A/N: Hello again! So it's been a while. Sorry about that! I've pretty much got this whole thing planned out to the end, so I'm going to try to be more consistent with writing/updating the rest. As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!
CHAPTER XXIV
Everybody's Talking
Hogwarts | March 1944
Julia Pembroke chews her droobles gum loudly, her plump red lips smacking together, jaw working rigidly, mechanically. After just having paid a visit to her girlfriend, she's walking down the long, winding staircase from the Ravenclaw dorms, a tin canister of tea leaves in her hand. Sunlight struggles through the chinks in the thick clouds hanging over the grounds—Pembroke can see them through the stained glass windows dotting the tower walls as she descends. A storm's coming. Hannigan had been asking about V, whether Pembroke had seen her recently and knew what the hell was going on with her. Rumors are spreading rapidly and Pembroke had to admit that no, she hadn't seen hide nor hair of the elusive V Spektor since last month. This explains why she nearly chokes on her gum when, rounding a corner, she's face to face with her absent friend.
"Is it really you? Or are yeh a ghost?" Pembroke jokes, waving her arms in front of her to test whether V's solid or not. V doesn't laugh. Pembroke knocks her in the shoulder. Not a ghost, then. "Where the hell've yeh been, huh?"
"Around." V mutters vacantly.
"Helloooo?" Pembroke steps closer, putting her face right up into V's. "Wha's up with yeh then? I never see yeh, even at mealtimes. Wha's all this trouble yeh've got yerself wrapped up in? Yer still seeing him, aren'tcha?"
"Which one of those questions do you want me to answer first?" V's monotone is unnerving.
"Are yeh really spending all yer time with 'im?" Pembroke asks, with an ill-concealed chuckle. That would explain why she's acting so much like him.
"I sure wish people would stop asking me questions. It's so much easier to avoid questions when…" V trails off. The look she's giving Pembroke is detached, although Pembroke swears there's a sadness in there, a plea for a rescue of some sort.
"It's just…all this stuff people 'r sayin about yeh…" Pembroke looks down at her feet, kicks her heel against the wall.
"If you believe any of that you're much more of an idiot than I thought you were." V says. Then, oh—look, there it is! There's that smirk.
"Hey!" Pembroke shouts, cackling.
"So what are they saying now? That I'm hunting children, boiling them down, and making potions out of them? Preserving their beating hearts in jars? Selling their fresh blood to vampires on the black market?" V grins. Pembroke glances around nervously. "Really though, that thing with the kids—that was nothing."
"Nothin?" Pembroke says.
"Pfft." V rolls her eyes.
"They're sayin you're mad."
"Perhaps I am." V shrugs. "Does it really matter?"
"Well…no…" Pembroke says slowly, "I guess not…" They start walking together in the direction of the Great Hall. Pembroke, in a bold gesture of friendship, loops her arm through V's. "Have ya thought about what'cher gonna do after graduation?"
"Not really." V muses, secretly reveling in the pressure of Pembroke's arm against hers, the warmth of her body, the familiar, friendly touch. "I'm not too concerned."
"Yeh should try fer a post at St. Mungo's." Pembroke says. "You've got a real knack fer healing. Yer a shoe-in."
"Healed you enough, haven't I?" V scoffs. "Your parents should thank me. Not that you've ever told them about that time in the lake…"
"Oh ho! Looky looky, it's our resident murderer!" A beefy Gryffindor boy bellows, his face red and square, eyes glinting with mirth.
"Quite glamorous, this shot of you. Bet you alway dreamt of making the first page, no?" Another, scrawnier Gryffindor boy says, stepping forward, holding out the latest copy of the Daily Prophet, hot of the presses. "Tell us, what excites you more? Killing children or whoring around?" quips Irvine Cotswold. The group that's amassed behind them gets a good chuckle out of that one. They're standing at the foot of the stairs, just outside the doors of the Great Hall. V pauses before reaching the bottom, Pembroke still on her arm. Cotswold nods towards Pembroke. "Is she as good with the ladies as I hear she is with the fellows?" Pembroke blushes a deep red, eyes narrowing. She disengages from her friend, jams the tea canister into the pocket of her robes, and begins rolling up her sleeves. Cotswold takes a step back.
