to the pillow in hopes of falling back asleep with another dream, but I couldn't even fall asleep any longer. So I gave up eventually, quietly making my way down from my top bunk, careful not to wake anyone. Karkaroff had given up on enforcing the uniform rule while we were at Hogwarts, so I traded my pajamas for Muggle clothing. But then again, I reminded myself, I wouldn't exactly be running into anyone. So I simply threw George's jumper on over my T-shirt and the thick, patterned, mismatching socks Dobby gave me before leaving the cabin. And though I'd been expecting perhaps a hint of the sun rising, it was still tucked away, the grounds lit by nothing but moonlight.

I figured then would be as good a time as any to pay that visit to the kitchens and see what that surprise was. Luckily, I remembered the way and had no run-ins with Filch or Peeves or...well, anyone. Once at the painting of a bowl of fruit, I tickled the pear as I'd seen the twins do, though feeling a bit foolish. Regardless, the pear squirmed and laughed, transforming into a green doorknob which I opened.

The kitchen was brightly lit, which I hadn't at all been expecting. Though from what I could see, no house-elves were in it. I began to think otherwise, however, when there came the sound of some sort of cook ware dropping to the floor. And before I could investigate, the source of the noise was revealed...and running towards me.

"Miss Demetria!" It was Tinker, the house-elf of Harris Manor for as long as I could remember, wrapping me — well my waist — in his embrace.

"Tinker!" I greeted in equal shock. "What're you doing here?"

"Master Carlisle suggested Tinker come to Hogwarts to keep an eye on Miss Demetria!" he explained. Guess I found out what the surprise was.

"Well it's great to see you, Tinker," I said genuinely, the house-elf uncoiling himself from me. "But why d'you need to keep an eye on me here?"

Tinker's emerald orbs grew twice their size. "Tinker was not supposed to say that part!" he said, horrified. He grabbed a large brass pot from nearby and began hitting himself in the head with it. "Bad Tinker — bad Tinker — !"

"Stop that!" I ordered, immediately snatching the pot from him and tossing it aside. "Why did he ask you to watch me?"

"Miss Demetria should not be awake so late," Tinker rushed to change the subject. "Can she not sleep?"

No she can't, because she doesn't know a bloody thing about herself or her parents and the only way she can find out is in her dreams.

"No."

"Tinker can help!" he brightly offered; didn't even wait for my response, just scurried off somewhere.

I decided to let him believe he'd distracted me. After all, I wasn't exactly in the greatest state of mind...or the greatest state, in general, and whatever Grandad's reason was for sending Tinker, I knew I probably wouldn't want to hear it when I was sleep-deprived.

"Knotgrass mead!" declared Tinker, placing a green bottle on one of the tables.

I came over and seated myself at the bench in front of it. The label described it as "extra rich," recommended it be served at 63 degrees, and said it contained 23% alcohol.

"This'll help me sleep?" I questioned Tinker who nodded with a smile. "I hope you're right. I haven't slept properly in months." Since the dreams...

Just as I reached for the bottle, Tinker snatched it from my grasp — "Miss will need something stronger" — and scurried off again. When he returned, he placed another bottle before me, only this one, I recognized.

Superior Red — a brand of red wine produced, matured for a thousand years, and distributed by the Malfoy Apothecary. Tinker poured a small amount into a wine glass, looking to me expectantly.

"Master Carlisle would approve," he said, referring to my hesitation.

But that was just the problem — he would approve. Maybe I could never escape the life expected of me. Perhaps it was just my destiny. I took a sip of the wine, already accustomed to the taste, for it was a favorite at most Death Eater gatherings. Gatherings that I would be a part of for the rest of my life. So was there really any point in trying to run from it? I would probably have an arranged marriage to another member of pure-blood, Death Eater society...maybe even Draco...and we'd live out our days drinking Superior Red and living my worst fear: being Death Eaters.

"Miss Demetria," came Tinker, pulling me from my thoughts. "what is the G for?"

I looked to him in confusion. "What're you on about?"

In reply, he pointed to my jumper. Sure enough, there sat a yellow G against the blue sweater that I'd never even noticed.

