January 24, 1978
McGonagall holds me after class on a Tuesday afternoon. Her face is sullen, and her eyes are starting to wrinkle at the edges. Mum used to call them crow's feet; Shirley calls them evidence of a lifetime of smiles.
I find them both to be needless explanations of the natural aging process.
She sits down at her desk, hands folded over her lap, the ever-present statue of properness I have come to expect. I have no idea why she has asked me to stay behind, but nervousness rises in my belly.
"Miss Ruiz," she starts.
"You really can call me Aster."
"Aster," she corrects, pushing up her glasses, "your aunt has written to the school about your mother."
I swallow.
"I don't know how you are feeling after… everything, but as your head of house, the Headmaster informed me as soon as he received the letter."
"I'm fine, Miss."
"Very well. I can reach out to your other professors to let them know if you'd like some days away from classes, or we can just go on business as usual."
And just like that, she drops the inquisition. There are difficulties when dealing with someone as stiff as McGonagall: you can never tell when you've genuinely disappointed her, and you're always afraid of being the one to make her finally snap. On the other hand, she never lets her feelings get in the way and knows, like now, when to stop pushing. It's a refreshing change of pace from the sad looks Cara, Conner, Dorcas, and Emmeline have been throwing my way when they think I don't notice.
"Just business as usual," I respond, already rising from my seat.
"Very well, Aster. Let me know if you need anything."
She looks down to the papers on her desk, and I take that as my cue to leave.
.
In the evening, closer to curfew than Dorcas is ordinarily comfortable with, we walk to the lake to talk and wander. Dorcas performs warming charms on our feet to feel the grass between our toes without going numb, and we just talk. It's something I didn't have with anyone until Cara, but it's something I feel genuinely comfortable doing with Dorcas. We talk about trees, flowers, herbs, butterflies, the glow of the lake at night. We even talk about my mother, which I do with surprising ease, no tears pricking the corners of my eyes. As we turn the bend that'll have us walking between the water and the woods, Dorcas grabs my shoulder as she notices bouncing, moving lights between the trees.
"I'm sure it's just some seventh years frolicking," I tell her calmly, confused by the small amount of terror showing through her facade. "We probably know them, too. Four Gryffindors, all boys, love breaking rules. Ring any bells?"
Dorcas nods her head slowly, a grimace forming instead of a smile, but I take it as we continue walking. Shouts sound now and again as we pass the flashing lights, and I do not recognize the voices to be those four boys. Dorcas doesn't either, I think, as she moves closer, so our arms brush with every stride.
There is a moment, between the contact of skin on skin, eyelashes on eyelashes, feet on dirt, that my chest aches in the way it only does when I'm terrified. Like meeting with Azalea or opening her letter, and I think something terrible is about to happen. I do not know what. The feeling swiftly fades away into nothingness.
And then they step out of the trees.
First, it's just a Slytherin, then three, then five. Mulciber is there, of course, with others I do not recognize. He smiles that smile that should be bloody, and the feeling of dread rushes back.
He turns to address his friends instead of Dorcas and me and says, "I think we've stumbled onto an opportunity here, haven't we?"
Dorcas grabs my hand, squeezing so hard I almost buckle at the knees. I try not to let the pain show on my face, but from the way the blonde girl in the tight black dress smiles at me, it shows anyway.
"This one's the mudblood?" She asks in a thick Irish accent. "Gonzalez? Ruiz? Some ridiculous last name or another."
There is movement from Dorcas, and before I can register, she throws a silent disarming charm at the blonde girl, whose wand flies somewhere into the woods. I am thankful, just for a second, that Dorcas is here with me and not anybody else. But then I remember there are five of them and two of us, and my blood runs cold as everyone takes a second to stare at the tip of Dorcas's wand. If we were better, more brilliant, more practiced, Dorcas and I would have taken this second to gain as much of the upper hand as we could. But we are only sixteen, so as the second of silence ends, chaos falls.
I do not have graceful limbs, and I am not good with a wand. I struggle to pull it out of my waistband, but just as I find a good grip, someone disarms me. I watch, helplessly, as my wand flies toward the lake. I fight, helplessly, limbs flying, as three of them grab onto me. And then I watch, helplessly once more, as they drag Dorcas and me in separate directions.
.
They drop me just beyond the edge of the trees, and I can still see out to the water, can see two boys dragging Dorcas, can see her kicking, can hear the remnants of her screams. I cry out as my head hits the dirt ground and hear a wicked laugh.
Then Mulciber says, "Alright, what are we going to do with her?"
"What?" A feminine voice cuts in quickly.
"You don't have a plan?" Another, still feminine voice inserts.
"What the hell?" the first half-shouts. "We haven't done this before, Mulciber! It's up to you!"
