O
POSEIDON
Drowning
In the end, it was irrelevant. There was not a trace of illicit substances to be found in Marcus Flint's home, and therefore he avoided so much as a questioning from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Hope, hearing about the raid from Cadmus when she was back at school, who had heard about it from Morella, found herself wondering idly on occasion what would have happened if he had been arrested. Would it have put Cadmus in a better mood? A worse one? What if Mr Flint had gone to Azkaban and her mother had been the one to arrest him? Would Cadmus have been annoyed to the point of breaking up with her?
It would have been a blessing if so. Because, whatever she may have told Michael, Hope could no longer pretend that their relationship was healthy or normal in any way. She had run out of excuses for Cadmus, and now that she knew his unkind and manipulative behaviour may even have an official name, she couldn't unsee it.
"But you said you'd do it. Yes, you did."
"You always hurt my feelings."
"You're deluded, you know."
"Why can't you learn to take a joke?"
"You don't handle stress well, do you?"
This last comment came several weeks into the summer term, after she had asked him - fairly politely in her opinion - if he couldn't leave her for an hour or so to work on a Herbology diagram she needed to redo for Neville. He had not obliged, had ended up sitting with her, and she had felt even more prickly and uncomfortable than usual as he leant in too close and pointed out everything that wasn't quite right.
She gave an irritable sigh after misspelling several labels, then scrunched the parchment into a ball and flung it into a corner.
"Stupid bloody plant."
Cadmus raised an eyebrow.
"You don't handle stress well, do you?"
Of all the things he had ever said to her, it was odd that this should be the comment to induce breaking point, but something inside her snapped. She was worth more than this. She was sure of it. Cadmus had been wearing her down for over a year now, chipping away at her confidence and self-esteem, drip-feeding her snide comments, criticism and unkind words disguised as 'jokes', and 'a bit of fun'. But she wasn't completely broken. Not yet.
She stood up silently, picked up her books and put them in her bag.
Cadmus, clearly surprised, pushed back his chair.
"Are you done?"
"No. We're done."
"What?"
A tiny ray of hope found a way to shine through the bleakness of her mind. She should have done this months ago. Why hadn't she?
Because you felt too guilty after he told you that his sister died in front of him.
Guilt wasn't enough anymore.
"We're done. Over. I can't be with you anymore. I don't care what you say. I don't even care if I never find anyone else. Nothing is worth this."
He gaped up at her as she swung her bag over her shoulder, turned her back on him and walked away.
Hope felt as though she should be crying as she left the library, but she hadn't cried for so long. She didn't even know if she was still capable of it.
"Hope!"
She turned to see Cadmus running after her and quickened her pace, along the corridor, through the entrance hall and out into the grounds.
"Hope, please!" He had reached her now and while for a fleeting second she was tempted to run, what was the point? She was only faster than Cadmus on a broom, and passing students were already staring at them. The bell for the end of the day had rung moments before.
"Go away. I haven't got anything else to say."
"Listen, please." He pulled her to the side of the main doors even as she tried to wrench her hand away.
"Get away from me," she snarled.
"Please listen to me."
"No." Cadmus ignored her and grabbed her hand again. In the end she let him drag her away to a quieter part of the grounds, if only to escape the other students' gawking faces.
"I know I've messed up," he said, turning back to her as their pace slowed. "I know that. And I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. I really don't."
Hope glared at the lake ahead of them, arms folded, mind blank. Nothing he said was going to make a difference now.
"I've already told you we're done. It's too much. I can't be with someone who treats me like this."
"But I don't mean to. I swear I don't. Please give me one more chance. You mean so much to me. Please."
For a long time Hope continued to stand there, ignoring him, but the onslaught endured for hours. The pleading. The begging. The promising. At one point he looked like he was about to succumb to tears. Dusk began to fall and with it guilt weighed down on her again, heavier than ever before. She didn't want to take him back. She couldn't. Every inch of her was screaming to turn him away, to stay strong.
"Look, give me one more chance," he said, yet again. "Just one. I promise I'll be better. Let's try for a week and if you don't want to be with me after that I'll accept it."
He hadn't had an easy life, had he? She had. Maybe she should be kinder, help him, try and understand him.
"Please?" He took both her hands in his, gazed at her, dark eyes imploring, still sparkling with unshed tears.
One more chance. It wasn't that much to ask for, was it? She had been given many chances herself over the years.
She committed with a single sigh and a nod, and in that tiny movement, the weight of a ton of bricks crashed back down onto her chest.
oOo
May
The following week dragged by. Cadmus resumed their daily relationship without any reference to the near break up. He was, however, as good as his word about being 'better'. He was kind. Considerate. Caring. His jokes were jokes again: actually funny and not at her expense. But something still wasn't right. Hope lay awake for hours at night, not getting a wink of sleep, trying to work out what the problem was. His behaviour had changed, as promised. He was being sweet to her, like when they had first started going out. There had been no belittling comments, no sulks, no moments where he sought to put her down or intimidate her. Not one.
That was good, wasn't it? Precisely what she had wanted. What she had asked for.
Except you didn't ask for it. You didn't even tell him what was upsetting you. Yet somehow he's switched it all off overnight.
The thought struck her with such force that she sat bolt upright in bed. It was perfectly true. She had long given up trying to explain to Cadmus exactly why his behaviour upset her. And he had always insisted that she was overreacting to his comments anyway, that it was meant in fun, that she was too sensitive, that she simply didn't understand his personality and his sense of humour and she'd need to lighten up and accept him for how he was.
