Author's Note: All these chapters are rated PG13 for frequent
use of words like 'idiot' (if this is too high a rating, I'm sorry, but
sometimes people take offence at the smallest thing). I should note that
Artemis' room is based loosely on Lothlorien from the Lord of the Rings.
I should also like to note, just for reference although I'll write more about it in future chapters, that Draco has decided his feud with Harry was childish, and discontinued it in their sixth year by totally ignoring him. On the other hand, he still actively persues his dislike of Ron, although it is now for more personal reasons (he hates Ron and can't be bothered with reasons) than that Ron's a poor piece of wizard trash. He has also broken with Crabbe and Goyle, having gotten sick of their stupidity (after much too long, in my opinion), and generally avoids the rest of the Slytherins, finding them to be petty and coarse.
Red. So much red. And gold. The gold definitly made it tacky. Why must everything be red and gold? She like silvery-blue much better. That was how her room at Wildmoor was decorated, all crystal and silver with filmy hangings of grey or ice-blue. This room, where she would sleep, was all gold, red, and mahogany. Her bed had, for the last six years, belonged to the girl who was now Head Girl. The Head Boy and Girl got their own rooms, a luxury Artemis feverently wished for. Instead, she was stuck with four seventeen year old girls who exemplified every form of stupidity, from 'air-head' to 'ditz'.
This would all have to change. Killing her roomates would be easy enough, but bodies meant questions, and she'd found you could never get the smell of death out of a place. It wasn't even a smell really, more of a feeling, but it made for uncomfortable living quarters all the same. The best place to kill people was outside, where the breeze would take the stench away. Disposal – murder was such an ugly word – was out of the question, so she'd have to improvise.
That her bed was at the far end of the dormitory would make it that much easier. Ignoring the chatter of the other girls, she set to work. As she did, she was dimly aware of total silence falling behind her. Conjuring was easy engouh, but she'd never done walls before. Rather than risk structurally damaging the castle, she conjured a wall tthat cut her bed off from the rest of the room, but which ended a few inches short of the ceiling. That would help with air circulation too. Sealing the wall to the floor was easy, and now nothing short of powerful magic or an earthquake would rip it up. It wouldn't do to have her thick stone wall fall on her. She added a door, a beautiful one made of mahogany on this side and birch on the inside, rounded at the top. Someone obviously liked this colour scheme, so she wouldn't ruin it for them. Now to redecorate the inside.
The main door banged open. She whirled, ready to destroy the new arrival. "What the hell are you doing?" Apollo demanded. No need for magic, then. Apollo could be annoying, but he wasn't dangerous – to her, at least. She relaxed, if only a little. He stood in the doorway, outlined by the light from the stairs. Despite his obvious anger, his face couldn't achieve any more emotion than a stern look. Not that he wasn't trying. If there was one thing he really tried to do, it was to control people, himself most importantly. But elven face muscles just weren't designed to show emotion.
The other girls in the room giggled nervously or sighed, or did something inbetween. Apollo generally had that effect on girls. That didn't make them any less of idiots. "You're supposed to sleep here, not redecorate," he said as sternly as he could manage. If elven faces weren't meant for emotion, there voices weren't designed for infliction.
She returned his glare – which it was, and if it wasn't much by human standards, it was scorching by elven – with one of her own, although hers had something like bland humor in it. She'd always managed to be more expressive than he. "I don't like red and gold, and I hate mahogany."
"Then you should have at least warned people," he admonished. "there are teachers in the common room having coniptions. They think there's a war or at least a battle going on up here." She shrugged a bit uncomfortably, not quite meeting his eyes. He always made her feel young and stupid. His gaze softened, and he went so far as to smile, if wanly. She heard a collective sigh from the penut gallery. "I know you miss home," he said gently. Five weeks away from Wildmoor had seemed like an eternity. They hadn't even been here a day, but an hour in hell can seem an eternity, and she'd already spent five weeks there. "Just… try to fit in, alright?" he said in the elven tounge. No need for the penut gallery to hear. She nodded. "I'll see you later." He left.
