Prejudices, it is well known, are most difficult to eradicate from the heart whose soil has never been loosened or fertilised by education: they grow there, firm as weeds among stones. – Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
The Great Hall is alive with boisterous laughter, filled with the warmth and anticipation that only comes with the hopeful excitement of a new school year. Even Cynthia can't hold back a small smile as the evening grows darker above and her friends exchange stories of their summers. The most thrilling of course are the annual scandalous tales of Isabel Griffins herself, although Cynthia has learnt over the years that her friend has a tendency for exaggeration. She's not quite certain how or even if Isabel ended up in a foursome on some rich Italian business owner's yacht but she has learnt to not question the entirely crazy and seemingly implausible situations her roommate manages to get herself into when left to her own devices. Isabel Griffins is an enigma of chaos. And despite her rather disreputable history and family status, not even Mulciber and Malfoy are able to ignore her presence in their circle. She's just there, whether they approve of her or not.
"I'm not surprised she's a Hufflepuff," Isabel hums beside her, the disgust evident in her tone," my cousin has always been rather pathetic like her mother."
"Isn't her mother a muggle?" Mulciber spits out venomously from beside Isabel, words slightly muffled by his mouth full of pie.
"Yes, and a rather stupid one at that if I remember correctly. My parents lost contact with them years ago, thank Merlin." Isabel confirms, an amused look etched into her dark features as her lips curl up into a sneer that almost matches Mulciber's own. It's never good to be related to a muggle as a Slytherin and Isabel Griffins is well aware of it. Status is everything to pure bloods. Many of them pride themselves on their purity. Most of them come from families dating back years with little to no dirtier blood interruptions. Families like the Blacks. Her family isn't that prestigious though, having intermarried with a few halfbloods, and a small part of her is almost grateful of the fact. Families like the Blacks and Lestranges often balanced precariously on the fence between greatness and insanity as a result of years of purity inbreeding.
"They're awfully poor aswell, all her books are second hand, and her robes." Avery snickers at that from Cynthia's left whilst Isabel continues to prattle on about the multitude of embarrassing attributes held by her cousin. The conversation continues with jabs at different students but Cynthia is quick to disassociate from their slurs as she looks around the hall. The exuberant feast from before has quickly been replaced with empty plates and pink cheeked children, all satisfied and full as they chatter between themselves. The first years can barely stay awake, the adrenaline only now beginning to wear off as they sit with stuffed stomachs and endless grins. She watches silently as they each nervously whisper to their new house companions with starry eyes, likely wondering where they will be heading to next. She almost wishes she was down there. Sat far at the other end of her table with little to worry for but her brother, his friends and who her new roommates could be. Life now seems so complicated in comparison. So unnecessarily endless and planned. Each year from now limited to dinner parties and regretful reflections on what she could have been if she were only so brave enough to truly question herself. She lets her gaze loiter on which of the first years she might recognise from family friends and such, eyes drawing lines from table to table, connecting dots inside her head as she tries to put faces to names. Most of the easily recognisable ones are from Slytherin of course. But there are a few in other houses too. A few like Black who didn't get sorted where most expected them to.
Her glance flitters to him at the thought. His rowdy Gryffindor bench is an unmissable focal point in the large hall. Sirius himself is up to his usual nonsensical idiocy with his troublemaking friends. They're all laughing loudly as he dramatically mimics something she can't quite decipher from this far away, his arms flailing in the air and face scrunching up into a sour look. It's frankly embarrassing, and quite immature. And yet she can't help but snicker a little when mousy little Pettigrew chokes out his drink through his nose whilst laughing at Black's impression, the liquid dribbling down his chin and onto his cloak. His hands manically try to mop up his mess but even he can't stay silently embarrassed for too long, joining in with the other Gryffindor's raucous laughter.
"Ahh, that's what you're laughing at," Rosier nudges from beside her, and Cynthia can't help but jump a bit in her seat at the disruption, eyes skirting away from the embarrassing scene before her and towards her dorm-mate's face.
"They're repulsive." She simply replies to the implication. And they are, they're all childish and disgusting and she knows from years of experience that they are definitely all self righteousness pricks. The only reason she'd even glanced towards them in the first place was more due to natural instinct than actual purpose. She's learnt over the years that the four infamous troublemakers seem to find a way to scheme and prank like no one else, which in her opinion makes her wariness extremely justified.
"Maybe, but you can't help but admire them a bit." Katherine swoons slightly, her chin resting in her hand as she gazes adoringly at the group still laughing and fooling carelessly around. What her brother would do for Katherine to look at him with such adoration Cynthia is almost terrified to say. He may cheat like there is no tomorrow, but he'd once been enamoured by Katherine Rosier. Spent the first five or so years trailing after her like some sort of lost puppy. But when she'd never reciprocated his obvious feelings, he grew bored. And when her brother became bored, he turned to other outlets. Those outlets being other girls.
"Yes, I admire them almost as much as they admire us. Which need I remind you, is not at all." She rolls her eyes at her friend. Sometimes she can't help but think that the chestnut haired girl has her head stuck in the clouds when it comes to romantic ideas. After all she has fancied herself in love with Remus Lupin for years despite her betrothal to Cyrus, laughed along to his sometimes dull jokes and whispered about his intriguing quiet demeanour and lean, tall figure in their dormitory far too many times in Cynthia's opinion. She's a pure blood though, and a high status member of the sacred 28 at that. Even Rosier herself knows that her fantasies are all merely that, fantasies. Girls like them can never possibly entertain the notion of love when other things are of much higher importance.. And anyways, from her experience, love is much too overpraised and never really worth the pain that seems to accompany it.
