[A/N: I was in an extremely depressed mood when I wrote this chapter and I was listening to some morbid music by COLD, so.it'll explain itself.]





Ch. III: Sanity

"I have to talk to you," said a voice that was no more than a whisper. Oliver turned around to find Marcus Flint standing there, hovering over him. The library was usually deserted at this hour, making it perfect for a midnight study session. He loved it for one reason nobody disturbed him. That streak had been interrupted by the appearance of the Slytherin captain.

"Fine then, but make it quick," Wood muttered, closing his transfiguration book.

"Let's make one thing straight," Marcus's eyes were dark and stormy. "We'll be finished when I'm finished, and not before."

Oliver felt a sense of foreboding, though he knew not what he had done. He tried as best he could to stare just as harshly back into the eyes of the older boy as he began his speech.

"I want to know why, exactly, Xanne was so upset outside the Great Hall." When Marcus had said this, Oliver opened his mouth, as if to reply, but was cut off. "Don't answer me yet. Quidditch has kept us hating each other, and I'm fine with that. I hate you, you hate me, and it works out perfectly. But that hate was only skin deep, and if you choose to cross me where it hurts, you will be the one hurting."

"What do you mean to say?" Oliver crossed his arms. "That I was stepping in on your property?"

"Precisely, see, I knew you were smarter than you looked," Marcus looked delighted, which was a frightening sight indeed.

"But, she came up to me outside the Great Hall. She initiated a conversation with me. Because I had found her in the hallway, a little hurt from one of your practices, but you wouldn't know much about that, would you?"

"How I run my team is none of your business, Wood."

"You're only partly right. It is my business when someone is injured." His amber colored eyes now bore into those of the older young man. "I took it upon myself to look into Malloy's injuries. As I found out, she had two broken ribs and was quite badly bruised."

"That, is our problem, not yours. Or do you need me to say it again Wood, because I would surely oblige you."

"Is this all you meant to talk to me about, because I need to get back to my studies," he opened his book and began to read intently. Flint reached over a hand and slammed the book shut, his face dangerously close to that of the Gryffindor.

"I told you once, we will be done when I say so."

*****

The torches were dimly lit and the light flicker on the tile was almost soothing. The prefect's bathroom truly was a splendid place. Xanne looked up at the picture of the mermaid, casually dozing. The hour had changed from quite late at night to quite early in the morning. Her mind was incredibly troubled. How could someone who loved her do something so horrible? He had said he was sorry, sure, but there was more to him than met the eye.

She had met him when she tried out for the quidditch team, having seen him before in the common room and around the school, but never having truly met him. His face was dark and wan, but it was obvious that the quidditch atmosphere pleased him. His black hair had fallen loosely around his face, and his blacker eyes stood out as she walked nearer holding a broomstick.

He smirked when he saw her, wondering what the hell she was doing, no doubt. It was common knowledge that there were no girls on the Slytherin quidditch team. After the tryout, he admitted that she had flown well, and her fluid handle of the quaffle was indeed impressive. She had nodded; assuming the try out was over and headed into the changing rooms. Looking into the mirror as she washed her hands of the dirt and grit of the quidditch pitch, she saw him coming closer behind her.

His hand had reached up and brushed her chin length black hair out of her eyes. A heavily callused thumb traced the line of her chin from her ear to her face. She smirked and turned to face him, he was not intimidating, and those dark eyes just pleaded with her. She reached up and ran her hand through the thick black hair that hung limply around his face. Taking control of the situation, he pushed his face down onto hers and she fought back, ruthlessly pressing her lips onto his. She shoved him backwards, enjoying the surprised and deranged look in his eyes. She placed her palm on his chest and pushed him down on the purple couch that was stationed across the room from the sinks. Taking his robes in her fists, she straddled him and brought his face up to meet hers.

He grinned as she tore his robes off of his chest and gasped as she brought her face down on his bare skin, licking and biting him, surely leaving red marks all over his chest. Soon, they had both abandoned their robes and Flint had taken a bit more control, pinning her beneath him. She simply gazed up at him, with hooded eyes, clearly wanting what came next just as bad as he did.

For months, that was the nature of their relationship. She used him and he used her. She did, as if she doubted it for a second, make the quidditch team. It was not uncommon for him to show up at her dorm in the middle of the night, with those dark eyes boring into hers. It was also a common occurrence for her to show up at his side in the middle of the night, sometimes not bothering to wake him up before she climbed beneath the blankets and began to kiss him.

They ignored each other in public, not wanting anyone to suspect anything. After all, their kind of interaction was strictly forbidden at Hogwarts. This had gone on for only a few months before he had realized that jealousy was to get the best of him.