"I don't — That's not important," I insisted, taking a sip of wine...a long sip... Alright, I finished it...

"Is Miss feeling better?" Tinker carefully asked. When I shook my head 'no', he poured more wine. That was...one of the last things I remember...

When I woke up the following morning, my head immediately began pounding. I didn't recognize where I was, but it appeared to be a cove in the kitchens where the house-elves slept. It was rather small, the bed I was in, but I'd huddled up in a way so that I fit...barely. There was a hot mug of coffee nearby and I could only assume Tinker had left it for me. I sat up and moved to reach for it, but it felt as though my brain was rattling around loose inside my head while someone was constantly smacking me upside the head with a Beater bat. My first hangover.

I got up but, luckily, don't have to walk far, because Tinker was already rushing over to me. "How is Miss Demetria feeling?" he spoke softly for my sake, but the noises of bustling in the kitchen were already too loud.

"Tinker..." I started out, trying to wrap my malfunctioning brain around what happened. "...you got me drunk."

"Tinker put Miss to sleep," he replied innocently. "Miss was beginning to worry Tinker."

"Why, did I do something?" I tried to recall the previous night, but it was useless.

"Miss was saying horrible things about Master Carlisle," he explained. "Calling him a traitor and a liar. Miss then tried to leave, said she must find Greg Weasel and tell him Miss likes him," Realization twinkled in those big eyes. "G for Greg Weasel!" He pointed at my jumper.

"What? No, I —"

"Miss Demetria likes Greg Weasel!" Tinker exclaimed. My head pounded harder. "Who is Greg Weasel?!"

"Tinker, please," I hissed. He took the hint and calmed down. "There is no Greg Weasel. I was piss drunk, nothing I said made any sense, I'm sure."

"Tinker apologizes," he said, dropping his head.

"S'alright, nothing to apologize for," I assured him, and he brightened up at once. I took that moment to look over at the elves placing food on the tables. It didn't look like breakfast food... "What time is it?"

Tinker looked up above me and then reported: "7:55."

"Oh..."

"PM."

"I slept all day?!" My head throbbed even more as I shouted.

But I didn't wait for Tinker to respond, simply took a large gulp of coffee and then left it behind as I made my way for the door. I moved as quickly as I could without giving myself an even bigger headache, and when I decided I no longer cared, I began sprinting for McGonagall's office. I was surprised I could find my way, let alone remember where it was, but I made it just on time... At least, I hoped so. Though I could only imagine what sort of hell I looked like...still clad in George's jumper and my own pajama pants...no shoes, just socks. My vision was blurred and, especially after running, I felt nauseous. So much so that I thought I might...Yep, there it was...though I was able to swallow it back down. That was somehow worse.

"Harris," greeted McGonagall, wearing a smirk as she observed my appearance. "Glad you remembered. Although it looks as though, it was a bit last minute."

I simply nodded, worried vomit might escape my mouth if I opened it. My head was literally a Bludger then, someone smacking me with a Beater bat as though the fate of the game depended on it.

"You all right, Demetria?" It was George, concerned, standing off in the corner. I'd just noticed him.

I gave it a try and opened my mouth to speak. "Peachy," I lied, offering a small smile to convince him. It didn't really seem to work, but he dropped it.

"Now then," said McGonagall decidedly. "Weasley, you will be in the trophy room. You are to —"

"Clean the trophies with Filch without using magic," he recited dully. "Been there, done that."

She only nodded before turning to me. "And, Miss Harris, you will be staying here, organizing these detention files by the dates they were recorded."

A rather large pile of parchments sat just beside McGonagall's desk. Normally, I would be pleased with a detention that didn't require manual labor, but being that my mind wasn't functioning properly, I actually envied George's mindless busy work over my own task.

"You may both get to work," McGonagall declared, sitting behind her desk.

With that, George had left and I took the seat opposite McGonagall's, taking the first piece of parchment in the pile. At least that's what I meant to do... Instead, I ended up knocking over nearly the entire pile.