"Must you always ruin my good mood Cynthia." Rosier sighs loudly. She almost painfully forks a delicious looking chocolate covered strawberry into her mouth, as though comforting herself with the food. A balm of sorts.
"It's called being realistic." Cynthia responds matter of factly. She draws her own fork along her plate as she pushes her left over cake side to side. The pudding had been delightful as always, and the rich sauce felt almost like a welcome home of sorts from her all time favourite delicacy. That's one thing she would surely miss when she left this place. The chocolate cake.
"Yes, just like your relationship with Corvus, very realistic." Katherine sends her a knowing sideways glance, and Cynthia is very tempted to kick her beneath the table for the obnoxious snark. She doesn't though, instead choosing to shuffle closer to Corvus and wrap her fingers around his hand on the table top. He pauses his conversation for a second at the touch but soon realises that it's merely her hand and resumes what she recognises as his usual gloating conversations with Isabel and a few of the others. Katherine merely scoffs at Cynthia's attempted power manoeuvre, offering a quiet laugh at her friend's perfected art of deflection and sends her a knowing look towards where Sirius is laughing uncontrollably at the table across the hall. Cynthia sees the show, of course, but pretends not to notice, focusing instead on the others' conversation. It's a skill she's mastered over the years, feigning ignorance.
"…told me it won't be more than a year before the Ministry falls. It's inevitable." She catches the tale end of Mulciber's smug speech. Lucius nods in agreement not to far down the table and Corvus in turn seems pleased at the information. Her brother looks none too bothered at the revelation, as though he has heard it all before, and is instead watching her with curious eyes. His eyes move to rest upon her and Corvus' joint hands for a moment before he raises his eyebrows in question. She's not sure quite how to respond to the look. She's never particularly shown any resemblance of affection for Corvus Avery before now, in fact all their previous conversations have ended in taunts and a mutual disdain for the other. But that was before her mother made it almost clear that he was to be her husband over this summer. Before fate dealt her the unlucky hand. And although she feels a burst of self loathing for accepting her fate, her mother's words still ring painfully in her ear from earlier.
She may walk free of marriage now but the expectation is still ever present over her shoulder. Her parents need this marriage, and despite her disagreement with the principles, her reputation cannot suffer any more. She might have not ruined herself in the eyes of high society when her previous betrothal was left with nothing to amount from it but they have not forgotten. And they will not forget until she finds herself another match to replace the old one. She may dispute some of the ideals pureblood society is based upon, but she will not allow her name to suffer due to his foolish and traitorous actions. She is a Nott and she will not be looked down upon, even if the price for the restoration of her good name is the suffering of her happiness. And besides, it is not as though Corvus is the worst proposal she could receive, and given time she thinks maybe she could find some semblance of joy in their relationship. He's not ugly by anyone's standard, and despite his slightly finer build and pretentious air she thinks he is alright to converse with at times. At least far better than Adrian Mulciber or Severus Snape. Merlin, she thinks she'd rather off herself before having pathetic little Snape lay a slimy hand upon her.
"Cynthia." Corvus' voice snaps her from her apparent mental evaluation and she responds with a confused "hmm?"
"I just was asking if you'd heard about the new Head of…" Corvus' question is cut of by a movement at the front of the Hall. The room suddenly hushes into a noticeable quiet hum as Headmaster Dumbledore stands from his seat and leads himself to the ornate Phoenix podium that stands regally at the forefront of the Hall. His robes glisten like caught starlight as he takes slow but purposeful steps forward, chin held high and a look of precise and consuming warmth dwelling across his features. She doesn't quite know if she's allowed the comfort it brings her, if the welcome is only for those who are righteous and good in the school's eyes. She's sure her companions are far from that particular category. But before she may dwell on that particularly blurry thought which hovers precariously close to betrayal, Dumbledore clears his throat with a soft cough.
"I would like to bid all students, new and returning, the warmest welcome to Hogwarts." Dumbledore says once the students are all in unified silence which is quickly ended by raucous cheers at his welcoming words. A few Gryffindors even stand at them, Black and his friends amongst them as they holler loudly through caved hands and clap one another on the backs with wide smiles. Even her friends manage a small clap, although the effort is half hearted and quite lacklustre in comparison to their Gryffindor counterparts.
"Despite concerns from the Ministry about announcing this to you all, I think it would be careless of me not to begin this year by informing you of the dark changes that are happening in the Wizarding World at the moment. As some of you may already have heard, it is the belief of certain Wizarding families that some wizards and witches are not as deserving of their magic and status as others. These families have begun to rally together under their joint goal of blood purity, led by the dark wizard, Voldemort, and are threatening war against the Wizarding world…" Dumbledore pauses, and the hall cascades into a long and somber silence at the revelation. Cynthia obviously knows everything he is saying, as do many of her fellow peers. It is a truth that she had begun to acknowledge more over the Summer, with the heightened behaviour of her father and brother. The endless meetings they'd spent caved in his office, breakfasts spent reading the Prophet with excited smiles upon both of their faces as news came in of recent attacks on muggles and muggleborns. Cynthia hadn't questioned it though. It was not her place to do so. And even if she did not fear the repercussions of her curiosity, she was almost happy to stay oblivious to the changes happening within the walls of Mulberry House. Cynthia knows everything Dumbledore is saying not just because of the Prophet and the gossip she had heard on the train but because she had spent her whole summer hiding herself away in her room from the very people waging it.