Yet he had changed, like magic, without any apparent difficulty, the second she had threatened to walk away for good.
Which meant he must know exactly what he was doing to hurt her.
Which meant that... maybe it wasn't as accidental as he had insisted… and as she had always convinced herself to believe.
The walls closed in on her peripheral vision as she contemplated this chilling notion.
What was she supposed to do now?
O
Cadmus had a detention with the Potions professor the following lunchtime, and Hope went for a walk in the grounds to try, yet again, to clear her head. This plan failed completely and in the end she slumped against the base of a tree, pretending to read a book even as the words jumbled together on the page before her.
"Hey Hope."
Scorpius was standing over her, lanky as ever, hair flopping into his eyes. Hope was sure he grew every time she saw him, but his face was as earnest as it had been as a tiny first year. It was impossible to resent his presence, even with her current desire for solitude.
"Heya."
"What you up to?" He sat down on the grass next to her.
"Trying to study." She stared at the page she had been reading. Not a word of it had gone in. "Not having much luck though. Where's Al?"
"Chess club practice."
"Not your thing?"
"Nah, I hate strategy games. Give me exploding snap any day. But as long as it makes him happy and he doesn't make me practice with him it's fine by me."
"And everything's good? With Albus, I mean?"
A smile played on Scorpius's lips, his eyes suddenly bright.
"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, everything's good. We still haven't told people. But it's worth it."
"I'm glad." Hope smiled too in the face of his obvious contentment. "Does anyone know apart from me?"
"My mother." Scorpius laughed at her undisguised reaction of disbelief and tore up some grass. "I know, it's ridiculous isn't it? We can't tell the Potters or the Weasleys - the most liberal families you'll ever find - but I can tell Astoria Malfoy. I didn't plan on telling her though."
"How come you did?"
A slight flush crept up his neck. Then, not looking at her:
"Albus said he loved me. At New Year."
"Oh!" She put both hands up to her mouth, surprised to feel the spark of genuine delight at what Scorpius had said. She had believed true happiness far beyond her reach, but there was no mistaking the emotion now as it flared inside her.
"And I said it back, obviously. And I must have looked really happy when I got home the next day, because Mum asked me why I was so cheerful."
Scorpius sighed.
"I couldn't be bothered with hiding it anymore. Not from her. My father wasn't in, so I told her."
"How did she react?"
"I think she was a bit shocked at first. But she said she was happy for me and I know she means it. I asked her not to tell Father or Grandfather, and she said she wouldn't, that we'd do it in our own time, when I was ready. She's great, my mum. Even though we haven't ever been very close. Albus doesn't know she knows though."
"Wouldn't that help? Maybe he would feel better about telling other people, if he knew she had taken it well."
"I think it's telling his immediate family that bothers him," Scorpius said. "But he doesn't want them to find out by other means. So we go round in circles and don't tell anyone at all."
"Harry and Ginny wouldn't care as long as you were happy," Hope protested. "And Lily's a sucker for romance no matter who it is."
"I don't think it's them he's worried about, somehow."
"He shouldn't be worried about James either," Hope said stubbornly. She was well aware that James could be an arse but he was also a loyal friend who cared about his family, and he would understand that this, of all matters, was something to take seriously. "One of his best friends is gay, remember. Matt came out years ago and James didn't bat an eyelid. He's only ever been supportive of him.'
"You wouldn't get Albus to see it like that." Scorpius's expression hardened for a fleeting moment. "I know everyone loves James, but he's done damage to Al, over the years. All the teasing and laughing at him. It's not necessarily funny just because someone else thinks they're making a joke."
Hope swallowed. Didn't she know that only too well?
"What was going on with you and Cadmus the other day?" Scorpius asked, as if reading her mind, and Hope jolted out of her guilty musings over whether James and Cadmus were similar. Surely they weren't. James had a good heart underneath his ego. She hadn't seen evidence recently that Cadmus had a heart at all.
"I don't know." Hope wasn't in the mood for going into details. "A rough patch, I suppose. It happens, doesn't it? Arguing is part of the course."
Scorpius nodded slowly, but something told her he did not agree.
"Don't you and Albus argue?"
"Not really," Scorpius replied. "The odd bicker, sometimes, I suppose." He hesitated. "You and Cadmus do seem to argue a lot."
Try all the fucking time.
"Yes we do. But." She closed her book with a snap and forced a pleasant expression. "I'm trying to be understanding. He hasn't had it easy in life."
"I guess... not." There was no mistaking the continued doubt in his tone, and Hope supposed that most people thought of Cadmus's grand house and the acres of land, the house elf and the expensive, tailored clothes. No one else knew about the tragedies of the past. Except-
"Wait," Hope sat up straighter, remembering something. "Wait. You're old family friends of the Flints! So you must know anyway. About his sister."
"His sister?" Scorpius raised his eyebrows. "I don't know Morella at all really. She always scared me a bit. Roxanne would be the one to-"
"Not Morella. Their younger sister. The one who died."
Scorpius's face was blank.
"You don't know." Hope swallowed. Her heart beat manically at the thought of what Cadmus would say - or do - if he found out that she had spilled his secret, the one thing he had sworn her to secrecy over. "Shit. Please don't say anything. To anyone. He wouldn't want me to. He already asked me not to. I assumed you knew already… seeing as you've known the Flints all your life."
"What are you talking about?"
Hope felt idiotic now, but she'd already told Scorpius half of it, so she might as well tell him the whole story. He could be trusted not to tell other people.