"Your brother is so hot," one of the girls gushed. Or maybe she squealed a little. Artemis wasn't too well versed on such things. Artemis didn't know her name, either. She didn't know any of the girls'. She wondered if she really wanted to."Does he have a girlfriend," another asked.
"Like he tells me." She suspected he and Candy were off again. Sometimes she wondered if they even knew, and then decided she didn't care. If these girls were interested in Apollo, the could go bother him. Rather than continue this conversation, which was similar to dozens she'd had before and none of which she'd liked, she retreated to her room. By the time she went to sleep, the whole room was done as her old one had been, with the conopied bed made of silver birches who's branched laced elegantly at the top and hung with gauzy blue-grey curtains that drifted mistily. The carpet was obscured by a thin, unidentifiable silvery fog. She'd even altered the light to be sort of etheral. Feeling much more at home, she fell asleep, neither knowing nor caring that she'd set off magical alarms all over the country.
Breakfast was the same sort of solid food that had been at the feast the night before. It wasn't that she was worried about the fat it must contain, as Delacour obviously did. Elves couldn't get fat – although saturated fats could make them violently sick – but it felt like rocks in her stomach. For the most part she ignored what she was eating as she did her peers, instead scrutinizing her schedule with faked interest. There was one group, however, that ignored her pointed disintrest and watched her far more than anyone else did. There was a suspision about them, a watchfulness. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.
"What do you want?" she demanded, slapping her timetable onto the table with a force that surprised even her, making many of the dishes rattle. They seemed to hesitate.
"Your name's Riddle, isn't it?" one of the girls asked finally. She, like one of the boys, had bright red hair and freckles, although they looked much better on her than on him.
She could have answered flippantly, but as she looked from one set face to another, Artemis decided that maybe this wasn't the best time for that. "It is," she said slowly, "although not by birth."
"Then why use it?" one of the boys broke in. "Don't you know what it means?" He seemed unusually young for seventeen, although it could have been his glasses and untidy black hair that did it, or quite possibly fear.
"Yes, Harry, I know what it mean." The effect of her statement was electrifying. Eyes widened and hands reached for wands. "And if I could, I'd change it, but some things are not for us to decide."
"Do you know what he did?" demanded the red-haired boy in a strained voice. He, like many celts, seemed to have troulbes with his temper. It would cause him problems, she was sure. Seeing his face, and those of his friends, she decided this definitley wasn't the best way to meet people.
"I do. Perhaps someday you will too. Until then," she said, trying to finish the unpleasant conversation, "it should be engouh that Dumbledore trusts me." She grabbed jer timetable and abandoned her half-eaten breakfast. Once she was out of the Great Hall she broke into a run, streaming past everyone and everything until she was completely lost. Then she sank to the floor and cried. It was stupid to cry, pointless, but she couldn't help it. The didn't know, didn't understand; no one did. She wiped her eyes on the wide sleeve of her school robe and stared at the crystal tears. She shouldn't be able to cry. Elves couldn't, not really. They just looked horribly sad, and their eyes sort of filled. Apollo was the same way and Ares – she wasn't sure. She'd never seen him cry, or even come close.
"I was wondering when you were going to stop," a familiar voice said. But when she looked up to try and find the source, the boy she saw was unknown to her. He wore the same black robes as everyone else, although his has obviously been proffessionally tailored just for him. His tie was green and grey – silk, unless she missed her guess – and he wore a well polished silver badge that read 'Head Boy', pinned just so.
Artemis remembered another boy, so like this one. It was his voice she had thought she heard. The other boy had worn the same tie and badge, although his robes had been plainer, and his tie some cheaper fabric. The other boy had had black hair and deep, dark blue eyes, where this one's hair was so blond as to be almost colourless and his eyes were steel grey.
"What're you doing here?" she demanded.
"I might ask the same." His expression was unreadable. "Most people don't come up here during the day."
"Where am I, anyway?" she asked. Damn, she hated being ignorant.