"But you must know this, even if this war comes to our doorstep, no matter who you are and where you come from, every student here will always be protected and welcome at Hogwarts." A few claps erupt at the words, despite the dour atmosphere that fills the Hall, but most of her friends remain knowingly silent and grim. Dumbledore then continues on with his usual speech, addressing the first years and warning everyone of the forbidden forest and the third corridor which is off limits. Cynthia can't help but dwell on his previous words and wonder if there's any truth to them. If this war truly comes to Hogwarts, she doubts any of her companions would be welcome within these walls, not when those threatening the others outside would be their parents and siblings. No, she doesn't believe for a second that she'd be accepted with the open arms Dumbledore paints for them. In fact she's much more certain that they'd throw her to the curb if the situation came to it. They would all rather kick her towards the path that her family are following than live in paranoia of her motives as she walks freely amongst them. Not that that matters really, she will always stand by her family to the very end. Will never abandon them in their time of need to hide behind walls of false promises with hypocritical people who would never truly accept her. She is not Sirius Black.
"Well that was cheerful." Katherine breaks the silence with an awkward smile, tapping her fingers rhythmically against the hard wood of the table.
"More like idiotic. That man is a weak fool and anyone who believes a word that comes out of his mouth is even worse." Corvus' face morphs into a look of unadulterated disgust and disdain as his eyes hover for a long moment on the headmaster. Corvus' father has always been vocal with his animosity towards the rules at Hogwarts regarding muggleborns. He also widely hates adult influences at the school like Hagrid and Dumbledore. Listening to his son seems merely a replica of past conversations at various dinner parties. Disgruntled and slightly boring in her honest opinion. Yet she shows nothing of her emotions as she nods vaguely at the words that spark the newest conversation amongst her friends. Dumbledore may be a fool, but her mother trusts him. Maybe there is more to him than what she has always seen. She isn't optimistic. And yet just for a moment, as the older man catches her eye from across the Great Hall, she lets her heart hope that the letters in her bag might lead her somewhere greater than the path she is on.
"It's true though. My father says the war will be on by Christmas. The ministry have all but announced it."Isabel states, pride laced in her voice as though she has announced something that they could have never seen coming themselves.
"You're father doesn't know anything, Griffins." Mulciber grunts, and everyone waits for Isabel to explode as usual. Isabel Griffins hate when anyone even slightly condescends her family. As though she is scared that someone else's word against them could bring their status back to where it used to be years ago.
"My father knows a lot more than yours does."
"Oo, did I hit a sore spot there?" He chuckles but his anger is still prevalent, still there as he crosses his arms and watches Isabel twitch in her seat.
"I'll give you more than a sore spot in a minute dickhead." Isabel threatens.
"Shut up, halfblood."Mulciber leans forward and Isabel matches him, her eyes gleaming, daring him to say another word against her. They both remain tense for a few moments, locked in their own silent battle, before Isabel pushes her plate forward. It crashes against the bowls of food with a loud bang which resonates against the quietness of their end of the table. Mulciber barely flinches, his body full of cocky composure even as Isabel spits in his face venomously and huffs out of the hall.
"I'll get her back for that, the stupid bitch." Mulciber swears under his breath and no one questions his words which appear much less humorous than they would have in previous years. She has no doubts that Mulciber won't hesitate to enact some sort of sick revenge against Isabel. She just worries that the punishment will be much more severe than usual. He has a less than surprising dark streak that only seems to have gotten worse over the summer.
"My father actually knows quite a lot when it comes to the happening of the Ministry. As a member in the…"Mulciber stops his usual arrogant speech quite suddenly, inspecting his robes which have suddenly turned a bright crimson colour, "What the fuck is wrong with my robes?"
"I think your hair is worse." Katherine points out.
Cynthia laughs at Mulciber's annoyance but soon stops once she realises that her own hair and robes have turned a matching red. She immediately knows exactly who's behind this. Her eyes lift, clashing with the stone blue of his in a terrifying dance. He seems alight with glee at her table's embarrassment, his mouth open and head tilted back slightly in a rumbling laugh. Sirius Black is laughing at her, and she loathes him for it. Loathes that he gets to her in such unpredictable manners, how she has not yet learnt to hide her anger at his pranks. She can't believe him and the rest of those assholes he calls friends. Well, actually she can. This is just the sort of thing they'd do for a little attention and glory for their own house. She's sure they already know that their stupid little prank will come with the added bonus of making her house look like they can't take a joke for another year running.
The other tables are bursting with amused laughter at the sight of the bewildered Slytherins, but none are louder than the four behind the prank who's raucous cheers can be heard by everyone in the Great Hall as they overtly pat each other on the back and snort at the disgusted faces of her peers. The first year Slytherins look all the more confused as they sit there in their new robes, eyeing up the red with a discerning gaze that makes her even more pissed at that bastard and his idiotic friends. A few pull at their hair with concerned faces. Even some of the professors are trying to contain their laughter at the sight of the Slytherin table and she's tempted for a moment to hex the Gryffindor table green just out of spite despite the fact that it would be rather obvious it was her. They'd clearly planned this in advance. She's not impulsive enough to think some half thought revenge of hers would equalise them. No she will have to plan her retribution if it will have even half the effect on them, as this did in her. She needs to surprise them.