"Cadmus and Morella had a younger sister," she explained. "She fell ill and died when Cadmus was seven. But don't spread it around. Please don't. I swore to him I wouldn't tell anyone and he'd be furious if he knew."
Scorpius had frozen, his eyebrows knitted together, his grey eyes almost wary.
"They didn't have a sister," he said at last.
"They did," she said. "They just don't like to talk about it. Maybe you were too young to remember when it happened, but she got really sick and she died. He saw her die. Cadmus. He was with her and that's - that's why he can see thestrals."
Her words were stilted, becoming steadily less comprehensible as Scorpius's expression remained bewildered and alarmed.
Finally, he took a slow intake of breath then let it out through his teeth.
"Hope," he said, very gently. "It's just Cadmus and Morella. Always has been."
Something was constricting inside Hope's throat.
"But he told me," she choked out, trying to preserve the one scrap of solid feeling that she still relied upon, that had made Cadmus human to her all these months, that she had come to use as an excuse for his unkind behaviour, his moods, his surly demeanour. Grief can do terrible things. The only thing still keeping her in this relationship was the hope that he would eventually come to terms with her death and become the kinder person that had to be lurking underneath, the boy she had fallen for in the first place. "It was Knarl Flu. She was too young to respond to regular treatment and there was nothing they could-"
It was as she said the words out loud that she knew that couldn't possibly be right. If her mind hadn't been so scrambled over the last few months she would have realised long before now. When Cadmus had been seven years old, Knarl Flu had not even existed. The first reported case had been years later. Dom had contracted the virus in its early days and that had been during the summer holidays after her first year at school.
The shock and pity in Scorpius's face was too much and she had to look away.
"We have known the Flints forever," Scorpius murmured. "My father and Mr Flint were at school together, although they don't speak much any more, and my mother has known Mrs Flint since she was tiny. They're even related - I think officially Cadmus and Morella are my third cousins. We have their family tree linked to ours - it's up on the wall in our library room. Hope, I promise you, there has never been a younger sister."
Cold chills were creeping down Hope's spine.
"He was lying then."
Her voice sounded alien, as though someone else were speaking, but it wasn't a question. Perhaps she had always known deep down. She hadn't trusted Cadmus for a long time. Had she ever trusted him?
"He must have been, unless - unless it was a misunderstanding, maybe?"
"No." Whatever this was, misunderstanding it was not, and she would not stand to be convinced that she was the one who had made a mistake. Not this time.
"But he can see thestrals," she muttered. "He must be able to see thestrals. I couldn't have been lying about that too."
Even the best actor in the world would not be capable of faking such dark, genuine emotion. She had seen it on multiple occasions. Cadmus could definitely see thestrals, and if his sister hadn't died in front of him, then who had?
She had not been expecting a spoken answer to the unasked question, but Scorpius averted his gaze and she was seized with suspicion.
"You know why, don't you?"
He wouldn't meet her eye.
"Scorpius, tell me. You have to tell me."
"I don't know for certain," Scorpius said. "It would be a guess. A wild guess at that."
"Tell me. Please, I have to know.
"OK, OK." Scorpius relented in the face of her wild eyes." But it might have nothing to do with it. It's something I remembered then - when you said about the thestrals. See, I know his father was questioned about the death of a muggle child. Years ago. Cadmus would have been six or seven at the time."
Hope gaped at him.
"His father killed a muggle child?"
"No, no, I didn't say that," Scorpius said at once, even more alarmed. "It was a routine investigation and ruled as an accident. Mr Flint wasn't even arrested, only assisted with enquiries. But a muggle child definitely died. Drowned in that big lake on the borders of their land."
Nausea rose once more in Hope's throat. She knew the lake. Had sat with Cadmus more than once, staring out at it from the far end of their acres of manicured garden. He had a picture of it pinned on the wall of his room, done by his own hand in thick, black charcoal.
"And Cadmus saw it happen?"
"It's possible, but I don't know for certain. Like I said, it's a complete guess. I'm not close to him and never have been, so how should I know? It might be something completely different."
Hope dropped her eyes and stared down at her hands.
"Thing is Hope, if Cadmus did see, it probably messed him up," Scorpius said. "He would have been young at the time, and even if Mr Flint had nothing to do with it, he's still a nasty piece of work. Quite as bad as my grandfather, if not worse. I can't imagine Cadmus was ever happy, growing up with a father like that."
That doesn't give him the right to make others' lives miserable.
"Don't defend him." Hope rounded on her younger friend. "He lied to me. Made me believe-"
She couldn't take it anymore. She got up and stumbled blindly towards the castle, and Scorpius watched her go, face twisted in distress, but did not follow her.
The library.
She had to know, had to find out, to be sure. Maybe Scorpius was wrong. She went straight to the newspaper archives, even as her brain was reminding her of the fruitlessness of this plan. What was she supposed to do, search through every single Daily Prophet in the last two decades in case there was an article about Flint? She had reckoned, however, without the magical search function, installed after James Potter's rearranging prank with the library books the year before.
Hope tapped her wand on the required letters F. L. I. N . T and over two hundred options for matches danced in front of her.
Hope tried again.
Marcus. Flint. Drowned.
Two matches. And only one from this century. Hope jabbed her wand at it and snatched the edition of The Daily Prophet that emerged with a shaking hand. She ducked into a booth and leafed through it until she found what she'd been searching for.
It was right at the bottom of page nine. The article was very short, dated 5th February 2012.