"Did you sleep alright, Harris?" she asked, growing rather concerned, herself. I practically threw myself to the floor and gathered the files. "No," I told her. That was one excuse. Luckily, my head began to uncloud itself after a few moments passed. I seized the opportunity to actually perform my task, as I feared it would not be possible once the feeling of...well, a hangover...came back. Finally opening the first file, I found it to be a detention issued to George and Fred for setting off Dungbombs in the Slytherin common room. Something told me I'd be seeing a lot of these files for the twins.

"So is this pile just for Fred and George?" I finally asked when the Beaters took a break from hitting my head.

McGonagall smiled. "Not entirely, but mostly," she said in jest. "You all seem to be getting along rather well."

"Yeah, they were sort of the first friends I made here," I shared.

"Well I can see why, you're quite similar," she said. "You and George Weasley seem to be getting close."

I dropped the file I had been looking at. "I — Yeah, I s'pose."

"My apologies, Miss Harris, I didn't mean to pry," apologized McGonagall. "I simply meant... Well after seeing you two last night, I thought it safe to say you two've become good friends."

"Yeah, I guess we are," I admitted, trying to recollect my thoughts as the Beaters returned. "I've really only just met him, though."

"It doesn't always matter how long it's been," she explained. "Sometimes people simply...click."

"Like Finn," I said mostly to myself before looking up and seeing McGonagall still focused on me. "Finn's one of my best mates, I can tell him anything, and I've only just begun to know who he is."

"Finnick Archer?" she clarified, writing something down.

"Yeah," was all I said before getting back to work. There wasn't much said after that, McGonagall would attempt small talk, mainly about Durmstrang, but that was it. I wasn't sure how much time passed, but I appreciated the silence, and my head had grown less foggy during the process. Plus, I no longer had to open my mouth to respond to questions and I felt as though the next time I did, more than words would spill out. Finally, McGonagall told me I was free to go, and I was already feeling better.

"Oh, and Harris," she called after me just as I'd turn to go. "If you know where the trophy room is...?" after I nodded, she handed me a piece of parchment. "Could you pass this on to Mr. Filch, and you may free Weasley."

"Sure," I smiled. "Goodnight, Professor."

"Goodnight, Harris," she returned pleasantly.

I left McGonagall's office and shuffled to the trophy room in no hurry, where I stood for a moment to admire George cleaning the trophies by hand. He looked as though he really knew what he was doing... Then again, he had this detention numerous times before. He finally took notice of me, as did Filch.

"What're you doing here?" he demanded.

"McGonagall sent me," I explained, handing him the parchment. "Weasley's served his time."

"And it says you'll be doing the same tomorrow," Filch informed him, gleefully.

"Looking forward to it," said George dryly. He ushered me out rather quickly, and I couldn't say I blamed him. Filch certainly was...creepy.

"So, feeling better?" George asked me as soon as we'd left the trophy room.

"What d'you mean?"

"Don't play coy with me, Princess," he said with a smirk. "I know what being pissed looks like."

I actually stopped in my tracks. "Wha — I — No — I was not pissed!" I whispered it, though fiercely, as though someone were around to hear it.

"Right, of course, I meant pissed yesterday," George clarified, though still with that wolfish grin. "I must say, I'm surprised. Never pegged you the type."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" I swore. "I'm not! I don't do...that. I just went to the kitchens and...my house-elf was there and — You know, wine helps people fall asleep!"

George chuckled. "Yeah, it's called getting pissed until you're knocked out," he said as we began walking again. Though, after a moment, he noticed my expression and asked a serious question. "Can't sleep?"

"Not really, no," I admitted.

"Know what helps me?"

I shook my head.

"Flying."

"Flying?" I parroted.

"Yeah, back at the Burrow, whenever I couldn't sleep, I'd just take my broom out for a bit and tire myself out some," he told me. Not a trace of a smirk; he wasn't joking.

"Well, my broom is still at Durmstrang," I said as we came to the Great Hall. This was also the exit from the castle I used to get to the ship. And though we had just served detention for being in the exact same spot the previous night, there we were again...out past curfew again, no doubt.

"You could borrow mine," suggested George. "You're borrowing quite a bit, these days." He tugged playfully at his jumper which I still wore.