"Quiet down students, quiet down. I think that is enough for this evening," Dumbledore says calmly, even though Cynthia can hear the humour behind his words. And then, without any incantation or movement from the headmaster, their robes switch back to their usual black colour and their ties return to their normal green pattern. Their hair is last to change, hers back to its usual silvery blonde. "Now off to bed all of you, and may I ask the prefects to wait behind to escort the first years back to their new common rooms and dorm rooms." The Hall eagerly stands at his command and exits in a bustle of loud conversations, laughter and arguments (the latter being mostly from her house). Cynthia, honestly, is rather glad to see them all leave. She swears if she had bumped into Black or any of his little group again she would have had to stab either her own eye out or one of theirs, preferably the latter.
"I think red rather suits you Nott, matches your temperament." Potter calls from just behind her as she walks towards the front of the hall and Cynthia eats her words; she would definitely stab her own eye out first. She'd much rather that pain than have to suffer through acknowledging Potter, who has somehow made his way from his table, past the crowded doors and into the row beside her table. Remus Lupin strolls just behind. Potter must be eager to gloat to go through all of that for some minute long conversation with her. Lucius has all but left her for the slaughter too, having somehow made his way almost to the front in the time she has been picking herself up and off the seat.
"Temperament. Now that's a big word for you Potter. I'm so glad your vocabulary has extended to more than just the word Lily." Remus snorts and she watches in amusement as James' proud grin sours and takes on the expression of an insolent child who's been wrongfully treated. She pushes onwards and away from him when he fails to respond for a moment, striding towards the front of the Hall where the 1st years and Lucius await her. Potter, however, doesn't wait for long and is soon quick on her tail, matching her stride for stride whilst Lupin stays silently a few paces behind them, likely with his usual amused smirk in place. Least he's smarter than Potter who she's beginning to think has a death wish.
"I'm actually quite the intellect you'll find and I can assure you Lily adores the way I say her name."
"Are you serious?" She scoffs, halting her step and causing James to almost trip as he tries to copy her sudden stop in a moments notice.
"Actually I'm James. Godric, you would have thought you'd have learnt that by now." James tuts.
"Why are you still talking?" She turns, half ready to pull her own hair out if she has to deal with this imbecile for any longer.
James just smirks, a smug expression lighting his face as he says "I actually just wanted to tell you that your detention is tomorrow night, 9pm on the Quidditch pitch." She glares. She'd hoped he would have forgotten about her earlier altercation with Black, but thinks maybe she's a fool in her own right for assuming such things about Potter. He might be an absolute pain in her arse but he's fiercely loyal in some disgustingly Gryffindor way, protective over his friends and fellow house members. Of course he would have been planning her detention with him in detail. In fact she's sure half the Gryffindor table would have been involved in the process. Thinking up the most painful punishment imaginable.
"Don't tell me you forgot about our detention." James jokes, pressing his hand against his chest in what she assumes is a form of mockery.
"No. I was just hoping that you had." She grates out through her teeth, focusing her gaze back towards the front in case she gives Potter any more satisfaction with her reactions.
"Of course not. I'm actually looking forward to it." James continues on in his condescending and sarcastic tone. He's not quite as good as Black at getting under her skin, but his eagerness to get a reaction out of her is starting to really hit on her last nerve.
"Don't get too excited Potter, I'd start to think you fancy me."
"Fancy you! As if my standards would ever drop so low. What do you mistake me for, a dog?" Remus smirks at that. James follows soon after. She doesn't quite understand why. Obviously some kind of inside joke.
"Well you sure do play the lovesick puppy well enough."
"No I don't." James interrupts defiantly, the dramatic expression still on his face.
"It's quite embarrassing to watch frankly," Cynthia says as though he hadn't interrupted, " I don't know how the hell you are head boy Potter but I think you should be focusing more on the fact that McGonagall and Evans are staring you down right now than thinking of some shitty insult for me."
"Wait, Lily is looking at me-"
"Merlin you are lovesick. I hate to break it to you but Lily Evans is not in love with you Potter, in fact I'm pretty sure she finds you almost as dimwitted and annoying as I do, which is infinitely." Cynthia finishes with a large eye roll but James is already walking away eagerly towards the Gryffindor group and his lady love.
"She has feelings for me deep down, you'll see Nott." He shouts with a wink before darting to his place beside Lily who immediately berates him on his tardiness and probably his pathetic and rather loud proclamation of the ginger girl's secret love for him. Cynthia almost wishes she could hear Lily put James in his place. It's always entertaining to watch Potter, who prides himself on his confident demeanour and cocky smile, become putty in Evans' hands.
"Shouldn't you be protecting him from Evans?" She turns to address the silent but loud presence just behind her, who in turn just shrugs and smiles along.
"Maybe," Remus hesitates for a small moment, "but I find watching him flounder for a bit to be much more entertaining." Cynthia can't help but agree with him, which isn't surprising really, considering that she's always found Remus Lupin to be her favourite "Marauder" or whatever it is that they dub themselves. Not that that's hard. Potter is a lovesick bully, Pettigrew is pathetic and rather mousy looking and Sirius is… well Sirius is Sirius. Lupin is the least annoying to put it frankly but she can also slightly admire his unintentional wit and levelheadedness, especially when she knows that he has to put up with Potter and Black chirping all day and night. She'd rather kill her self off before taking his place.