Marcus Flint, age thirty five, was today released from the Ministry without charge after assisting muggle liaison officers with enquiries regarding the death of a young muggle child near his home in Hazelmere. The boy, aged five, was discovered by his parents to have drowned in a lake that borders Mr Flint's own land. The Muggle Crime Act of 2007 decrees that all muggle deaths occurring within thirty feet of witches and wizards with a criminal record be investigated by the Muggle Liaison Office and the Ministry of Magical Security. Mr Flint, who spent time in Azkaban for theft in the late 90s and early 2000s, has complied with all enquiries and the incident has been confirmed an accident.
It told her nothing more than what Scorpius had told her. Hope slumped back, dispirited.
"What are you doing? I've been looking for you everywhere."
Cadmus had appeared behind her. She nearly jumped out of her skin, knowing that her expression was riddled with guilt.
He still lied to you. You have every right to be suspicious.
With a feeling of reckless abandon, she got to her feet and faced him. She had nothing to lose now.
"What was your sister's name? The one who died?"
His split-second's hesitation was all it took to confirm what she already knew. Hope took a step backwards.
"There was no sister, was there?"
She could almost see the cogs whirring inside his brain as he glared at her, no doubt trying to figure out a way to pretend that she had misunderstood, that he had never said anything of the sort. Then he opted for defiance instead, and shook his head. It did not seem to trouble him that he had just upended every scrap of rational thought remaining to her.
"No. There wasn't. What's this?" He snatched up the paper she had been reading, his lip curling as he saw the article at the bottom of the page. "Oh, very clever, Hope. You've got me all figured out now, I suppose."
"You lied to me."
Cadmus's eyes were as flinty as his name. "What was I supposed to tell you?" he snarled. "You think I'm proud to have him as my father? You think I asked for this? You think I wanted, at the age of six, to be forced to watch a kid drown?" He came towards her and for a single, petrifying second, Hope thought he was about to try and break her neck, but he just put his hand on the back of her head and held it there, his grip too strong for her to wriggle out of.
"Forced," Cadmus hissed. "Like I'm doing to you right now. The kid was cycling ahead of his parents on his little bike and went right over the lake and fell through a thin patch of ice. We were invisible within the boundaries of our land but one flick of the wand would have saved him. My father stood there and watched him struggle. Enjoyed it. Made me watch too. I couldn't look anywhere else and by the time the boy's parents caught up with him it was too late. They pulled him out but he died right in front of them. In front of us."
Hope was shaking.
"And you know what, I wish he had murdered him," Cadmus spat. "Then he'd have been arrested and gone from our lives. None of us would have missed him. You couldn't possibly imagine what it's like growing up with a father like that. My mother lives in permanent fear of him. Morella isn't afraid of anything but she's despised him for as long as she can remember. They haven't even spoken since she turned of age. Our family would have been a hundred times better off with him locked up in prison. But no. You can't be convicted for not saving someone's life, it turns out."
He was breathing heavily, his eyes wild as though he had not meant to say any of that. And he had sounded so true, so genuine, and for a second Hope's heart was overwhelmed with pity and a desperate desire to help him, somehow. But...
He sounded equally genuine when he told you about his dead sister.
Cadmus had let go of her. She picked up her bag with a trembling hand.
"I feel sorry for you," she said. "I do. But I can't be with you. I don't trust you. I don't love you. I don't even like you. Just because your father treated you badly doesn't give you the right to mess up my life."
"Mess up your life?" Cadmus repeated, his tone dripping with scorn. "What even is there to mess up in your life, Hope? With your famous parents and your genius brother and your perfect, happy, fluffy family?"
The bitter resentment tore through each word like a bullet, but it made her falter all the same. He was right, wasn't he? What did she know about witnessing death? Or difficult families? She was the difficult one in her family.
What would Dom and Roxanne say if they had been here these past few months?
Hope thought of her best friends, who had always looked out for her, who continued to send her regular letters even though she hadn't replied to a single one of them. Letters containing friendship and support, pleas that she let them know if she wasn't OK, assurances that they were still there for her, always. Her friends who were loyal, honest and kind, who she missed every day and loved indisputably despite the thousands of miles and long delays in communication separating them. And what had they said to her the minute they had found out that she liked Cadmus?
If he starts to act like Adam I will track him down and strangle him myself.
Make sure he treats you how you deserve to be treated.
The thought of their horrified faces if they could have witnessed her more unpleasant interactions with Cadmus was enough to galvanize her resolve.
"Never. Come near me. Again." She pointed her wand in Cadmus's face. "I mean it. You'll be sorry if you do."
"You can't seriously be breaking up with me? No one else will ever have you." But they were empty words without conviction this time. Something about her expression must have scared him and he did not follow her as she exited the library.
A male voice did call after her as she rounded the top step of the Ravenclaw staircase and she whirled around and pulled out her wand again.
It was only Mitch, who jerked backwards and held up his hands in alarm.
"Sorry," she muttered, stowing it back in her robes, breathing heavily. "Sorry. I thought you were someone else."
"What the hell?"
"Nothing. Sorry. Bad day."
"Hope.. Are you-"
"I'm fine."
"OK, OK."
"What's up?" she asked, as he cast another apprehensive look at the wand she had tucked back into her robes.
She already knew what was up.
"Listen, I know you said you didn't want to, but this will be your last match. Your last ever Hogwarts game. I remember your first game, when no one could believe Cal Burchess had chosen a tiny little second year as his third chaser over all the bigger, stronger players who'd tried out. But it was the right choice then and you're ten times as good now. You've still got a month to get back into rhythm, and we want you back. We do! Everyone agrees that our best chance of winning that cup is for you to play. Please come back to the team."
