Two

Blindly I tore my way back, running until my legs screamed with protest and the acid in my body intensified. My eyes searched frantically for the familiar invitation of Hogwarts, and finally, with much meandering, locked my sight at the school. Never had I been so glad to see a place which I otherwise detested. With a last wild scurry, I entered.

There was an eye-of-the-hurricane silence. The tables were emptied, and no sign of teacher or pupil was visible. Then, I started to speak.

"Bring me the unknown, the end of time..."

My voice echoed loudly, but I heard only the bleak bouncing of meaningless words.

"...when flowers start to wither, and skies tumble blackly, still we hold, hand-in-hand..."

...friends forever after time.

Gingerly I started to walk again, treading carefully around, until I reached the Gryffindor portrait.

The fat lady was still there, appearing to be preoccupied by something unseen. Her pink dress ruffled and swerved, but still she did not turn to look at me or make any significant gesture. I cleared my throat politely.

There was thick silence, but no reply, so I turned to go.

"Yes?"

I turned around again, and saw her staring at me, wide-awake.

Only then did I realize that I did not know the password, and a new one has probably been issued in the time I was gone.

"Umm...I don't think I know..."

She continued to look at me, surveying my appearance as if checking my identity.

"...the password..." I continued. "But will you please let me in?"

"I am afraid not," she answered gently.

"Surely you know who I am, do you? Selena. Selena Miryamme."

"I still need the password in order to let you pass," she persisted, curiously investigating me. I felt like an interesting plant species, especially an odd-looking carnivorous snapper in Herbiology under her look, and glanced at myself.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

"No dear. No..."

There was an embarrassing pause.

"Are you – Selena Miryamme?"

I pondered this question. Was I? Of course not.

"Yes."

There was no disbelief, just emphasis. I really did not understand her purpose in this inquest; she has known me since I was eleven, and has seen me long enough.

She blankly gazed at something farther away, and then quickly returned her attention to me. Suddenly, she blurted out a question, like it has been in her so long, tumbling, musing, and finally summoning up the courage to inquire –

"Are you...afraid?"

It felt very odd being talked to by the lady. She never spoke to me, only nodded approval when I said the correct password, or occasionally, pleasantly smiled.

Do I fear?

Bring me unknown, the end of time, when shadows devour, and warmth is stolen, still we hold, hand-in-hand, friends forever...

"Yes."

Her eyes looked graver after my response, sadly obscuring the shock and dismay that even I, who defied the Dark Lord this night, am fearful.

"Why...do you fear the Dark?"

The vision of my determination carved in my figure as I stood on the edge of Knockturn Alley resurfaced in my mind. So young I was then! I do not believe I feared before.

"Do you not?"

Her face was calm, but her voice gave way.

"I am but a portrait, and I can not lose anything..."

I forgot the ability to speak for a few seconds, and almost lost my composure. It was not right for a portrait to fish for pity. But she has it. Look, she took that away too...

"Alright," I said.

Her keen eyes continued to question.

I drew a deep breath.

"Well, I have been oppressed, and fear encasement."

"Really..."

Well, do you count nine years of enslavement? My teeth automatically gritted, and I held back a wave of anger and pain.

"I understand dear...I fear encasement too...but, apparently...it's too late..."

She understands. Of course she does. Everyone understands how it is like to be tortured and used but not knowing it.

"You see, dear, I am but a portrait. I seem to have forgotten the days when I was alive..."

I gave a nod, and decided it was time to leave before I unleashed my rage and scream.

But the hole swung open as Hermione approached me and grabbed my hand before I protested.

"I believe," she said, in a smaller-than-usual voice, "that we need to talk."

Without hesitation, which would have been my first gesture, I followed in quietly and gave a last, waning look at the fat lady, folding my robes a little.

The lady looked back, rather forlornly; then she busied herself again in whatever she was doing.

~~

There was no relief when I entered the uncommonly cold room of the boy's dormitory, and a few eager yet bitterly grim glances were cast from several people.