"It's probably the only time that I actually find any of you even slightly entertaining." Cynthia mentions with a sideways glance at her companion only to see Remus laugh aswell and shake his head at her usual insult.
"Im not joking, Lupin." She deadpans. Remus isn't bothered though. He only continues to shake his head.
"I'm sure you're not, Cynthia." He nods but his smile hints that he doesn't quite believe her adamant response. Yet before she can argue her point the tall and slightly awkward boy is strolling away with his unique gait and the soles of his shoes scuffing they floor loudly behind him. If it had been Black or Potter she'd have jumped at the opportunity to get the final word, in fact she's sure she would have followed them just to pick an argument if they'd given her the same weirdly knowing look, but she's strangely not all too bothered about Lupin. He's just that type of person. And although it irritates her that he seems to know more than he lets on she can't quite articulate why he gives off the impression. It's not as though he's cocky like Potter and Black, but his quiet demeanour just doesn't radiate the timidly almost cowardly energy that Pettigrew does. It's weird, and despite her curiosity wanting to find out more she chooses instead to ignore his insinuations and carry on as usual. Some people are just not worth her time, especially halfbloods like Remus Lupin who willingly befriend traitors and idiots alike.
Lucius merely raises his eyebrows at her when she takes her place beside him which she swiftly ignores. He may not need to speak a word but she knows exactly what he is thinking as he leads the first years towards the common room and recites a cold list of rules and schedules they must follow. That Cynthia is once again involving herself with people she would do well not to associate with. Well, she thinks to herself, he needn't worry himself on that matter. She would never purposefully associate herself with such brain dead, impulsive Gryffinwhores anyway. She has far too much self-respect for that.
Night soon approaches, and with all the first years swiftly dealt with and in their dormitories the common room finally seems to relax into its usual mundane lull of odd conversation. Cynthia is not particularly bothered with listening to the draining talk of Adrian beside her and has practically situated herself as far as she can from the huddle of seventh years without being outside of it. A wise decision on her part she thinks. Mulciber can get rather irritating when he opens his mouth for anything more than a breath of air. Her feet lull over the side of the chair, so only the backs of her knees are in contact with that arm and her head balances on the opposite one. She thinks the rush of blood to her brain is rather revitalising, and when she lifts it up and a new wave of dizzy delirium hits her abruptly she takes a sick sort of pleasure from it. It's almost like being on a broom. The spinning nausea that comes with flying.
The chair is her usual one, the smallest of the lot which accommodates well to her fine stature. Her brother would dwarf it in comparison, but she has found it to be quite perfect for herself. Back in fourth year she used one of Cissy's favourite hairpins to carve her names into the wooden outlining of the arms, a sort of marking of her territory that not even the older students could bother to disagree with. This chair was hers, with its rather tattered velvet pattern and position by the fireplace. She even loves the slight creaky sounds it makes when she sits down on it too harshly after a long evening of quidditch. In fact she's almost missed it over summer. None of the chairs at home seemed to mould to her body quite as well. Not that she would ever sit like this in front of her mother. She's sure it would send the poor woman into an early grave to see her daughter present herself in such an "unladylike" fashion.
"I'm going to kill that blood traitor next time I see him." Mulciber threatens and despite the vagueness of his words everyone knows who he is talking about. For once Cynthia can't help but agree. She too is scheming revenge for the embarrassing stunt he and his pathetic group of followers pulled on them earlier. She's actually quite enjoying thinking up slow and rather painful methods that will inflict the most torturous humiliation on Black.
"Maybe I'll send you his body after Reggie. Think of it as an early Christmas present." All the boys laugh at that and even Regulus seems to scoff slightly, although his features remain in their naturally unbothered disposition. He never seems to smile genuinely, at least not in the same manner he used to as a child. But then again her memories of their childhood spent together are rather hazy, glossed over with time and expectation and faded by their distant friendship over the years. Maybe he, like her, has learnt that a smile is worth far more than a scowl, especially in their house.
"I don't think poor Reg would want to see such a thing, it's bound to be infected with all sorts of diseases." Corvus adds.
"Well with the company he keeps that wouldn't be surprising." Her brother snickers, looking from his friends to her. She merely raises her brow at the joke. Her brother has no kind inflictions towards Sirius Black but neither does she. No matter what they used to be. All he is to her now is an impetulant coward with a overly confident attitude and an overrated hairstyle. And besides, he's a Gryffindor. Isn't that reason enough to hate him.
"When we get out of here, he's at the top of my list. It will bring me too much pleasure to watch the traitor beg for his life." Mulciber's smile twists as though he is imagining the suffering before his very eyes.
"I'm starting to think you're a sadist." Cynthia comments, not raising her eyes from where they now rest upon a loose thread in the arm of the chair.
"Maybe we should test that theory out, Cynnie." Cynthia laughs lowly at that. Her fingers weave between the couch threads, torturously pulling on the snag until it unravels between her fingertips. She lifts her eyes up to meet his confident gaze.
"I wouldn't want to spoil the fun for Corvus. Bet he's just waiting for you to tie him up later, your own little whore."