Hope stared back at him. What he was saying was making sense. So much sense. But...
"I can't," she murmured, taking a couple of steps backwards and leaning against the bannisters, suddenly so tired that every limb felt as though it were made of stone as well. "I just can't. Right now. That's all. What with work... and with - with-"
The now ex-boyfriend who has made my life hell for over a year.
She waited for Mitch to plead further with her, or get angry. To sigh in frustration or storm off. He did none of those things.
"Alright," he said softly. He reached out and gripped her shoulder. "Alright, I get it. I won't pester you anymore. But you're part of this team whether you want to be or not. So if we can't win with you, we're going to win for you."
And he went through to the common room, leaving Hope feeling more confused than ever.
O
"Hope?" Neville looked up from tending to a sickly mandrake as the class filed out of Greenhouse Five one sweltering Monday afternoon. "Quick word please?"
Hope had lost count of how many times she had been called up to a teacher's desk over the course of the year. At least this time, it was only Neville and on top of that didn't look serious or annoyed. She crossed paths with Cadmus as he left the greenhouse with Isaak Tolaris, and he glowered and looked in the other direction. Hope remembered it was his birthday in two days. At least she didn't need to worry about what present to get him anymore.
Three weeks had gone by since their break up. Three weeks that had felt like an eternity yet passed in the blink of an eye. Hope now sat by herself in class, worked alone in the Ravenclaw study room during breaks and evenings, went to bed as early as she could and even sat reading at meal times, making every effort not to be disturbed. And while her sleep pattern was still disrupted, her appetite remained nil and she felt terrifyingly unprepared for the forthcoming exams, it seemed that spending every minute of the day with her nose in a book could only result in academic improvement.
"This is much better," Neville told her, handing her a back an essay she had redone for him the week before. "Much better. Still a lot of room for improvement, mind, but you have three weeks before the exams start. And I hear from Professors DaSilva and Edgecombe that you're working well in their classes too."
Amazing what I can get done when Cadmus isn't breathing down my neck and correcting every mistake I make.
"Yes sir. I've managed to get my head round some of the things that were causing me problems."
"I'm glad to hear it. Keep it up." He hesitated, then said casually: "I also understand you won't be playing in the final on Saturday?"
Hope had thought she had fielded all the disbelieving quidditch questions by now. Apparently not.
"No sir. I'm prioritising my revision." She decided to use the recent essay to her advantage, holding it up with a shrug. "It seems to be working."
"Yes," Neville acknowledged, giving her a deep, searching look. "Yes, I am glad to see that your work is improving and you seem more motivated to study. Exams aren't everything though."
So she had been told before. Many times. Yet not a lesson went by these days without a teacher mentioning the dreaded N word. Every student in their year walked around in a haze of permanent fatigue - the tests weren't termed Nastily Exhausting for nothing. And everyone knew that without decent NEWT grades, one's chances of getting a good job after school were minuscule. Unless your name was George Weasley, perhaps.
Neville was waiting in silence, as if thinking she might say something, and Hope remembered what he had told her after the boggart incident in her third year.
There are plenty of people you can talk to. None of us would ever want you to suffer in silence.
The problem was that while Hope was now, finally, able to see some truth in those words, she was so deeply entrenched in confusion and self doubt that she was at a loss to know who would be best to turn to or what she was supposed to say. Finally being able to acknowledge that she was in trouble and that she couldn't resolve her problems alone was all well and good, but it did not provide answers on how on earth she could explain them to someone else. And so it was easier to maintain her outward facade. Keep smiling. Keep up the pretence that if she seemed off, it was only because of exam stress like everyone else. Her recent and well-publicised break up was a handy excuse to have too. Most students seemed to think she was missing Cadmus in her solitary hours and left her to it.
Hope wished it were that simple.
It wasn't.
These thoughts had swirled through her mind in a matter of seconds while Neville continued to regard her seriously. Hope summoned her usual calm, thoughtful expression.
"I know they aren't everything, Professor. They are important though. And I do have the rest of my life to play quidditch."
"Well, that is a good point." He was looking reassured and in that moment Hope knew she'd convinced him, as she had with everyone else. It was all too simple when you could hide behind a limitless range of appearances and expressions. So, so easy to show the rest of the world exactly what you wanted them to see, nothing more or less.
"Go and enjoy your evening," Neville said, dismissing her with a smile. "And let me know if you have any questions about your revision."
oOo
June
The truth was that breaking up with Cadmus, while indisputably the right and only thing she could have done, had not brought about the relief Hope had imagined it would. One oppressive, destructive influence had been evicted from her life only to be replaced by another. Panic. Bone deep, sickening panic, which began to overwhelm her multiple times a week and mainly when she was alone. Hope had never had a panic attack in her life before, but these could not be anything else: out of control sensations accompanied by a madly racing heart, cold sweats and hyperventilation, all of which overtook her when she was least expecting it and for no apparent reason at all. And unlike Cadmus, panic attacks could not be kept at a distance by password secure common rooms and gendered bathrooms.
Surely, Hope thought to herself every time it happened, even as her hands shook, as she fought to stay in control and breath normally. Surely at some point, this is going to go away. It can't go on forever.
So far, it was only getting worse, and on the Thursday evening, as she sat in the reading room trying to answer her Defence Against the Dark Arts practice paper - History of the Dark Arts, there came an unwelcome addition to the manifestations. After several moments of trying and failing to get her breathing under control as silently as she could, Hope suddenly felt as though she were outside of her own body, as if she were looking down on herself from above. The sensation was so surreal and so frightening that she nearly cried out loud for help, but managed to stop herself, putting her face in her hands and screwing up her eyes instead. Her heart was pounding, but the bizarre feeling was already ebbing away.