"On top of the north tower." That was odd. She was sure she hadn't taken more than a few stairs. But that did seem to be where she was. Her back was against some sort of stone ledge, the same one that the boy lounged against a few yards away. Behind him all she could see was sky.
"I'm sorry," she said. She hadn't meant to be aroung anyone when she broke down. He waved a hand dismissivley, almost like he understood, although she doubted he did. So he could pretend he knew things in order to manipulate people. Interesting; the other boy had been able to do that too, and had done so often.
"Draco Malfoy," he introduced himslef. A small smile, like he was laughing inwardly at some private joke, played about his lips.
"Artemis Riddle." She knew a Malfoy, and she didn't like him. Even the many years since their only meeting hadn't dimmed her distaste. At the same time, she'd been assured he was an idiot, if a useful one. She had agreed with the first part. From him, she had heard of this boy, although he'd only been a baby then.
"So I've heard," he agreed. Then he suggested, "maybe you should be getting ready for your next class."
"Right," she said slowly. It took a moment to smooth the schedule which she still held crumpeled in her hand.
"Potions with Proffesor Snape," she read. Another name she recognised. A slight surprise, to be sure, although she vaugely remembered that it shouldn't have been.
"I have that too," Draco said. "We might as well go together. Unless you can find it on your own?"
"Funny," she muttered. "I…I need my stuff," she added hesitantly. He looked at her with what seemed forced patience. "Just give me a minute." She pictured what she needed. Two textbooks, parchment, quill, ink, and the little bag where she kept her potions ingredients. She added her notebook of spells and notes from Wildmoor for good measure. It all landed in a pile in front of her. Looking at it, she decided she'd need a bag too. While she'd been able to summon everything else, she didn't have a bag. That wasn't a problem, though, as conjuring one was the work of seconds. As soon as it appeared she glanced up at Draco. Most people showed some kind of emotion when they saw her work magic, but his face was as unreadable – bored, even – as before.
She loaded her bag quickly and slung it over her shoulder. The door, which she'd assumed would lead to a spiral staircase, actually opened into a bustling corridor. Now that she actually looked, she could see the spell that folded space and carried them between places. Given time to study it, she might be able to duplicate it. She made a mental note to do so, provided she could find her way back here.
Very few could see magic as she could. It was a rare gift, even among elves. Certainly a useful one. It was hard, not being able to use the same spells as anyone else. Ares could do some of hers, but she had to invent them first. That was dangerous. A new spell, or any spell, gone wrong had disastrous effects. The new ones went wrong far more often. In her eighteen years she'd created quite a few, all of which she carefully noted in her notebook. Most just meant visualizing something or wanting it to happen just so, but many were far more complex, though she used those far less often.
Draco led her through the crowd, which seemed to part in front of them, and down into the dungeons. "Hold on a second, I need to get my bag." She leaned against the wall while he whispered the password and entered the Slytherin dormitories. He needn't have bothered; she heard him fine anyway. She didn't need a password to get in. If she had to, she could blast her way in, or pull a stunt like she had with the Hat. Still, she made a mental note of the door and its password. You never knew.
I should also like to note, just for reference although I'll write more about it in future chapters, that Draco has decided his feud with Harry was childish, and discontinued it in their sixth year by totally ignoring him. On the other hand, he still actively persues his dislike of Ron, although it is now for more personal reasons (he hates Ron and can't be bothered with reasons) than that Ron's a poor piece of wizard trash. He has also broken with Crabbe and Goyle, having gotten sick of their stupidity (after much too long, in my opinion), and generally avoids the rest of the Slytherins, finding them to be petty and coarse.
Red. So much red. And gold. The gold definitly made it tacky. Why must everything be red and gold? She like silvery-blue much better. That was how her room at Wildmoor was decorated, all crystal and silver with filmy hangings of grey or ice-blue. This room, where she would sleep, was all gold, red, and mahogany. Her bed had, for the last six years, belonged to the girl who was now Head Girl. The Head Boy and Girl got their own rooms, a luxury Artemis feverently wished for. Instead, she was stuck with four seventeen year old girls who exemplified every form of stupidity, from 'air-head' to 'ditz'.