"I'm sorry, d'you want it back?" I offered, already pulling it up, my t-shirt underneath, revealed.

"No need to give me a show, love," he teased, putting my hands down along with the sweater. "You can bring it back when you're not wearing it. Now, about the broom..."

"I appreciate it, but I'm sure I'll be fine," I told him whole-heartedly.

"Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind," he said. "...about anything."

Bloody hell, I knew it would catch up to me. I knew it was wrong, I shouldn't've kissed George. Even if it was just a peck! "George, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to —"

"To get me in trouble for staying out past curfew?" he cut in, smirk back in place. "I'm sure you didn't, but now I'm starting to think it may be on purpose."

I gave a small laugh. "Right, sorry, wouldn't want to make it three nights with Filch."

He laughed too, but then we just stood there staring at each other. It looked as though he wanted to say something, and I wished he just would.

"What?" I prompted just above a whisper.

George smiled and shook his head. "Nothing," he assured. "Goodnight, Demetria." And then he began walking off.

"Goodni —" I froze and then... Yep. More than words came out.

"You are sure you vill be alright without me?" Viktor asked for the umpteenth time that morning. He was dressed and ready for his Hogsmeade date with Hermione, leaving me with Grigor and Finn to work on my Transfiguring.

"Yes, yes, just go, have fun," I encouraged him. "I've practically got it down already."

"Viktor!" a female voice called out. We all looked to see it was Hermione, herself, waiting where the ship was docked. Harry and Ron were with her, though after she leaned in to say something to them, they walked off. Ron, of course, was looking rather displeased, and I was beginning to hope that Hermione spending so much time with Viktor would cause him to tell her how he truly felt. After all, the two were obviously harboring feelings for one another.

"I vill see you three later," said Vik as he began leaving the ship. "Hopefully in vun piece!"

"You'll see!" I called back to him, and then watched as he and Hermione immediately linked arms upon meeting and began strolling off together.

"Look at you, playing matchmaker," said Finn with a smirk, casually leaning over the starboard railing.

"I am not," I defended. "Vik's shy and —"

"I meant with Hermione and Ron."

"You see it too?!"

"Anyone with a set of eyes and ears could piece that one together," said Finn teasingly.

"Not anyvun," came Grigor, rather quietly.

"Well could anyvun help me with Transfiguring?" I hopefully said, directing it toward Grigor.

"Of course." He grinned.

But we didn't even get to so much as cracking the book open before someone else appeared where the ship met the dock. "Demetria!" It was a male voice...it was —

"Cedric!?" I called it out, sounding sort of confused. But then quickly repeated it, trying to replace the nervousness with excitement. "Cedric!"

"Ready to go?" he shouted back.

Ready to g — ? Oh...shite... "Just a second!" I said to him before turning to Finn and Grigor, slapping each of them on the arm. "Why didn't you tosspots remind me I had a date with Cedric?!" I fiercely whispered.

After a moment, Finn cheekily said: "You have a date with Cedric."

"Useless," I groaned, before turning back and making my way down to the dock. "Cedric, I'm really sorry bu —"

"You can't make it," he finished, crestfallen.

"I really am sorry..." I lamely offered. "I told my mate I'd work on what to do for the next task, and I have to show him that things don't fall apart when he's not around because that's why he almost didn't go to Hogsmeade today and... You probably didn't care to hear all that..."

Cedric gave a breath of laughter and then told me, "Well how can I be upset when I'm up against such a convincing argument?"

"By realizing what a horrible thing this is to do to someone —"

"Demetria, it isn't that big of a deal," he assured me genuinely. "I'll just stop by later."

"Okay, yeah, later," I agreed, though slightly disappointed.

"See you," he said with a sad smile before turning to leave.

Someone's hand fiercely came in contact with my shoulder once I'd made my way up the plank. It was Finn, nodding his head in Cedric's direction. "Go, you twit," he insisted in a whisper.

"But what about —"

"I'll work on it," he assured me. "Just come back before Viktor does and I'll teach you. Now go get ready, I'll keep him here."