What's happening to me?
"Alright Lupin?"
Her head jerked upwards. Tim McLaggen, a burly sixth year, was bearing over her. He had recently started talking to her out of the blue and today, she was even less pleased to see him than usual.
"What do you want, McLaggen?"
"You know what." He leant over and patted her shoulder even as she shied away, repulsed. "I understand break ups can be rough. But sometimes, the best thing is to move on."
Just what I need on top of everything else. To be hit on.
"Yes, I'm sure you're right." She graced him with a sickly sweet smile. "So if you could move on and let me continue my revision that would be much appreciated."
"Alright, alright!" Tim got to his feet again. "Not the right timing, I get ya! I'll see you around at the weekend, no doubt."
Hope mimed vomiting as he walked away, but if nothing else the unwelcome interruption had brought her back down to earth. She felt in control of her thoughts again and her heart rate was returning to normal. And that being the case, she needed to get on with her work. Pulling the paper towards her, Hope skimmed the questions, which they were to answer without reference material for discussion in the following class.
The first few questions were manageable. She skipped number five. Question six - What evil magic did Voldemort use in an attempt to make himself immortal? - was easy. Question seven was easy too: Comment on a defensive strategy employed during the Voldemort wars. Hope didn't even bother wasting time writing down an answer. If there was one thing she didn't need to revise, it was the Order of the flipping Phoenix. She continued to work through the sections, which covered time periods going back through the ages, but realised with a sinking heart that the further she went on, the less she knew. By the time she had reached the section on medieval dark magic most of her answers were blank. She had a stab at question fifteen, about the invention and evolution of the Patronus charm, then flipped over to question sixteen: Describe an example of Dark Magic that has infiltrated Muggle folklore.
"Come on," Hope muttered, pressing her fingers into her forehead. "Come on, you know this. You've been at this school for seven years. There must be something."
Changelings! Yes. Hope remembered learning about changeling children. They had covered them in fifth year History of Magic but it would count for Defence Against the Dark Arts too. In muggle lore, changelings were human-like creatures left as replacements when babies or children were spirited away to live with the fairy folk. The reality was even more sinister. True changelings were children, many centuries ago, who had been torn away from their mothers, their homes, their families, by dark, twisted magic. The motivations for it were diverse - greed, cruelty, desperation, a misguided sense of duty or even love - but the result was normally the same. Changeling children, forced to grow up in a life that should never have been theirs, knew they did not belong, never knowing why, and often felt an ingrained sense of detachment to their lives, to their alleged families, sometimes even to their own bodies.
Well, Hope thought, as she scribbled all this down. As of today, I know what that last bit feels like.
"Pull yourself together," she muttered. "You're not a changeling. You're a seventh year student who has exams coming up, important exams. And they need to take precedence over a month old break up and all the baggage that comes with it."
You need help. Now more than ever.
"What I need," Hope told the voice in her head through gritted teeth. "Is to get on with my revision in peace."
O
"Find a partner for discussion please. Now." Edgecombe's crisp voice rang through the classroom the second they had entered it. "You have got to make the most of every minute of these classes - you have four of them left before exams start."
Hope looked resignedly round for someone to make a three with. To her surprise, Esme was sitting behind her, also alone.
"Where's Michael?" she asked, shifting her seat round and pulling out her half completed work.
"Hospital wing," Esme said. "He'll be fine though. Exploded his potion and got a few burns."
"Ouch."
"He added Limeweed instead of Limetree bark to a serenity potion," Esme sighed. "Really not a good mistake to make."
Hope wouldn't have known what difference it made.
"That's not like him though. I guess he's feeling the exam stress."
"It was about time," Esme said indignantly. "After all these months of skating through seven different subjects without breaking a sweat."
"He is weirdly relaxed about everything," Hope agreed. "What about you? Are you feeling OK about them?"
"I think I'll be fine when it comes to it," Esme said. "I'm sure we're all prepared underneath, even if it doesn't feel like it on the surface."
Hope wasn't so sure. Her recent improvement in class was all well and good, but it didn't make up for months of substandard work, and her failure to answer most of the questions on the test paper was proof of how little she had retained from the past seven years.
"I'll just be glad when they're over."
"Tell me about it." Esme nodded, then gazed up at the high stone walls, her dark eyes sorrowful.
"I will miss this place though. Won't ever be the same once we've left, will it?"
"I guess not."
That she might miss Hogwarts on leaving had not even entered Hope's mind.
"Have you got plans for after?"
"Michael and I are going to travel for the summer," Esme replied. "In South America. I think we are, anyway."
"Wow! That will be fun."
"Definitely. And then... I dunno. I'm leaning towards healing. Like Ros."
"Was she OK in the end?" Hope hadn't spoken to Esme since Easter to ask. "After what her manager did?"
"She's much better thanks. Back to work. And Green was fired." Esme nodded grimly.
Hope remembered what Esme had told her about noxing and, now that she suspected Cadmus to be a master at it himself, wondered if Rosina had suffered lasting effects. Was it possible for something like that to case panic attacks? Weird feelings of leaving your own body? She had no idea.
"Have you got career plans?" Esme enquired, interrupting her train of thought.
Hope swallowed. Her once big dreams of being a professional chaser lay in tatters now. Future quidditch stars did not bail on their teams at school level and she had no other avenues to pursue. Thankfully she was saved from replying.