This would all have to change. Killing her roomates would be easy enough, but bodies meant questions, and she'd found you could never get the smell of death out of a place. It wasn't even a smell really, more of a feeling, but it made for uncomfortable living quarters all the same. The best place to kill people was outside, where the breeze would take the stench away. Disposal – murder was such an ugly word – was out of the question, so she'd have to improvise.
That her bed was at the far end of the dormitory would make it that much easier. Ignoring the chatter of the other girls, she set to work. As she did, she was dimly aware of total silence falling behind her. Conjuring was easy engouh, but she'd never done walls before. Rather than risk structurally damaging the castle, she conjured a wall tthat cut her bed off from the rest of the room, but which ended a few inches short of the ceiling. That would help with air circulation too. Sealing the wall to the floor was easy, and now nothing short of powerful magic or an earthquake would rip it up. It wouldn't do to have her thick stone wall fall on her. She added a door, a beautiful one made of mahogany on this side and birch on the inside, rounded at the top. Someone obviously liked this colour scheme, so she wouldn't ruin it for them. Now to redecorate the inside.
The main door banged open. She whirled, ready to destroy the new arrival. "What the hell are you doing?" Apollo demanded. No need for magic, then. Apollo could be annoying, but he wasn't dangerous – to her, at least. She relaxed, if only a little. He stood in the doorway, outlined by the light from the stairs. Despite his obvious anger, his face couldn't achieve any more emotion than a stern look. Not that he wasn't trying. If there was one thing he really tried to do, it was to control people, himself most importantly. But elven face muscles just weren't designed to show emotion.
The other girls in the room giggled nervously or sighed, or did something inbetween. Apollo generally had that effect on girls. That didn't make them any less of idiots. "You're supposed to sleep here, not redecorate," he said as sternly as he could manage. If elven faces weren't meant for emotion, there voices weren't designed for infliction.
She returned his glare – which it was, and if it wasn't much by human standards, it was scorching by elven – with one of her own, although hers had something like bland humor in it. She'd always managed to be more expressive than he. "I don't like red and gold, and I hate mahogany."
"Then you should have at least warned people," he admonished. "there are teachers in the common room having coniptions. They think there's a war or at least a battle going on up here." She shrugged a bit uncomfortably, not quite meeting his eyes. He always made her feel young and stupid. His gaze softened, and he went so far as to smile, if wanly. She heard a collective sigh from the penut gallery. "I know you miss home," he said gently. Five weeks away from Wildmoor had seemed like an eternity. They hadn't even been here a day, but an hour in hell can seem an eternity, and she'd already spent five weeks there. "Just… try to fit in, alright?" he said in the elven tounge. No need for the penut gallery to hear. She nodded. "I'll see you later." He left.
"Your brother is so hot," one of the girls gushed. Or maybe she squealed a little. Artemis wasn't too well versed on such things. Artemis didn't know her name, either. She didn't know any of the girls'. She wondered if she really wanted to."Does he have a girlfriend," another asked.
"Like he tells me." She suspected he and Candy were off again. Sometimes she wondered if they even knew, and then decided she didn't care. If these girls were interested in Apollo, the could go bother him. Rather than continue this conversation, which was similar to dozens she'd had before and none of which she'd liked, she retreated to her room. By the time she went to sleep, the whole room was done as her old one had been, with the conopied bed made of silver birches who's branched laced elegantly at the top and hung with gauzy blue-grey curtains that drifted mistily. The carpet was obscured by a thin, unidentifiable silvery fog. She'd even altered the light to be sort of etheral. Feeling much more at home, she fell asleep, neither knowing nor caring that she'd set off magical alarms all over the country.