"Well you would know about being someone's whore wouldn't you?" His eyes remain hard rimmed and fixated upon her, as though trying to intimidate her into submission or, like Isabel, into some impatience fit of rage. But she is not a girl possessing a short temper, especially not under the scrutiny of her fellow peers, and she will not cower before Adrian Mulciber. Not even if he perhaps terrifies her slightly more than he had in years past, when he seemed more a thorn in her side than an obstacle that she might one day have to cross. He is a pure blood, and if she is one day going to marry into this society she is unsure whether carrying on with her stubborn antics will earn her respect or spread disapproval. Either way, she does not falter. Her chin levels with his as she holds his gaze for longer than possible. It is not dissimilar to her confrontation with Black earlier, and yet her heart does not beat any faster nor her fury grow under his taunting gaze. Mulciber is a Slytherin and she knows he will likely hold her in higher regard if she does not anger at his words but merely remain unfazed.
"No, you see I have standards. And sadly you don't quite reach the bar."
"That's not what your parents seem to be saying." He continues. A smug smirk lifting his cheeks as he watched her for a reaction. She doesn't move an inch. "No, in fact I'm pretty sure you need one of us to marry you if you want to keep that lovely reputation of yours in tact. Too bad you're a complete bitch." He laughs, his voice echoing against the silence that the others all sit in. He's proud of himself. For embarrassing her, making her the fool in his story. And yet she can't even argue. For everything he says is a truth they all acknowledge. That she is damaged goods until one of them deigns himself kind enough to fix her up. She hates him for it, almost as much as she hates Black for making her play the disreputable damsel.
"Shut up, Adrian." Her brother cuts in, before an insult can leave her mouth.
Adrian mockingly lifts his hands up, "Oo, calm down. I was just joking,"but his eyes still gleam with a dark predatory stare, glee dancing across his features. He thinks he has won. Cynthia is none to eager to disprove that outcome for him. He may have humiliated her, but she will not stomp her feet and strop like Isabel. She is a Nott. "Weren't we just having a laugh Cynnie?" Adrian turns back to her, brows raised as though prodding her for a reaction. For her to burst like some impulsive idiot who has no control over their emotions.Like she'd done earlier.
"Of course." She laughs along in a low tone. It's cutting and despite the embarrassment that courses through her veins, the words still sound like stone from her mouth. Cold and unbreakable. A threat. She hopes he hears it too, hopes he secretly fears her retribution.
"Well I'm tired. Long day and all." Katherine interrupts the tense hush that settles between them all as she closes her book, standing out of her brother's vicinity and nodding a nonchalant good night to the rest of them. She then turns her head to look across at her three roommates with a quick, "You three coming?"
Isabel sits not too far from Cynthia on a separate couch, legs lounging lazily across the back of the chair head and eyes closed in a relaxed expression. Her ears still twitch at the voices bouncing around however, and Cynthia is quite sure that her friend is not nearly half as distant from the conversation as she portrays through her body language. Her eyes open and she nods lazily, slowly picking herself up and cracking her neck from side to side. She hasn't spoken a word since they all arrived earlier in the Common Room, not even deigning Mulciber and his friends with a look upon their entrance. Her exit is much the same. Not bothering with an acknowledgment of the others as she slips past Katherine and down the long and winding hallway towards the stairs that lead to their shared dormitory. Katherine looks worriedly over her shoulder at Isabel's retreating figure, and with a final worried glance at Cynthia, takes off after their troublesome companion.
Cynthia stands as Katherine retreats further down the hallway, her calming voice fading as she catches up with Griffins. The only other one left is Narcissa who sits domestically side by side with Malfoy. Their hands are once again intertwined but their bodies are directed away from one another. She nods towards her to follow but Black merely shakes her head, angling it towards Lucius in answer to the unspoken question on the tip of Cynthia's tongue. She'll be staying with Malfoy tonight, the look translates as. As she did most evenings last year.
Their farce of a perfect relationship is hardly the strongest performance she has been witness to, and yet there is the same longing in her veins as earlier for that unquestioned level of intimacy. The one she thought she'd had before, when he had unwittingly fooled not only her naïve heart but her head. She doesn't let herself dwell too long on such thoughts, shame coursing through her at the buried images it provokes. She's almost more disgusted with her younger self for being so dimwitted in her judgement as she is for her choice in partner. Thank Merlin she is no longer so blinded by childish affections. Hearts never lead people in the right direction, and she is far too focused on the future that she is balancing to be tugged by something as fleeting as love and lust.
No, she has far more important matter to focus her mind upon. For the greatest pique of her curiosity does not lay in this room, sitting on one of the velvet lined chairs or against the warm flames of the old hearth behind them. The most confronting of her many issues comes in the small and packaged form of an envelope, filled with unknown words that speak of things beyond her understanding as of yet. Her mother's letters addressed to Cynthia with strict instructions to be translated and sent to no one other than Headmaster Dumbledore. She doesn't let herself think too long nor hard on such matters though, in fear that she will become inconspicuous and be lead by her want to go read them right now. No, she must wait until later. At a time when she is alone with no interruptions. Only then can she truly divulge what it is that her mother had been so elusive about the past few days. She's not sure quite yet if she's excited or beyond terrified.
Yet Cynthia should not think too hard on that either, for even her wildest thoughts cannot comprehend the intricate web she is about to begin weaving when the hour strikes midnight and her eyes finally behold her mother's ink transcript. For now she is oblivious, and although she does not know it, this will be the last time she will enjoy such a feeling.