There was Neville, of course, grown to be one of the most powerful wizards in the school, and the impishly scruffy Ron. Among the others were a few I could not recognize right away, but faintly know them as Sean and Dean, two boys who shared this room with Harry. Other unfamiliar faces swarmed around, waiting, waiting for...

Waiting for me.

After a couple of moments given with silent consent, I slowly gathered myself back up, and faced Hermione, who was still not ready.

Finally she was able to look at me with reserved sharpness, as if I was under intense questioning about a terrible crime.

"As I have said," she began slowly, "we need to talk."

"We?"

My sardonic voice made it clear that I did not wish to talk to one person, let alone a whole group of strangers.

"Yes. We."

The crowd looked at me expectantly. With controlled temper, I turned to them.

"What."

A few stirred and glanced nervously at another. Apparently, they thought that Hermione had carefully explained things beforehand so that they would not be encountered with unpleasant job of raising their question.

Neville, who was the most restful, stepped forward.

"I want to know who you are," he said coldly.

I started to smile.

Just a few years ago, he was regarded with contempt, underestimation, or unpopularity. Now, many aurors would rather not try to keep up with his mind, going into places best left untouched, and opening many others that have more philosophical than magical meaning. His brown-streaked blonde hair has grown considerably neater, yet naturally messy. His eyes showed understanding, but just as much sarcasm, while his lips usually never curved, except when those moments came when laughter engulfed us all.

Not many people notice him anymore, because he has become considerably quieter and darker, shedding his naïve, boyhood image.

Was that good?

Unable to restrain my unusually amused self, I returned with a stupid statement, "I want to know who you are."

"Someone who wants to know who you are yet is replied by the same person with a query about his own ego."

I was puzzled. He was still cold, but he regarded this as a flirtatious game.

I suddenly remembered to be frightened, and Ginny was lost. I waved my eyes away, sullen because I lost the unsaid competition. Promptly I took a seat by Hermione, who was sitting on Ron's bed.

"I wish to inform you all, despite your gathering and demanding attitude, that Ginny is currently lost."

Quietly fold your hands and lay back, I told myself. But Ron leapt up at once, before I had a chance of restoration.

"No riddles, Selena. Where is she?"

My face showed no complexion, but I was forced to hold back guilty pain and anxiety. I am now their appointed leader, without my own permission. I must act like a stable lady.

"In the hands of the Dark Lord," I replied.

Surprisingly, Ron did not go further as to approach me and attempt any strangulation, or fling himself onto the ceiling with rage and dismay. He merely stood, fixed with shock.

The crowd was much thinking the same, looking at me more suspiciously, now not the leader, but the dangerous outcast.

"Are you, now, so interested in my chronological background?"

"Yes," Neville said decisively.

Ah, my unexplored friend. Penetrating any trap I have put? Suspecting a lie? Teetering your chess piece farther away, strategically, no? Suppose you did know about more than you thought about me. Am I the one who needs more barriers put in front of you, to not show any weaknesses?

I ignored him for the time being and resumed to feed more information. A pang of accusation momentarily choked me.

You are cheap and fake, using Ginny as an excuse, so you can hide from rejection, my cynical Selena. Do you care at all about the well-being of your friend? And why did you run away, was it from fear, or driving madness to tell everyone her unpredictable and possibly lethal fate?

If it was to tell, I decided, than I am not doing a good job. Quit sounding so pleasant, and show more of your shame.

"People do not just disappear, Selena," Hermione said, tone reasonably calm. "Are you sure the dementors were not just illusions?"

My heart skipped several beats.

"What?! I am dirty, tired, worried like the rest of you, you bring me a crowd of people expecting a elongated narration of my childhood, when the most logical thing to do was to sit down and plan alone in this time of confusion, and now you accuse my of my credibility? I will have none of this, and may I remind you, you are not my master."

Hermione did not seem convinced, but maybe it is her way of shielding her flaws. Her eyes, however, were disloyal, and showed hurt apology.