"Anyone who is not discussing the answers." Edgecombe's voice rang out. "I would strongly suggest starting immediately. I repeat, you have four Defence lessons left before your NEWTS. No more."
"Crap." Esme pulled her own - fully completed - work towards her, eyes suddenly panicked. "Guess we'd better get started."
O
Hope could not bring herself to watch the final and lay listlessly on her bed while it took place, imagining how it might be playing out. The cup could go either way. If they won against Hufflepuff by enough points, the title would be Ravenclaw's for the sixth year in a row. An immense and unprecedented triumph. And they would have done it without her.
After what felt like hours, a roar of sound from the common room was all the confirmation she needed. Ravenclaw had won. Again. And while somewhere in her swirl of emotions there was relief that her absence hadn't cost them the cup, here was proof yet again. Proof that it made no difference whether she was here or not.
"Oh there you are!" Elodie was leaning on the doorway, smirking, blue scarf still draped round her neck. "Even more Hopeless than I thought. They didn't even need you for quidditch in the end, did they?"
"Elodie, can't you leave her alone for once in your life?" Natalie had appeared behind her friend, who looked most affronted at this unexpected input. "Why don't you come and join the party, Hope? It's a massive victory - a six year streak – and it's your victory too, even if you didn't play today. You were still on the team for more of it than anyone else."
Hope was so touched by Natalie's unexpected support that she did manage to drag herself downstairs, but the roar of noise and colour and celebration slammed into her like a physical blow.
Mitch, who had been surrounded by crowds of excitable and jubilant housemates, pushed through them to talk to her as soon as she appeared.
"Congratulations."
He disregarded this.
"We've missed you the last few months, Hope."
"Yeah, right."
"We have!" Mitch insisted. "Really we have. I meant it the other day - you've been as much a part of this team as the rest of us, and this is your victory as well." Hope looked around suspiciously for accusation in the faces surrounding them. But even she could not find it now. Carlotta was beaming at her. Andrew Garswitch waved the cup aloft, gesturing to it excitedly. The rest of the team were chanting "Six Year Streak! Six Year Streak!" over and over again.
Why was it so hard to accept what Mitch was saying, to throw off her shroud of coldness, to say a few apologetic and congratulatory words to the rest of the team and then join in the celebrations? Perhaps because, as with everyone else, she wouldn't even know where to start explaining where it had all gone wrong. It was all she could do to force a smile and a thumbs up, before slinking into a far corner near the entrance to the reading room as the team were deluged with congratulatory hugs and slaps on the back.
Tim McLaggen smirked at her as he passed by a while later.
"Alright Lupin? Wasn't as fun to watch the match without you playing, I have to say."
"So sorry to hear that," she said sarcastically. "Must have been such a rough day for you."
Tim was now leering down at her, so close that she could smell his horrible, beery breath.
"Ever heard of personal space?" she snapped. He didn't move.
"You're really pretty, you know."
"I can look however I want, remember?"
"Oh yeah?" He was grinning. "Can you look however I want?"
Fourteen-year-old Hope would have punched him in the face and kicked him in the balls for good measure.
Seventeen-year-old Hope merely rolled her eyes and took a swig of her drink.
And then he was kissing her. Roughly, his mouth far too wide and his tongue deep in her mouth. Unpleasant as it was, Hope did not push him away. She returned the kiss. She let him run his hands through her hair. She let him graze her neck with his teeth. She let him pull her through the reading room, into an alcove right at the back. The room was completely deserted anyway, with everyone enjoying the party. Even Rosie had abandoned her books to celebrate tonight.
Tim's hands were roaming everywhere, up her shirt, then downwards, and suddenly Hope didn't care. After months of refusing such intimacy with Cadmus, she was now letting it happen, responding, desiring something, anything, that might bring feeling back into the grey, chasmic existence she was currently suspended in.
She felt absolutely nothing at all.
O
At two in the morning, the party continued in the common room. Even Edgecombe slept too far away to be roused by the noise. Hope, however, walked aimlessly down a dimly lit passageway, alone, trying and failing to block out what had happened earlier that evening.
What had she done? How unbelievably stupid. She would never regret not sleeping with Cadmus, but at least she had been in a relationship with him. Wouldn't it have been better to have her first time with him than with a sleazy, handsy sixth year she'd barely spoken to before tonight?
The jeers and catcalls as she and Tim had reemerged from the reading room had been too much to endure.
"You know you're just her rebound, don't you McLaggen?" one of his mates had shouted with glee.
"Didn't think it was possible to downgrade from Flint, Lupin," another called. "But you've managed it."
Tim had not seemed bothered in the slightest but Hope had left his side immediately and pushed through the heaving crowd. Someone had grabbed her wrist with a concerned cry - probably Rosie - but she had wrenched herself free and fled up to the dormitory, only to find Natalie and Andrew Garswitch having a furious argument about something. Natalie was in tears, Andrew's arms were folded across his chest and neither of them noticed Hope as she grabbed the Marauder's Map from her trunk and slipped back out again.
She had been wandering the deserted corridors and staircases for hours now, checking the map every few minutes to make sure she didn't run into anyone. Now on the third floor, she turned a corner near her charms classroom and checked the map again, trying to decide where to go next. Then she looked at it more closely, confused. On the map, it said a door should be immediately to her left, but there was nothing but a solid wall.
She supposed the wall must have been constructed since the map's creation. Curiously, she went forward and put her hand on the bricks at door handle level. Nothing happened. She looked down at the map again, about to give up, and then saw that a tiny bubble had appeared above her own name. A speech bubble bearing the word Erassio.