They have no bloody idea what they're doing, I think, a snort escaping my throat. They dragged me into these woods, bloody and beaten, thrashing and screaming, just to have no idea what they're about to do. Just because they found a mudblood and her friend out for a walk. I laugh despite trying to push it down because this ridiculous truth astounds me, defies reason, proves every bloody thing I have spent the past six and a half years noticing and struggling with about a foreign land I found myself dropped into.
Mulciber screaming Crucio! stops me from waxing more philosophical as I scream out in agony, the dirt and leaves and twigs blurring.
"Laugh again, bitch," one of the girls sneers.
So I do. And then Mulciber screams again and again and again.
Between unforgivables, I hear them discussing what they should do with me, and one of them mentions burning something into my skin. The other says she cannot stand the smell of burning flesh like it's something she knows well. Then the first throws out another option.
And it just goes like that. Mulcibers yells an unforgivable, I scream in pain, one of the girls makes a suggestion, and the other shoots her down. Eventually, Mulciber complains about the late hour. One of the girls says my screaming is giving her a headache. The other giggles about what they'll tell their friends.
How many more of them are there?
"Let's just head back to the castle, then?"
"And just leave her here for someone to find? She'll just tell them about us."
Mulciber laughs. "No, she won't. And even if she does, Mary did, and I'm still here. Just knock her out."
One of the girls says, "With pleasure," and kicks me in the head.
It isn't enough to knock me out, which doesn't surprise me. Neither of the girls looked strong. But I'm so tired and worn that I keep my eyes shut as my head snaps to one side. I hear their footsteps crunch over the ground, fading and fading and fading until I can't hear them anymore. I think about getting up, about getting to the castle, to help, to my friends, to —
Dorcas.
I roll over and place my hands against the forest floor, arms shaking as I push up, first into my knees, then onto my feet, and I take slow, unsteady steps out of the woods. There's blood on my face but nowhere else, I think, the scars of Mulciber's spells inside me.
When I clear the forest, I look across the lake, the large expanse of water shimmering under the moonlight, and puke into the grass. The light from my assailers' wands bounces toward the castle. I wonder when the blonde girl found her wand and then push the thought away as I take another uneasy step. Eyes trained on their light, making sure they don't turn around, I miss my shoes lying a few feet apart, I miss the lake's edge, and I miss my wand lying between blades of grass. It rolls beneath my foot, my ankle twists painfully, and my body falls into the water.
I splash in the water for a moment, searching for earth. I know it's close, but the pain and water and night come together to blur my vision, blur my mind. I splash in the water for a moment, still trying desperately to find Dorcas, but I think she's dead. Or dying. I splash in the water for a moment, but then I don't. My movements slow until I float on my back, clothes becoming heavier as the cold seeps in. For the first time tonight, I notice the moon is full. I close my eyes, breaths slowing into calmness, blocking out the chirps and howls and screams of the night.
I am no one's heroine; I know this.
"Aster! Please! She's in the water! Get her!"
The howls stop, but the screams continue. I remember both are not regular night sounds, and when I recognize Dorcas's voice, I open my eyes. The world is no longer there, fog covering the stars until they are almost unrecognizable.
"She's in the water!"
"What —"
"Is that —"
"— the fuck!"
"Aster!"
The water splashes near me, and I remember splashing and splashing and giving up. But wasn't that just a second ago? Dorcas's voice and the guilt hit me too hard, and I twitch so violently that I fall under the surface. I fight against the pull, but my clothes are too heavy, and I am sinking.
Just as my head starts to feel heavy and full, a strong arm tugs me above the surface. I cough up water. He holds me tighter.
"Aster," he says.
"You're alright," he says.
He starts swimming us to earth, and every splash he creates sounds like boulders crashing.
Without thinking, I whisper, "I wouldn't have given up if I knew," but I don't think he hears me.
.
January 25, 1978
My body is warm, tingling. Something heavy is on my arm, and I open my eyes to the stone ceiling I remember from my first year when I fell off a moving staircase. A lucky tumble, Pomfrey called it. You could have died on impact.
Gory and morbid, I know, but apparently, she's always like that.
I remember arriving, however long ago, in the hospital wing, Sirius and Peter holding me up, Dorcas fussing behind me. Pomfrey had somehow sensed the dark magic in me immediately and put me into a bed, placing lots of vials on the bedside table, one being a sleeping draught. As I felt myself growing more tired, I heard Dorcas arguing with Pomfrey about leaving.
Now, I turn my head to find a mop of brown locks and breaths tickling the thick hairs on my arm. Their own is extended over my body with a pair of thin glasses nestled in their hand. I reach to take them, but James suddenly shoots up.
"I didn't fall asleep."
I open my mouth to ask him why he's still here and what time it is and where's Dorcas and how —
"You definitely fell asleep," somebody else says instead, and I find Sirius in the gap of the curtains, looking at me.
"Shut up," James returns.