"Very interesting," she selected her words cautiously, "how you say 'master' when it ought to be 'mistress'. I suspect you had one?"

"Yes," I breathed hotly, my nerves seething with trembling fatigue – or was it fatigue? "And if I did, it pertains nothing to Ginny or our endangered magical world. Are you surprised that Voldemort has not struck yet? Anyone in here intelligent enough to be concerned, or are there too many idiots in here?"

My words appeared to have an effect, and all of them switched their hopeful exuberance to tense pondering, flinching at the still rarely used name.

I lowered my head to clear my mind, but saw immediately a hand reaching for my wrist.

Neville pulled me away from the room, and I felt a rush of noises sweep by. Hermione had stood; I saw that from the corner of my eye. She will take over, I reassured myself.

Presently I found myself in the Gryffindor common room, and faced in front of me was someone I should shield, lest he plays, and by seducing me.

"You are cold," he remarked, after letting go of my hand.

"I agree," I said.

"And you are bitter," he continued.

"I, coincidentally, have the same opinion."

"And you have been enslaved."

Then, I started to cry.

His hand dug into my shoulder, and I stopped to look away, toward the direction I ran from to get immediately to safety. Why did I run away? Was to that burst of adrenaline only out of fear? Until now, I have realized how cowardly I have become...

"Be careful," he whispered softly, and I became conscious that he was embracing me. "I can read your thoughts."

I made no motion to get out of the tightly comfortable hug. If it had been lighter times, people would accuse us of a secret affair. From the time Voldemort had succeeded his life-long dream to now, only a few hours passed. Am I the only one who feels that this time has passed too long but the events too fast and blurry? I cannot even keep track of how much action and arousing have been made since I fled from Hogwarts. But I am tired and weak, from running, from fighting, from anxiety, and, for the first time, I remembered that it was two in the morning. Of course my dizzied head couldn't race with the rest.

How silly of me.

"I can read your thoughts too," I replied, muffled by his robe. And then I started to laugh and cry hysterically, a sound so alien and harsh, a wild and desperate cry of forgetting, remembering painfully, and then forgetting again.

I knew that I had run out of plans and schemes, and do not know what to do at all.

~~

A glare dripped down and met my eyes. Only then did I realize I fell asleep, an awakened to face a drowsy, almost-slumbering Hermione. She mumbled about something, but I couldn't make out her words.

"Neville...went...library..."

The sun was blaring now, and my eyes started to burn and water.

"Why?"

She stirred, but did not answer, and breathed a little lighter. Her eyes started to open.

 "More research..."

"Research?"

"A book..." she started.

"Yes?" I urged her to go the on, starting to feel the weariness and impatience I had borne much long ago.

"...hidden secrets about the Dark Lord..."

"And?"

"It bleeds."

I jerked upright and remembered Ginny.

"Ginny – " I began, but did not finish.

"What about Ginny...?"

I flinched and mouthed, "Lost."

"Oh!"

Hermione bolted upright, and struggled to get up to untangle her hair.

"And what book? Describe – " I made wild motions with my hands, recalling something importantly dangerous.

"It bleeds...the blood of the chosen. It has something to do with a certain Emerald, and was like a biography of Voldemort."

I started to panic.

"Black, leather-bound cover?"

"Yes."

"Bookmark also black, with a blue streak?"

She proceeded to nod, and unruffled her robe.

"Handwriting, not typed, and strikingly similar to a scrawl?"

"Yes," Hermione insisted, now looking at me. She paused for a moment as if she was trying hard to remember something. "Do you know anything about this book?"

"And you said it had to do with an Emerald?"

"As far as Neville has dug. He seems to know the database pretty well."

"And this Emerald had immense power, correct?"

Suddenly, Hermione cocked her head, looking at me. It was one of her intelligent poses, like she had something very above-our-head to say.

"About last night..." she strained to remember, focusing amber eyes closer.

I began immediately to gather my things.

"I might as well go down to the library as well. See you later."

I turned around just in time to see her narrow her eyes and embark on protesting, but she swallowed her speech whole and left me to leave.