The hour is late and their dormitory is shrouded in the darkest green shadows when Cynthia enters after her two other dorm mates. The first thing she notices is the openness of the room. The seventh year dorms are much more spacious than previous years but the layout is all too familiar. Four beds, all curtained with emerald drapes, that face towards a large sprawling window showcasing the depths of the Black Lake. Of course there are curtains for that too. Although those are more for the eventual summer mornings later in the year that always offer far too much light in the morning for any of their particular tastes. Except Katherine of course. She seems to oddly enjoy waking up with the sparrows and other self proclaimed "early birds".
Cynthia makes her way over to one of the two spare empty beds. The one closest to the wall.
"Isabel is stropping." Katherine calls out to her as she passes Katherine's bed. Her head peaks from the gap she's left between the drapes of her bed to show off a face filled with silent contempt at the situation. Katherine has managed to wrangle her curls from their usual intricate bun and is in the process of adamantly working the knots out of them with her fingers. They all know it's an unmanageable feet to smooth out the half maddened hairs of hers, but Cynthia doesn't sway so. It makes her friend seem less soft when her hair is loose. More untamed like the rest of them. The wild brunette curls hide the delicacy of her finer boned features and freckled cheeks, framing her face in shadow as the hairs fall like an avalanche across her shoulders and down her back.
"I am not stropping." Isabel calls out from behind her curtain. Cynthia knows that particular comment to be a lie. Katherine too, if the conspicuously raised eyebrows are of any indication.
"If you say so, Griffins." Cynthia laughs half heartedly. She pulls her laces undone on her shoes quickly before letting out the restraining emerald hair band from her scalp. She almost moans at the sensation of her hair falling forward into the now unoccupied space, but manages to contain herself. Her hair, unlike Katherine's is pin straight. Her mother's hair. The strands fall down to just above her waist in long parallel lines of silvery blonde. She always prefers her hair in the summer when it seems more golden in the sunlight and it curls slightly in the humidity of the long hazy days. But Summer has far passed. Now Winter crawls steadily closer, despite it only just being September, and the nights seem to encase them permanently once more. Much to her dismay. She always misses the longer days.
"You know, you shouldn't let Adrian speak to you like he did. He treats us both like dirt and I won't stand for it." Isabel huffs, finally opening up her curtain. Her cheeks are flushed with an tempered red tint, whilst her eyes dance with built up contempt.
"Yes, but storming off isn't going to get you very far either. You acted like a child earlier." Cynthia dismisses her friends anger. Mulciber may have stepped out of line earlier but she is too cowardly to broach that particular topic a second time tonight. The first reminder of her future was quite enough.
"Who are you, my mother? He was insulting my family. I had every right to to leave." Isabel points an accusatory finger at her. Cynthia merely shrugs.
"Yes, I'm not arguing against that. All I'm saying is that you made yourself seem weak. And by stropping all evening, he won."
"He didn't win." Isabel asserts but even she looks disbelieving at the words. "Well, I guess I'll have to get him back for it some other way then."
"Please tell me the moping wasn't your plan for revenge." Cynthia chokes on her own laughter. Katherine laughs quietly too.
"I'll have you both know that the silent treatment works wonders sometimes." Isabel defends herself, throwing her shoes off her feet. They land on opposite sides of the room from where she lays on the bed. The mess she manages to amass over the year is shocking every time. And it's already starting unfortunately.
Cynthia rolls her eyes, murmuring, "yes, if you're arguing with a five year old."
Isabel's eyes flicker with a deadly ire at the retort. She lifts her chin, humming a quiet, "Fuck off," under her breath. Katherine sends her a pleased grin over her shoulder. Her voice full of barely hidden humour as she shrugs, "So what are you going to do then?"
Isabel's eyes alight with their usual fire at the question, hair swinging as she stands up to pace back and forth across the dorm. Cynthia clamps her mouth into a firm like to hide her amusement. Isabel can be so melodramatic when the occasion arises. "Well, there are multiple paths we can go down."
"We?" Katherine inquires
"Well, I was hoping you both would be willing to help me. Mulciber is a pain in all of our arses after all." Isabel whips her head to look at them both, eyes pleading her case. Katherine snorts.
"No way. I can't get into any more shit with you two like last year." Isabel pouts at that, rushing to clasp Katherine's hands in her own. She pleads a convincing, " Please, Kat, it will only be this once."
"No", Katherine tugs her hands from Isabel's, turning to pluck up her timetable from her bag and skim over it. Katherine has always been determined to learn her timetable off by heart at the beginning of each new school year since first year. Something about not wanting to be late and make a bad impression on her teachers. Cynthia thinks she's just a suck up.
"You're such a spoil sport. No wonder Cyrus gets bored of you every few weeks." Isabel scoffs. Cynthia shuts her mouth quickly, not wanting to involve herself in this particular argument. It is well known that her brother holds a certain affection for Katherine Rosier, but he's also gathered a rather harsh reputation for his infidelity. Cynthia doesn't like to think on it too long. She knows far too much on that particular topic. It was only this morning that she walked in on him with that muggle.
"Yes, because boys are so committed to you aren't they? Merlin, you're such a slut." Katherine retorts rather defensively. Isabel just laughs.
"Better a slut than a prude."
Katherine, rolling her eyes, stutters out "I don't think your future husband will agree."
"Yours certainly does." Katherine breezily replies, throwing herself back onto her own bed with an audible oomph. Cynthia can't help but smirk ever so slightly at the retort. Katherine, however, seems none too pleased, throwing them both a slightly irritated scowl before shutting her curtains fully.
"What about you, Thia?" Isabel turns her attention away from Katherine. Cynthia can't help but frown at the stupid nickname they have all dubbed her with over the years. She hates it.