At practice one day, the keeper, Nathan Bletchley, had made a comment about Xanne. Something along the lines of 'getting a piece of that.' Flint had immediately flown to his beater Derrick, taking his beater's club and hammering a bludger full speed into Bletchley's face. Not only did the keeper refrain from making comments about the only female member of the team, he had ran full speed to the hospital wing to be repaired by Madam Pomphrey. His nose was most definitely broken, both eyes blackened, and two teeth were knocked out. Xanne had taken it as a compliment and rewarded him for it later that night. He had mentioned something about seeing each other exclusively, and she agreed. They still never went to Hogsmeade together or anything of that sort, but they were often found in the library where she helped him with his assignments, especially his second time through seventh year.

It was all so vivid in her mind, those memories of the last two years. But she also remembered the hard times.

She had been nominated as a prefect, 'the Pride of Slytherin,' as Professor Snape had called her in jest one day. It was common knowledge that Severus Snape did not say things in jest, so she took this as quite an accomplishment. Meeting with one of the prefects a year above her, Terrence Higgs, she had a long discussion about the reputation of the Slytherin house. They had sat there in the common room until two in the morning discussing a possible course of action to try and boost the morale and distinction of their friends. That was when Marcus had come down the stairs and lifting Higgs off the ground by his robes, hissing at him about whom belongs to whom. The dispute with Higgs was over practically before it started, as Xanne was able to tear him away.

Once the other prefect had gone up to his quarters, she had rounded on Flint. It just wasn't right to come barging in on someone when they were having a conversation. And it was even more wrong still, to try and harm someone on the basis of a harmless talk. She accosted him for about another minute before he lashed out and brought a stinging slap to her cheek, rocking her head to one side. Too proud to cry, she scowled at him and ignored the pain in her face and neck. He had immediately looked remorseful, but let her walk away. The next day, there were rose petals on her floor and a bouquet of flowers and a gift on her bedside table. One of the girls in her dorm asked her if it was indeed he who had given it to her. When she responded positively, the girl had sighed wistfully about how great Marcus was.

The gift had been a necklace. It was a silver talon of an eagle, falcon, or some other bird of prey clutching a black orb. The orb was no bigger than a marble, but it shone in the candlelight and became stormy with her anger and placid with her happiness. The stone was an onyx. It was used to restore emotional balance and self-control. It was also a reliever of stress.

She sat there in the bathroom, still marveling at the trinket around her neck, and the tears began to fall from her eyes. The onyx was not stormy, or placid, but burning blacker than she had ever seen it do so. The torchlight played gracefully on it. She sighed before letting it drop down onto the fabric of her black robes. Pulling the black wizard's hat off of her head, and the rectangular glasses off of her face, she reached over into the bag she carried.

She pulled out a straight edge razor. It glimmered beautifully in the torchlight also. Pausing slightly to look at her reflection in the blade, she ran her finger lightly across the edge, feeling the sharpness of it.

Xanne looked at her reflection one more time, doubting herself. Knowing what she intended to do, but wondering if she could actually carry it out. Her life was almost perfect, and yet she felt such a longing to be rid of the pain that would just not go away.

Slowly, she pulled back the wide sleeve of her robes and brought the sharp blade to her wrist. She pushed a corner of it into her skin slightly and felt it sink in. She couldn't help but wonder where the agony was, there was absolutely no pain. It was oddly satisfying. Blood trickled down into her palm and fell to the clean white tile in tiny droplets.

That moment, as she watched the tiny droplets of crimson fall onto the shining tile, the door of the bathroom creaked open and her heart leapt up into her throat. Her eyes darted to the door to see who had intruded into her privacy.

A tall, tired looking boy walked through the door. Once noticing he was not alone, he fixed his gaze on the girl huddled in the corner. She met his eyes, even in the darkness; the cerulean pools were shimmering. His red hair fell in his face slightly, and he looked tired and worn.

Once recognizing her, Percy Weasley looked down at her hands. The milky white of her arm had been exposed and the only sound was the droplets of blood on the sanguineous floor. His eyes flew open and he ran across the room to her.

"No!" he gasped, moving as quickly as he could.

Xanne saw him begin sprinting, and pushed the razor deeper, dragging it swiftly across her arm. She winced and cried out. The absence of pain was no more. It was agony like she had never known before. Her vision became blurry and she fell to one side, smacking her head on the tile, the world around her fading into an abyss of black.

*****

*****

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[Oooh, cliffhanger.read on. And don't forget to REVIEW.]