by Faith Accompli
All eyes had been on her as she stepped gracefully into the hall, Slytherins and Ravenclaws in anticipation, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors in deep disappointment that she was on Malfoy's arm. The decorations for this Yule ball, held to celebrate Voldemort's final fall a mere month before, were of a vastly more tasteful theme than they had been the ball three years previous-at least to her mind.
Everything was black and white and starlight. She could detect the hands of Professors Sinistra and Vector at work this time, in the enchanted ceiling that had been bespelled to display the clear night sky sparkling with perfect stars to illuminate, instead of the grey clouds above the school, in the flawless snowflakes and frost patterns that only a mathematical mind could pull up and work into decorations.
There wasn't a hint of red, not a single holly berry or streak of crimson to mar the pristine wonderland. The floor was laced with an intensely complicated pattern itself, one that she had a hand in devising late after class ensconced in Professor Vector's study as the two of them and Sinistra had discussed more...intricate concepts of Arithmancy, concepts that Vector had mentioned casually as not being on the syllabus any longer owing to dark connotations. Vector had been...not unkind to her. She hoped that the bloodshed wouldn't ruin the professor's work, not when they had put so much planning into it.
Each step she took echoed oddly, as she walked calmly to the centre of the hall, making eye-contact briefly with those who were foremost in her plans, noting with satisfaction that they all broke that contact before she had to, lowering their gaze in assent. They would not fail her, she had chosen them carefully, so very carefully. They had their own motivations for accepting her first advance, but now they were hers. They had all bound themselves to her and to each other with their blood, a tiny scar-little more than a nick-on their palms a far less obvious sign of allegiance than the dark mark, however imposing the latter might look to the uninitiated.
One waltz with Draco, far more graceful than Potter and poor Parvati who tried to imitate their swift and sure movements, and then a pause by the refreshments table to claim herself a pink lemonade, smiling softly to herself as she dismissed Draco that he might have one dance with his fiancée before he was called back to her side, and turned her attention to slipping the school wards aside from herself with a simple bending spell that let her change her lemonade to the champagne that was far more fitting of her status. The snowflake-shaped chip of ice within the glass goblet melted clean away in a shimmer of rose bubbles, and she sipped thoughtfully, regarding the floor with a cold gaze.
Happy couples, so many happy couples, that stirred a spark of bitterness deep within her soul. Her chance at such happiness had been ripped from her before she had even known what she had, but she wasn't one to dwell on it, not her. The past was out of her grasp, but the present-and the future-she could shape with a stroke of her fingertips, she couldn't change what had happened but she could...make amends, such as she could. And she would.
Potter appeared before her with an awkward duck of his head, seeking her acknowledgement. She raised one eyebrow, glancing over him and finding him wanting with his scruffy dark hair and shining green eyes, with his robes of a green that should belong to Slytherins only...there was a resemblance, if she didn't look too close, there was a hint of his essence in the boy...but nowhere near so much as she had herself, nothing like it. He was not enough. "Yes?"
"Er...d'you want to dance?" Potter offered a hand to her, expecting her to agree. She had sent Malfoy away to dance with Pansy, of course she wanted to dance with him. Malfoy had only been to get his attention, she was still infatuated with the Gryffindor that stood before her eyes, at least in the mind of those who thought themselves closest to her.
She bit her lip in a visible display of uncertainty, faked-of course it was faked, everything she did now, every facet she let the outside world see was faked, the distorted image of herself that they were comfortable with instead of the icy heart of the diamond that she was. "I..."
Salvation arrived but a second later, Padma sliding a hand into hers and gazing innocently at Potter through dark lashes. "I'm sorry, Harry, but Ginny's dance card is full for at least the next half hour," the Ravenclaw smiled sweetly, leading Ginny away as the redhead dropped her glass into Potter's outstretched hand. "Perhaps later."
She danced with Padma, the music speeding up at a glance from her toward the band-Vicious Thorn, such a pretty name-allowing them the chance to dance faster and faster, Padma spinning her away when the song segued into a slower number, into the arms of Terry Boot. Another of her co-conspirators, the boy handled her with exquisite care before she whirled into the arms of another of her people, last-minute adjustments to her plans being approved with mere glances and nigh-imperceptible nods, minute head-shakings, all with not a word exchanged that couldn't be seen as anything but perfectly innocent, even by any stretch of the imagination.