"What about me?" She rolls her eyes, not bothering to sit up and look at Isabel behind the drawn curtains of Katherine's bed that intersects the two of them.
"Are you going to help me with my revenge?"
Cynthia purses her lips at the offer. Unlike Katherine she has no particular qualms about a good bit of retribution when it is needed. But Mulciber is different, and despite her easy and confident demeanour around him, he instills a small tendril of fear in her nowadays. She's half sure he's already sworn into the Death eater organisation, and even if he has not yet taken the new mark, it's only so long until he does. Besides Mulciber is not one to cross, and his tendency for the unpredictable should never be easily overlooked. He's viscous and lacks the morals to know where a line is drawn. Isabel may be willing to risk herself for revenge, but Cynthia has no intentions of truly crossing him. She needs to stay in their favour if she is too stay on top of her game. Yes Mulciber embarrassed her earlier, but she is no fool to think some revenge will stop him from doing it again. And her mother, well her mother would kill her for merely entertaining the idea. Maybe that's what convinces her to play along. Abandon what she knows to be best for her for some idiotic idea of revenge.
"Maybe," she settles on. "Give me a proper plan and I'll think about it."
"Okay." Isabel hums smugly. "Just give me a few days."
"Fine. Night." She calls out and Isabel sends a muffled response back.
According to the small clock just above the doorway the time is quarter to twelve. Shuffling in her bag whilst checking for the steady snores of Katherine and Isabel, she plucks her timetable and the two sealed envelopes out of her trunk. Despite the temptation to just dive straight into the two alluring letters, she allows herself a few minutes to read over her timetable. She, as a more advanced student than most, took five owls at the beginning of last year, as per her parents request. She can't bring herself to regret any but transfiguration, which she'd always struggled slightly on. But even now she can't give up on the subject. The whole idea of turning one thing into another is somehow mesmerising to her. There's just something about it that draws her in despite her lack of talent in that particular realm of magic. It's Potions and charms that she excels at. She's top of the class in Flitwick's class and second in Potions thanks to Severus. He has an uncanny ability to perfect any potion they get given. She'd accuse him of cheating if she wasn't so unbothered by the boy. He's rather uninvolved in her life to be honest, and she's never had a desire to change that.
Slughorn is also her professor which helps. He may be a slight pushover at times and his dinners are quite boring to sit through, but he has a fondness for Slytherins that no other teacher of hers possesses. Mcgonagall practically hates her house, and by affiliation, Cynthia herself. Ancient Runes is rather boring but she's good at memorising it, so it's an easy mark. And DADA is always entertaining, although she's pretty sure this year might take an more serious turn in that particular curriculum. What, with the entire Wizarding World on the verge of war and all that. Her timetable is surprisingly more flexible than previous years however. She's got more periods to study in for her NEWTS at the end of the year. She's almost happy with it. If it weren't for the hours of allotted time for Prefect patrols and weekly meetings she'd be over the moon. That added on with Quidditch takes up most of her afternoons, which is a shame. She can't complain though. Last year Corvus booked most of their practices in the mornings which almost killed her and Isabel both. Neither of them is a morning person by any stretch. And grumpy Slytherins are never fun to practice with.
Having finally finished her assessment of this year's schedule, she's left with just the letters to open. She knows the left one is the fake one she'll open later in the week, as per her mother's detailed instructions. A kind of decoy. A real letter that her brother is allowed to see should he ask, just so that he isn't suspicious of the weekly letters her mother will now be sending to her throughout the duration of the year.
The contents of the right hand letter however, she has been given no indication of. And although many thoughts have been playing around her mind for the past three days since she received it, she still has not come to any particularly logical conclusion. Her conspiracies vary from a secret love affair with Dumbledore to messages about the war that her mother doesn't want her brother seeing. None are plausible enough to settle on though. But now that she has the opportunity to see she can't bring herself to open it. She almost doesn't want to confirm any of her suspicions, doesn't want to know the truth in case it damages everything she has ever known. But she is not a coward, at least not to her own ambition. And with delicate fingers she tears the seal open, her family wax crest lifting to reveal a page of her mother's neat scrawl. Inside reads:
My dearest daughter,
I write this letter to you as a last resort. Believe me when I tell you that I never wanted to involve you in the plans I have laid for us but that it was my only choice if I was to protect our family. Your father has chosen a path for us that, while honourable, will eventually lead us to either victory or devastation. Know that I am not intentionally attempting to bring any harm upon him through my actions. And that I partake in this betrayal so that if the situation shall arise where we are on the wrong side of this war, we will not be persecuted for our crimes. I have been in secret cohorts with Headmaster Dumbledore to establish myself as a spy for the rebel organisation, the Order of the Phoenix. However, I must remain publicly uninvolved with such a person, in case it will arise suspicions against our family's loyalty to the Dark Lord. Therefore I must keep our contact through letters to you, my daughter. If you accept this position, I will need your assistance in translating my letters to you into useful directions and information for the Order. If not, then I pray that you will find some semblance of pity and love for me, as your mother who loves you dearly, and that you will withhold this information from any one else.
If you decide to aid me in this, there is a coded letter on the back of this one. I have no doubt that you, my smart child, will be able to solve it. Deliver the translated version to Dumbledore before the week's end once you have. If no information from the Order or yourself is received I will take your response as a no.
Sincerely, your loving mother.
Well shit.