Chapter Six: It's Just a Cup...
My nerves were eating me alive. I couldn't focus on a damn thing Professor Slughorn was saying and barely noticed the tapping of the rain against the windows of the potions classroom. I stared aimlessly at the bezoar slowly disintegrating in the cauldron before me, rainbows of black and gold and silver swirling in opposite directions. The glass rod swirled on its own volition without my touching it, but the currents of the potion were as scattered as my mind currently was.
Finally, the potion fell flat. Black as tar, still as oil.
Damn, but I'd failed the assignment. Too distracted by what I was going to do after tonight's lesson—straight to the Great Hall to enter my name into the Goblet of Fire.
The sun was already low in the sky, the class itself was coming to an end. Frustrated, I slammed the potions book shut on the elaborate text, all the glasses on the table tinkling as I moved them aside and pulled a piece of parchment toward me. Taking one of the quills set up on the table, I wrote up the result in an awfully rushed manner that made my handwriting barely legible, then extracted a sample into one of the tinctures provided. Leaving the quill on the table,
I went across the room to where Slughorn was explaining something to another student. "Ah, Ms. Nott—finished already?" He glanced at my potion, his face twisting in the manner it always did when he spotted something curious. "Is that your submission?"
I was in the Slug Club last year, so my membership this year was almost given. In light of that, I could imagine how disappointing this was to him—but I had my reasons. "Sorry, Professor. Suppose this wasn't quite up my alley tonight."
"Not a problem—you see, the others haven't quite got it as well. We may revisit this in the next lesson."
I smiled and turned to head across the room, leaving my potion and parchment on the designated table. From there, my entire body was a cocktail of anxiety as I made my way back across the castle. It was getting darker sooner these days, with the coming of autumn, but it wasn't quite late enough for the moon to be out. Only the crisp bite of the storm cooling the castle walls.
When I arrived, the entire Great Hall was tinted blue with the light of the goblet—and the age line drawn around it—but there were far more people than I anticipated when I first stepped through the doors. The parchment with my name on it had been sitting in my pocket all day long, and now felt heavier than a little lead ball. Benches had been set up on either side of the goblet, which was mounted on a stone fixture in the center of the room.
The murmuring didn't stop as I made my way toward the center of the hall. I hadn't told anyone besides Freya and the others that I intended to join-I supposed they hadn't told anyone else, though I couldn't say why anyone would care anyway. Unless Freya's sentiments on the train rang true—perhaps that's why I was thinking of them now. Would people genuinely care that a descendant of Death Eaters was entering the competition? What would it mean if they did?
My family was left in ruins after the last battle of Hogwarts. Generations later, we still felt the consequences of it—my parents, especially, as they divorced, with related circumstances driving them apart. At this point, they barely spoke to one another, let alone me. But as sad as all that was—to me, anyway—I doubted anyone else at Hogwarts cared. Freya's accusations were ridiculous; I was my own person, after all.
The Lestranges and Malfoy families were another story. The Lestranges had their own wealth of money to fall back on, while the Malfoys had evaded imprisonment entirely—and therefore total ruin. Their fortune stemmed from a stroke of wisdom from Draco Malfoy's mother, followed by Lucius's aid in bringing fellow Death Eaters to justice after the war. Draco himself suffered little of the consequences and went on to marry a woman outside the Sacred Twenty-Eight—Atrius's mother, Astoria Greengrass. Their marriage, according to rumor, continued to be a point of contention in Atrius's family, as Astoria refused to conform with the idea that muggles were the scum of the earth.
Not that it mattered—not that any of it mattered.
The trickling rain had grown to a pounding sound against the towering windows of the Great Hall, the roof churning with storm clouds that reflected the storm outside.
"Evie!" My name was shouted across the hall.
I stopped. Looking around for the source, I saw the others crowded in the darkest corner of one of the benches—Freya, who had called out to me, along with Atrius, Oliver, Theseus, and Lucretia. I made my way toward them, slowing only to observe the goblet's blue flames. I should've just turned and chucked my name into the fire, but I didn't. Instead, I approached the others with a knot in my stomach that wouldn't abate. Centered among them, Atrius lounged back against the bench, slowly turning his attention on me. Beside him was Lucretia, looking as cold as she always did, and the others circled the two of them like pets.