"You were snoring," Sirius shoots back.
"No, I wasn't."
"Yes, you —"
"What the bloody hell are you gits even doing here?" I cut in.
"Well, we —" James starts.
"And where's Dorcas? Where's the rest of you lot?"
"If you're talking about Remus and Peter," Sirius responds, taking a step into my space, "they're watching over Dorcas while she sleeps a few beds over."
"So I get dumb and dumber while she gets smart and kind?"
"Oi!" James stands, shouting a bit too loud for whatever late hour it must be. "I take offense to that."
"We, mate," Sirius supplies.
"We take offense to that. Sirius pulls you out of the sodding lake, and this is how you thank him."
I look away from them both and look to my lap. There are flashes behind my eyes: yelled unforgivables, a kick to the face, wild laughter, splashing, splashing, splashing, screaming, and silence in the freezing water. I remember giving up.
"This is why you're dumber," Sirius mumbles.
"What time is it?" I ask.
"Probably 'round seven," James says with a yawn, "in the morning."
"And Dorcas is still asleep? Dorcas never sleeps in."
"Ruiz, I said it's seven in the morning."
"Yes, I know."
James opens and closes his mouth, helpless and confused.
"She put up a massive fight," Sirius offers, taking another step toward me. "And then Pomfrey called for Dumbledore and McGonagall straight away, so she was up late telling them what happened to her."
"So they know who —" I stop myself. There is nothing more to say.
"Yes, they know."
"But we don't!" James leaps from his seat again, just as histrionic as Remus pointed out. "And that's why we're still here. Sirius is cruisin' to give someone a bruisin'." His voice changes at the end like his mouth is unpracticed in forming the words.
Sirius pinches the bridge of his nose and says, "I'm never letting your parents have a muggle cinema night again."
I shoot up in bed to a sitting position, my gaze flickering between an excited James and an irritated Sirius. I tell them, "Nobody here is doing anything to anyone. Thank you, Sirius, for saving my life and all that, but that doesn't make this your business."
Sirius sighs. I recognize the hate in his eyes, even if it is meant for someone else. I am both put off and comforted by his fury.
"Well, if it's who we think it was, then I think you know that we'd very much like to make it our business," James says, speaking for Sirius, suddenly somber. "He hurt someone we care about, you know."
I remember Mary, arms pulled in as trying to live inside of herself. I remember her coming out to compliment my necklace before retreating once more. She is so aware of every move she makes, how much space she takes. I do not know her well; I certainly did not pay attention to her before. But everything about her now screams trauma response.
It's something I know well; I just didn't expect to have to start all over again in learning to heal.
I whisper a broken, "I know."
.
It doesn't take long for the boys to leave after that. Pomfrey returns after breakfast and puts her foot down about visiting hours. James is over the top with his huffing and puffing, but now they know Mulciber was involved, even if they don't know exactly what happened. Dorcas awakens around nine and sits by my bedside to recount her own trauma. Once the two boys had dragged her to the other side of the lake, she was able to get a hold of her wand when they put her down. There were spells thrown every which way, but they overpowered her eventually, a year ahead and more educated in dark magic. But it took long enough that Mulciber had caught up with them, itching to get inside. She says he tried to Obliviate her, but it didn't work. There was a tremor in her voice like she's terrified she's forgotten something anyway.
Pomfrey makes her leave soon after, telling us recovering in one's own bed works wonders for the mind. I don't know how much I believe that, but Dorcas mumbles to me there is no way she can get any more sleep.
.
I assume Dorcas tells the others where I am because Connor arrives during lunch. He sits at my bedside with my hand between both of his, face hard but caring. His blue eyes look through me instead of at me, and I ask him what he's thinking.
"Dorcas didn't say why. Why did they do this to you?"
"Connor, you know why."
"No, Aster, I don't."
If shock falls over my face, I don't know that he notices.
"I'm muggleborn, and Dorcas is a half-blood," I try to say softly, simply, but I think it comes out harsh.
"So they attacked you for it?"
"Not everyone's parents raised them to be kind." I cross my arms over my chest.
I look at Connor's piercing blue eyes and square jaw. There is disbelief all over his face as if the idea of prejudice within our magical world is something he could never fathom. It hits me all at once: my walls he could never tear down, his resistance to seeing the bigotry around us, the disconnect between our souls.
"I just can't believe —" he starts, but I tune out the rest.
It isn't his pureblooded heritage, I think, turning my face away from him and toward the gap in the curtains. It's his refusal to see the reality in front of him because it doesn't fit his plans for his future. I wonder if he sees me there with him.
I don't.
If I had died, would he see the truth then?
All this realization should wake me up, make me break up with him, find someone who can handle the realities of the dark world I spend my days in, even if they don't. It wakes me up, violet and violent, feral and alive, but I find myself still reaching for his hand, unable to let him go.