Everything fell into place perfectly as the night raced by on winged heels, carrying her with it. Like spider webs unravelling themselves, the chances of her enemies surviving faded out. She could see it, she could see it all. Threads were spinning in her mind, coiling around and around her like ribbons to caress her flesh, and she was dancing slowly with Draco, leaning into him and letting him guide her as she marshalled her strength. All her reserves, all the magic she had wound away in safekeeping over the years, it was all hers, all for this moment. "Now," she whispered without opening her eyes, trusting him to lead her where she had to be.
The clock struck midnight, and she turned from his embrace. Exactly where she wanted to be, before the dais, shaking her hair back as her magic rippled around her. Dumbledore, red-clad, had opened his mouth to speak but paused in shock as she clasped her hands before her, her wand between them. "Professor Dumbledore, if I might say a few words?"
Her tone had been firm, magic echoing in her voice, making it impossible for them to deny her. He could only nod slowly, a look of impending doom replacing the usual twinkle in those old blue eyes.
She half-turned to watch both students and teachers, her peripheral vision easily picking out those on her side from their posture, from the way they watched her. Everyone watched her, as they only should, ice and fire resplendent in the world of snow and darkness that the hall had become. Draco stood just to her left, behind her, so still he could be an ice-sculpture of angelic perfection. An angel ready to burn and kill, should any dare raise their hand to her, he was one of her most loyal subjects. Her guard, her guide, the one who cleared her way-
"Most of you are aware that I...had a brief entanglement with Tom Riddle in my first year. He saw through to the heart of me. He wanted me, he found me...of use. It probably comes as no surprise to some of you that his effect on me has been...long-lasting." She paced restlessly, undivided audience to each side, Draco perfectly still yet. So thoughtful, he was. Just what she needed. "I'm sure that you also know Tom Riddle...the heir of Slytherin, Lord Voldemort...his work was unfinished. Some of you are pleased about it. Some of you are not. And so despite this little descent into the dramatic, there's only one thing that still needs to be said."
She smiled widely, softly malicious smiles mirroring hers on the faces of her people, and she turned to glare a moment at Dumbledore, who had worked up the resolve to get to his feet, to speak a word, maybe two, in the time she had elaborated on her history. He was not to speak, he was not to interrupt. It was horribly, horribly rude, and the one who had made his mark on her soul deserved respect even though he no longer remained in this world.
"He didn't get the chance to finish his work," another casual ripple of her magic, as her formal robes fluttered in a breeze not felt on the mortal plane, and as her wand shimmered-blurred-was absorbed into her very skin as pure magic, "I'm finishing it."
Dumbledore sat heavily, a look of absolute despair on his face-oh, it must be harsh for him. Voldemort was finally defeated, and yet there was still evil in the school. Worse than evil, innocence corrupted, garbed in pure white. Potter was trying to fight her now, when Dumbledore's resolve had failed. He struggled on valiantly, making it one step, then two. Ever the brave Gryffindor, soldiering on against insurmountable odds.
She raised her hands, one to the teachers, one to the students, as she stood within the whirling maelstrom of her own magic. Ice and fire, such a beautiful contrast, all within her and without, magic not her own that she could draw up from the very earth, the water, and the howling winds outside-it was all connected, and as she stood with her feet placed just so on the design, on the conduit she had planned and Vector had drawn in frost for her, she could take it all if she wanted. She could even destroy the world, although she wouldn't. Just a little piece of it...
"Avada Kedavra."
Her words were soft, perfectly-pronounced. Her tone was icy, immutable, promising of the certain death that came merely a heartbeat later, blinding white stabbing out from her palms, striking the first two to fall. It was the unmistakable signal for her followers, her people to take what was rightfully theirs. Death danced this night, as they killed, as Gryffindor and Hufflepuff blood stained the frosted perfection that was the hall, tracing elegant lines and bringing a second of vitality to the glacial splendour.
Dumbledore's reign was over, and hers had just begun.
Other Notes; Ta, reviewers. And I applaud those of you who got it right, or at least knew that this wasn't D/G. Wendy, Alchemine, poof, take a bow. I thank you for your lovely comments. Oh, yeah - Sam? Y'such a fucking clown.