With that, he immediately took off and descended the plank, calling out to Cedric. I passed Grigor who was giving me a thumbs up, and hurried below deck to our cabin. I then rummaged through my trunk for something "date-appropriate" but thus far, was coming up short. It wasn't until about two minutes into the search that I gave up and decided upon a pair of tight blue jeans and a rather simple, white sweater. I did, however, happen to find a bright blue bow which could only have been my mother's, considering it was once her trunk. I quickly pulled my loosely-curled mane into a half-up half-down fashion and clipped the bow in the back. After hastily applying whatever makeup I could manage time for, I grabbed my jacket and rushed back up the ladder and found that Grigor was now sporting a thumbs-down gesture. Finn soon appeared back on the ship and when I looked to the dock, Cedric was no where to be seen.

"Sorry, Dem, the train was leaving and Cho Chang showed up —"

"That's okay," I said shortly. "I mean it wasn't a big deal. He said he'd see me later so..."

"Usmikhni se, krasiva," said Grigor softly. (Cheer up, beautiful)

I hadn't even noticed I was frowning until I began smiling at his words.

"Grig's right," Finn said, seeming to decide on something. "You look far too good to sit around and practice Transfiguring all day. Why don't you let us take you to Hogsmeade?"

"Thanks, gents, but...I dunno, I'm just not up for it any longer," I confessed. "I'll just take a stroll."

And though they seemed disappointed, I knew they really just felt bad for me. I knew they meant well, too, but I didn't want anyone's pity. What I really wanted was just to be alone. And I knew I would be able to Transfigure myself into one of those absolutely hideous selkies without much of a problem, especially since the task wasn't for another five weeks. So I set off for the castle, making my way to the dock and then across the grounds. By the time I'd actually set foot in the castle, my mind was already busier than King's Cross station. It sprung all over the place from the second task to Cedric to the Death Eaters to Grandad to Jack Gelling to the locket...

Ugh. That bleeding locket. And just where exactly had it disappeared to? That's what I wanted. Answers. I wanted to fall back asleep and wake up with that locket and figure out what it meant. Light. Capital L. Can't take my Light. What did any of it mean? I couldn't —

"Ow!" I'd turned a corner and collided with someone rather severely, knocking me to the ground.

"Well well well," drolled a familiarly solemn voice. "Look who we have here — Demetria Harris, Champion of Durmstrang."

I didn't even have to look up to know who it was, though I did. "Severus!" I said in a purposely obnoxious and chipper tone, getting back on my feet. His only response to that was a rather irritated and slow blink. "How really corking to see you again! I take it you won't be joining the others for a day of fun in Hogsmeade this afternoon?"

Severus Snape and I were, by no means, friends, chums, mates, or companions of any kind. I just found an immense amount of pleasure in torturing him by acting as though we were.

Snape simply continued to glare down at me where I stood, catching shade beneath his prominently hooked nose. When he finally spoke again, he, naturally, ignored what I'd said. "I would be careful if I were you, Harris," he gravely advised.

"And I would shampoo if I were you, Snape," I said, keeping the good-natured smirk etched across my face.

He leaned in closer, gritting his teeth and clearly trying to control his temper. "Do not think for one moment that you will not be reprimanded for your actions the other night," he seethed quietly, though no one was around. "There will be consequences to face, each far worse than the last, if you continue to exhibit this kind of behavior."

I hadn't given a single thought as to how Voldemort would react once finding out about the fiasco at my home. I s'pose I didn't think it was that important... But Snape was probably right... He could order my Death Eater initiation tomorrow for all I knew...

"No sarcastic remark, Harris?" said Snape with the closest thing to a satisfied grin I'd ever seen him manage. "What is the matter? Has your quick wit failed you, like your grandfa —"

"Shut up." My fading smirk had snapped like a rubber band into a hard line, my expression hardening to stone. I didn't even want to hear the rest of that sentence.

"A touchy subject, I see," he took joy in stating. "Am I to understand that dear old Grandad has finally filled you in on his little secret?"

"What're you on about?" I carefully inquired.