*

My hand fastened onto the handle, but refused to turn. I only knew what my aunt had told me, and all she said was that the time had not come.

And what is time to me? Must I wait patiently in line before the 'time' comes for me to know the truth about my past and future? If not a better time than now, I don't know when else. Someone is about to take over. But time doesn't care.

The door opened, and I was almost flung in.

It was the librarian.

She regarded me gravely, ushered me inside, and pointed at speck in space.

"I assume you know those two people?"

I focused and blurred my eyes, finding a red and blonde blob shifting at a corner.

"Yes."

"They mentioned your name quite a few times. I went over there to ask them what they are doing, but they didn't tell me. All they asked for was you."

"Alright."

"I suspect that Neville boy is up to no good. But you are granted permission to join them, if you are –" She started to choke, but I heard her quite clearly. "– quiet, of course. I-it's a library."

So she remembers. With that statement, she dropped her voice to a husky whisper, and I, for a moment, forgot to nod.

I must be getting weaker.

A few of a librarian's sentimental words and I break down.

I took long, deep strides, not even stopping to examine the curiously placed books that marked Dark Arts plainly over them.

"Selena."

My name rang like a taboo.

How many times has it been uttered since Harry's death? Selena. Selena. Selena. I silently chanted the names to myself, and heard only the distinctive, forbidden ting of bitterness.

"Neville," I returned, bowing my head so that my hair slid down to the welcoming pull of gravity.

"Selena," repeated Ron.

The word hello is not allowed to be used again. The expression tolerates too much happiness.

"Ron."

"Did you sleep well?"

"I did not fall asleep."

"Neither did I."

We were so intent on hiding our shamefulness.

"I heard you were investigating about a specific book."

I smeared on the fakest smile I could conjure, but it only made my move seem too eager.

"Well, Neville is, at least. I just came and...and looked around, that's all."

I see. You don't want to get into this mess either, eh? Wise move, wise move.

"Really?"

"Yes," Neville said, creating a barrier between Ron and I. Scared I am going to murder your friend?

"What have you found out?"

Neville stopped, and looked at me.

"You could be very pretty, if you smiled."

"Don't evade my question," I snapped. But I meant to say, you could be very pretty too, if you smiled.

"A certain book on Voldemort. I had tabs put on whether he wrote it himself or not. But the style of this writing shows nothing, unfortunately. Apparently, the words in the book had a distinct connection to another inanimate object. This item, however, has a mind of its own. The Emerald of Light, I believe. Possessed by variously multiple people in and out of the bloodline."

I swore softly.

"You don't need to research. I know the whole story. You're wasting your time."

"Are you ready to open yourself to us?"

"Are you disappointed, my charismatic friend? How nice how you tied me down and trapped me. Now, I must, mustn't I?"

"So soon?"

His eyes lighted with jeering triumph. Taunting me.

"I thought your childhood was a taboo," he said, looking nonchalant.

With that statement, I broke in a fury.

"I admitted – what more would you want from me? A taboo? I suppose your childhood wasn't then, according to you. I saw you're parents die. I saw Lily and James die too. I also saw Harry die, and how many more deaths would you like me to witness?"

"You will observe many more deaths," he mused, predicting my break-down perfectly.

"I didn't know you to be a luster of morbidity."

Neville's face grew more intent.

"Then you don't know me very well. Over the year or two, I have changed. I also know that others noted on how I have become quiet and unseen. All you need to know is this. Taboos are no longer in effect. The world out there –"

– He pointed at the door – "doesn't care. There will be many more rules, Selena. If you don't adjust now, you will fail, as did Harry. Stop looking for pity. No one will pay attention to your cries now. They couldn't care less."

I was about to retort when I realize he was right. I had been seeking for comfort, when I was trying desperately to convince myself that fighting Voldemort was more important. Subconsciously or no, I was doing useless and stupid things.

~~

A/N: That is all I can do for now. I'll update the next one quicker to compensate.