Two peas in a pod, I realized. Both Atrius and his cousin both looked equally disdainful. Though after Theseus's revelation the other night, I had to wonder how much of it was real—where did the bitterness come from, in Atrius?
"Hallo, Evie," Oliver chirped, his demeanor far too chipper for the darkness they resided in. "Here to cast your vote?"
"Vote on what?"
"On who should be selected," he said. "Come now, between yourself and Atrius, who do you really think deserves to be in the tournament?"
I looked at Atrius, his silver eyes piercing. Both his hands were intertwined, his pointer finger tapping as he waited.
"I think the goblet should decide that, don't you?" I said.
The question wasn't particularly aimed at anyone, but it was Freya who answered, "Well, go on, then." She shrugged. "What're you waiting for? Come all this way for nothing?" Her words were cutting, but I knew she was upset with me—worried. She was probably the only one among them who was, aside from Theseus.
I pulled the parchment from my pocket and stared at it a moment. Ironic, the way Atrius scanned my every movement while my best friend refused to look at me. I took it as a sign that there was no more arguing to be done—I just needed to get this over with. And so, reminding myself of all the reasons I'd decided to do this, I turned and made my way to the goblet. Alone.
One other student from Ilvermorny cast her name into the fire just before I stepped up to the age line, a round of applause breaking out from the hall. I thought nothing of it as I crossed the circle and observed the cup—the choice I was making. There were runes encircling the lip, the cracked, wooden surface of the bowl leading down to the stem and engravings at the bottom. The fire itself licked and spat as though there was actual wood burning inside the bowl, all the hall falling silent as I turned my attention back up to it. Finally, the heat scorched my fingertips as I threw the parchment into the flame, turning it red for several moments.
No one clapped.
Not that I'd been paying attention, but the moment my name was cast into the fire, I suddenly had the strangest feeling that I'd done something wrong.
"Chilling, isn't it?" A voice appeared behind me, startling me a bit. "Having eyes on you that you didn't ask for, looking upon with you with fear?"
I turned in place and found myself staring up at Atrius. In the ambient glow of the fire, his features looked even more pronounced—as did the iciness in his expression. His skin was creamy, silver eyes gleaming with thought and warning.
On instinct, I backed away a step. "No one's looking at me with fear."
He arched a perfect brow. "Aren't they?"
"Why would they be?"
"Why not?" He moved around me to reach the cup. "Who knows what darkness lurks inside a person, waiting to be brought out?" Atrius slowly lifted a hand, depositing a slip into the fire. Once more, it burned red. "And what better to bring it out than a murderous competition?"
My mouth fell open. Was he taunting me? He had to be—the reference to our incident couldn't be by accident or ignorance. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" I murmured, making a show of rolling my eyes. "The darkness within and all the ways it can come to fruition."
"Yes, I would know all about it—and all about embracing it," his voice fell low. "Happy to teach you a thing or two."
"Why would I want to embrace that?" I said. "To hurt other people without remorse?"
Atrius had circled me a little, but stopped at that moment to throw me a cutting glare. "It might just keep you alive."
In my defense, I didn't look away. I merely stepped back a notch. "You say that like I've already been chosen."
"I wasn't talking about the competition."
"What else could you be talking about?"
"I think you know."
"No, I really don't."
His eyes narrowed. "Fine, then," Atrius murmured. "I'll simply wish you luck. May the best of us win."
With that, he blew past me out of the Great Hall, leaving us all in silence for several minutes.
I followed shortly after.
Sorry today's chapter is a little short, I really want to get to the good parts and get going with the tournament!
Lots of new readers/reviewers/lurkers this week-a warm welcome to each and every one of you, and thank you so, SO much for reading and extending your support :) I appreciate it deeply.
Please wish me luck/send positive vibes/prayers/whatever it is that's your personal expression of sending good wishes to someone-I've begun hardcore querying for my IRL projects. The competition is so intense.
See you all next time! :)