"Ah, so he's not yet told you," Snape continued, still sounding as gleeful as Severus Snape possibly could. "I cannot say I blame him, however. How does one go about telling their grandchild that their entire life is a lie?"

This life is not for you.

I thought you wanted this for me.

Never for you.

But all these years...

We'll talk more when it is safe.

I stood frozen for, I'm not even entirely sure how long. It felt like a century, but Snape wouldn't have stuck around that long. I could only assume the reason he hadn't left yet was because my face was displaying some sort of confused and bewildered expression that he found great amusement in watching.

Finally, without saying a word, I found the strength to move my legs and walk away. At least, that's what I tried to do before Snape reached out an arm to stop me.

"It would be most unwise to go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong," he told me, utterly deadpan, as usual.

And because I couldn't decipher if it was truly a warning or just a typical 'you're too foolish to understand' sort of comment, I replied with: "You of all people should know. You can't even turn your head without that nose of yours sticking itself where it doesn't belong."

Snape dropped his arm, clearly both unamused at my retort and displeased that I had regained my quick wit. And though he was probably right about refraining from poking and prodding into matters, it was time I got some answers, so I made my way up to the Owlery with a quick detour into an empty classroom for some parchment and ink just lying about.

Grandad

When will it be safe to talk? You owe me answers.

Sort of harsh and cold, but to-the-point. And it felt sort of unnecessary to sign my name. After all, he's only got one grandchild...doesn't he? I started to wonder, what if that was what he was keeping from me. It sounded ridiculous but... No, that couldn't've been it. Perhaps I should've just gone to Hogsmeade with Finn and Grigor... I needed to get my mind off of things, after all. And I knew if I went back to the ship I would just end up sitting in my bunk obsessing over one of two things: what my grandfather was keeping from me or when he would respond. I wished he would've already... I'd only just sent the owl off with the letter between its beak and I was already itching for a reply. I just needed to clear my head...and that was when it hit me.

After another quick stop, this time out by the Quidditch pitch, I had borrowed a broom from the equipment shed and was doing what George had suggested — flying. At last, something that felt familiar, something effortless and calming. Granted, whichever version of Cleansweep I was flying — possibly a seven — didn't compare to my Firebolt, but it had been so long that I didn't even mind. I stayed out practically all day long, zooming all over the grounds and even a bit further. It wasn't until the sun began to set that I returned the Cleansweep and made my way back to the ship. And though a small part of me had gotten my hopes up to receive an owl from Grandad upon my return, I couldn't say I was surprised to find that that wasn't the case.

"Demetria, vhere haff you been?" Grigor urgently asked as soon as I was on board the ship.

"I went flying, wh — Oh shite..." It dawned on me — students would be back from Hogsmeade in any minute, and Viktor would see that I hadn't made any progress.

"D'you reckon he'll really be that angry?" inquired Finn. "You've still got five weeks until the task."

"Worse — he'll be disappointed," I told him. And it truly was worse than him being angry; luckily, I'd only experienced that feeling once before.

"You do not vant that," added Grigor, who had, unfortunately, experienced said feeling on more than one occasion.

"Alright, so then how d'you self-transfigure?" Finn then appeared as worried as Grigor and I were.

"You cannot expect to learn it now, there is no time," Grigor insisted. "I do not vant you to hurt yourself, Dem."

"C'mon, Grigs, I've got to at least try," I said, pulling off my boots and socks.

"Merlin, are they back already?!"

I didn't even wait for confirmation on what Finn had just said. Propping myself up on the ship's railing, I swung my legs over the side and dropped myself into the lake. Once my arms and legs had cut through the frigid waters and my head was resting above the surface, Grigor began trying to explain the directions to me. Unfortunately, Grigor was not the best teacher, and it didn't help that we were pressed for time...not to mention, this was an advanced spell... But as soon as I saw Viktor lean over the railing, I knew, just like I'd told Grigor, I had to at least try.


I keep forgetting to post new chapters because I'm not even sure if anyone is interested, so apologies for that! I've actually finished this story, as well as the sequel and am in the process of writing a third in this series, so please let me know if anyone wants me to keep updating! Thank you!