"Yeah yeh step back before I rip out yer tongue an' shove it up yer filthy…"
"Shhh." V places a delicate hand on Pembroke's shoulder, which immediately silences her. She sees Edward O'Connor amongst the sea of faces, in the distance, trying to appear as though he is not looking, but certainly looking, and listening, and waiting. She tries to catch his eye, but no luck. With a step down, the crowd pushes back, and then another step, they retreat a bit more. Once on their level, she approaches Cotswold, who, defiantly, refuses to give ground. He's clutching the newspaper in front of him, and she reaches out with her slim, manicured hands, to ease it from his grip. And there she stands, uncomfortably close to the scrawny, pimply 6th year, evaluating the front page article he had been brandishing at her. After a moment she looks up, her eyes meeting his dead on.
"Mind if I keep this?" She asks, tucking it under her arm. Cotswold is incapable of responding. She touches him lightly on the arm, leans in very close, and whispers something in his ear. His eyes widen.
"Thanks." She says aloud, and brushes past him. He swivels in her wake, watching her make her way through the crowd to the Great Hall. Pembroke rushes to catch up with her, knocking Cotswold hard in the ribs with a stray elbow on accident, of course.
"Whatcha say to 'im?" Pembroke huffs, breathless.
"I asked him if he really wants to know what it's like to be properly fucked." V says casually, stepping into the Great Hall and walking over to the Slytherin table. Pembroke's jaw falls open. "Not in the sexual sense, obviously." V clarifies. Pembroke nods. V's not exactly helping her case now is she?
"Ah, Spektor! Tell me, how's good ol' Sluggy doin'?" Avery cracks, pleasantly surprised to see her turn up for a meal. "Studying to be the next potions master? Heh heh."
"Potions isn't all he teaches me about, if you know what I mean…" V winks.
"Hah! I knew it!" Avery cackles, thumping his hand down on the table, the cutlery clattering against the dishes.
"That's disgusting, V." Pembroke jeers.
"You must not know what I mean then." V smiles cheekily.
"I heard from Lestrange that Fairchild told him that Olive Hornby's saying she saw you snogging O'Connor in an empty classroom on the fifth floor." Avery says before tearing a large chunk of flesh from a turkey leg.
"The fifth floor. Hm, that's a nice idea." V says dismissively, sipping her pumpkin juice, and glancing around. Riddle and Lestrange just entered, and are now approaching the table. V knows he's behind her before he puts his hand on her shoulder. She turns her head up to him and he stoops slightly, bestowing upon her beckoning, neatly painted red lips, a lingering kiss. "How lucky am I?" She says, smiling up at him. "Today they're serving turkey."
"Your favorite." Riddle says, sitting between Pembroke and Spektor. He's probably the only one who'd be able to shove Pembroke to the side—she's terrified of him. Even sitting next to him, she's visibly uncomfortable. "What's eating you, Pembroke?" He asks, noticing how tense she's become, how she's trying to meet V's eyes.
"Ummm." Pembroke glances around anxiously. "Uhhhh hey V could I see that paper yeh've got?"
"Yeah, sure." V says, reaching across Riddle to hand Pembroke Cotswold's copy of the Prophet. Pembroke wrinkles her nose and, after a nod of the head and a roll of the eyes in Riddle's direction, she unfolds the paper and shields herself with it. "I'm going to be working late tonight in the dungeons." She says to Riddle, batting her eyes.
"Sounds like you've got some competition, Riddle." Avery quips, mouth full. "If I was you, I wouldn't put up with all these late-night rendezvous with ol' Sluggy."
"What's he talking about?" Riddle asks V, as if Avery isn't even there. Sure he knows about the rumors. Of course he does. And he knows they aren't true, at least with Slughorn, because he's watched her. Not all the time. But every so often, just to check in, to be sure.