"Erassio," Hope muttered, tapping her wand on the brick for good measure. The wall melted away in an instant, revealing a heavy wooden door. Curiosity now at a peak, Hope ignored the nagging voice in her head telling her this might not be a good idea, and pushed it open to enter the room beyond.
It wasn't a room at all, rather a large, cavernous corridor that had been blocked off at both ends. A trapdoor with a heavy iron ring was embedded in the floor. There was nothing else in the space save for a large, ornate mirror in the far corner.
Hope glared over at it suspiciously. She had hated her reflection recently. Hated it because it hadn't changed one bit. She still looked fit, healthy and happy, hair bright, skin smooth, eyes clear. She often remembered what her mother had said at Easter, about losing her powers; "It can happen when you're very unhappy." A guilty part of her wished that she might lose her powers as well, to have that final, visible proof that she was not OK. But it was not to be so, and the Other girl remained.
Despite her hatred of mirrors, she found herself heading across the flagstones to look at this one, drawn in by the sheer size and grandeur of it. A tune sprang into her head as she reached it, a favourite from Teddy's collection by some muggle artist she had forgotten the name of. A song called When You Were Young.
It had been one of her favourites as a child and she still remembered all the words. They were so befitting to her current state of mind it was painful.
Look at the fool you have been.
Why hadn't she been sensible? Why hadn't she done as Mitch had so reasonably asked, in January, and set herself back on the right track with the only thing she truly loved doing? She could be up there in the common room right now, celebrating and basking in glory, instead of skulking down here, alone and miserable, having done something she already regretted bitterly.
They drained the pool while you drowned in the dream.
It was too late to get anything out of her years at Hogwarts now. She hadn't studied enough to pass the exams, wasn't cheerful enough to enjoy the celebrations that would follow, hadn't made friendships that would endure beyond school. Drowning in failure and solitude, the following weeks would simply be a countdown to whatever unknown future she could scrape together for herself.
They bought your beauty and your soul. Then softly sold you back what they stole.
"You're really pretty you know." People kept telling her that these days. But what did skin deep beauty matter when you could change your appearance in the blink of an eye? Especially when you were such a failure underneath.
So look into the mirror, do you recognise someone? Is it who you always hoped you would become when you were young?
Hope stared into the mirror for a few seconds, her eyebrows furrowed. Was that her own reflection? The girl certainly looked like her, although her hair was brown - shiny brown, not the dull colour Hope was used to seeing in her moments of solitude. She also looked a little like Teddy's friend Jessye, with her gentle face and compassionate eyes and – Hope knew somehow, even though the mirror had no way of showing it - her resolute insistence on putting other people before herself.
The disappointment of success hangs from your shoulders like a hand-me-down dress.
She couldn't be happy for her teammates. She just couldn't. Because however relieved she was that her actions hadn't cost them the cup, it should have been her victory, and she could not blame anyone but herself that it wasn't. Not even Edgecombe for denying her captaincy. She had been given a dozen chances to share in today's triumph, captain or not. She had turned down every one of them.
And down nostalgia's rocky road. You watch your former lovers growing old.
Roxanne and Dom were so far away. Adam and his girlfriend were still together and perfectly happy, Hope had heard from Lily, who had heard from James. Cadmus had not come near her again. A relief, yes, but his last words to her had been a deliberate reminder of how unlovable she was. And wasn't he right? She had no one. No one but a random guy she barely knew, with whom she had, mere hours ago, lost both her virginity and her final shred of self respect.
So look into the mirror. Do you recognise someone? Is it who you always hoped you would become when you were young?
Hope studied the reflection yet again. This was definitely not an ordinary mirror. For one thing, the reflection wasn't face on. She was standing sideways, next to a large table covered in test tubes and vials that definitely weren't present in the room behind her. In fact, it looked like Teddy's lab at work, and she was wearing the lab cloak Teddy often wore but that she had never donned herself in real life. Teddy himself stood there too, but in the background. He and their mother both looked on in delight as the girl hugged her father and showed him something written on her clipboard. Remus Lupin's eyes filled with tears as he pulled her close. Tears – again, Hope knew somehow – of joy.
Sometimes your lack of sympathy gets hard to explain.
"Even more Hopeless than I thought." The words had hurt. Even though it was only Elodie. Or maybe, especially because it was Elodie. Hope didn't have the energy for childish grudges anymore, but Elodie was there every day to remind her of the mess she had made of her years at Hogwarts.
So on your mask of make-up you just paint a little parody of pain.
She was so tired of being able to vanish the dark circles under her eyes and morph away the lankness of her hair, resentful that she could regain the weight her natural body had lost that year by barely eating anything. How many people would have sold their soul to be any size or shape they wanted? But being able to change her appearance only hid the pain behind bright colours and disguise.
So I look into the mirror and I recognise someone. It is who you always hoped you would become when you were young.
Hope still didn't understand what she was seeing in the mirror. She looked up at the carved, polished edges, searching for a clue as to what it was. There were letters engraved into it, but no words or language that she recognised. She took one last glance at the happy, intelligent, accomplished woman in the reflection, then turned away. It was time she headed back to her dormitory. With luck, the other girls would be asleep by now, passed out from too much drink and celebration - or in Natalie's case, arguing - and no one would notice her slip back into bed.
The song played in her head one last time.
So look into the mirror. Do you recognise someone? Is it who you always hoped you would become?
She didn't recognise the girl in the mirror at all.
It looked exactly like the person she had always hoped to become.
OOO