The castle's so peaceful at night. She's come to treasure her hours of prefect patrol duty, the quiet comfort of solitude, of darkness not just in the corners, but all around. And then, a glint of yellow, and shuffling footsteps, furtive whispers. V mutters _lumos_ and in front of her appears a small group of Hufflepuff first years, four in all. Their eyes widen in terror, not just from being caught by a prefect, but from being caught by this particular prefect. They squeal and scatter. V takes off running after them, extinguishing her wand in hopes of intercepting them at another juncture. But instead she rounds a corner and runs straight into Edward O'Connor, the collision knocking both students to the floor. He rises first, and extends a hand to help her up.
"Were those kids running from you?" He jerks his thumb back over his shoulder.
"Yeah, well, I'm a prefect, aren't I? Speaking of which, what are you doing out of bed? There's a curfew, you know…" V says, brushing herself off.
"Right you are. Sorry, just a bit of late night studying. You know, I'm still in the market for a Potions tutor if you're still available…and if your boyfriend will allow it…" Putting his arm out, he props himself casually against the wall.
"I'm quite busy, at the moment, actually. And for a while. A long while. I'll be busy for a long long time I suspect."
"It's ok, I understand. Although, it's too bad really…I could use the help."
"You don't understand. But that's fine." She dismisses, folding her arms across her chest.
"You know, I don't believe what they say about you." O'Connor lowers his voice.
"Good. All of it is true." She says with a coy smirk.
"No it's not. I know for a fact one thing isn't true." He steps to her and pushes her back against the wall, his lips soon on hers, his tongue slipping between them, his energy overtaking her.
"Depends on your version of the truth." She whispers.
"Mmmhmmm." He kisses her again, the stubble on his chin tickling her smooth skin. "What version is this?"
"The incorrect one." She bites his lip. He narrows his eyes, leans farther into her, his hand, over her skirt, tracing a line from her thigh to her hip.
"Does he tell you how beautiful you are?" O'Connor breathes. He's looking at the scars on her arms, then at the deep black shadows around her eyes. "You don't deserve this, V. You deserve someone who treats you with kindness, with respect." He rubs her arm.
"You think Tom gave me these?" She asks with a laugh, following his gaze. "You think he abuses me?"
"It's ok — you don't have to cover it up any more. You don't have to be afraid of him." O'Connor says, "I'll stand up for you. I'll protect you." He kisses her again.
"I'm not afraid of anyone." V says, locking eyes with the tall, handsome Gryffindor.
"V, please. Give me a chance at least…" O'Connor says, his hand gliding down her back now.
"Don't make me hex you, Edward." Her eyes flash a warning. He feels her wand against his side. He retreats.
"C'mon now, is that how you treat the others?" O'Connor says, frowning.
"Others?" She says, holding up her wand now in the space between them.
"Riddle, Slughorn, Avery, Carrow, Selwyn…"
"Selwyn? Really ?" V muses, twirling her wand between her fingers. "Who put you up to this, Edward? Was it Fairchild?"
"Lestrange." He blurts.
"Ah. Of course." She says, stepping closer.
"We had a bet going." He didn't want to say it, but he couldn't help it. Something about her…that stare…
"A bet?"
"That I could get you to cheat on Riddle."
"I swear, one of these days, I'll just have to kill him." She mutters under her breath.
"Really?" O'Connor laughs nervously.
"Pffft. I dunno, maybe." She rolls her eyes. "Well, too bad you didn't win. Although you should've anticipated that, going in. A foolish wager…" He looks confused. He did win. She's raising her wand, and once he realizes that she's about to wipe the incident clear out of his memory, it's too late for him to reach for his own wand.
"Miss Spektor? Mr. O'Connor? What's going on here?" Right on cue, Albus Dumbledore comes striding down the hallway towards them. V curses under her breath.
"Absolutely nothing." V says unconvincingly. O'Connor just stares at Dumbledore blankly.
"We were just…uh…talking." O'Connor fumbles, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other.
"He's out of bed past curfew." V says, pointing at O'Connor.
"So he is." Dumbledore says, arching an eyebrow. "Why don't you turn in early, Miss Spektor. You look like you could use the rest. I'll escort Mr. O'Connor back to the Gryffindor common room."
"Right sir. Thanks sir." V mutters. She's reluctant to let O'Connor out of her sight with that memory still buzzing about up there in his skull, but there's nothing she can do about it tonight, so she resigns to retreat to the dungeons.