Breakfast was the same sort of solid food that had been at the feast the night before. It wasn't that she was worried about the fat it must contain, as Delacour obviously did. Elves couldn't get fat – although saturated fats could make them violently sick – but it felt like rocks in her stomach. For the most part she ignored what she was eating as she did her peers, instead scrutinizing her schedule with faked interest. There was one group, however, that ignored her pointed disintrest and watched her far more than anyone else did. There was a suspision about them, a watchfulness. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.
"What do you want?" she demanded, slapping her timetable onto the table with a force that surprised even her, making many of the dishes rattle. They seemed to hesitate.
"Your name's Riddle, isn't it?" one of the girls asked finally. She, like one of the boys, had bright red hair and freckles, although they looked much better on her than on him.
She could have answered flippantly, but as she looked from one set face to another, Artemis decided that maybe this wasn't the best time for that. "It is," she said slowly, "although not by birth."
"Then why use it?" one of the boys broke in. "Don't you know what it means?" He seemed unusually young for seventeen, although it could have been his glasses and untidy black hair that did it, or quite possibly fear.
"Yes, Harry, I know what it mean." The effect of her statement was electrifying. Eyes widened and hands reached for wands. "And if I could, I'd change it, but some things are not for us to decide."
"Do you know what he did?" demanded the red-haired boy in a strained voice. He, like many celts, seemed to have troulbes with his temper. It would cause him problems, she was sure. Seeing his face, and those of his friends, she decided this definitley wasn't the best way to meet people.
"I do. Perhaps someday you will too. Until then," she said, trying to finish the unpleasant conversation, "it should be engouh that Dumbledore trusts me." She grabbed jer timetable and abandoned her half-eaten breakfast. Once she was out of the Great Hall she broke into a run, streaming past everyone and everything until she was completely lost. Then she sank to the floor and cried. It was stupid to cry, pointless, but she couldn't help it. The didn't know, didn't understand; no one did. She wiped her eyes on the wide sleeve of her school robe and stared at the crystal tears. She shouldn't be able to cry. Elves couldn't, not really. They just looked horribly sad, and their eyes sort of filled. Apollo was the same way and Ares – she wasn't sure. She'd never seen him cry, or even come close.
"I was wondering when you were going to stop," a familiar voice said. But when she looked up to try and find the source, the boy she saw was unknown to her. He wore the same black robes as everyone else, although his has obviously been proffessionally tailored just for him. His tie was green and grey – silk, unless she missed her guess – and he wore a well polished silver badge that read 'Head Boy', pinned just so.
Artemis remembered another boy, so like this one. It was his voice she had thought she heard. The other boy had worn the same tie and badge, although his robes had been plainer, and his tie some cheaper fabric. The other boy had had black hair and deep, dark blue eyes, where this one's hair was so blond as to be almost colourless and his eyes were steel grey.
"What're you doing here?" she demanded.
"I might ask the same." His expression was unreadable. "Most people don't come up here during the day."
"Where am I, anyway?" she asked. Damn, she hated being ignorant.
"On top of the north tower." That was odd. She was sure she hadn't taken more than a few stairs. But that did seem to be where she was. Her back was against some sort of stone ledge, the same one that the boy lounged against a few yards away. Behind him all she could see was sky.
"I'm sorry," she said. She hadn't meant to be aroung anyone when she broke down. He waved a hand dismissivley, almost like he understood, although she doubted he did. So he could pretend he knew things in order to manipulate people. Interesting; the other boy had been able to do that too, and had done so often.
"Draco Malfoy," he introduced himslef. A small smile, like he was laughing inwardly at some private joke, played about his lips.
"Artemis Riddle." She knew a Malfoy, and she didn't like him. Even the many years since their only meeting hadn't dimmed her distaste. At the same time, she'd been assured he was an idiot, if a useful one. She had agreed with the first part. From him, she had heard of this boy, although he'd only been a baby then.
"So I've heard," he agreed. Then he suggested, "maybe you should be getting ready for your next class."
"Right," she said slowly. It took a moment to smooth the schedule which she still held crumpeled in her hand.
"Potions with Proffesor Snape," she read. Another name she recognised. A slight surprise, to be sure, although she vaugely remembered that it shouldn't have been.
"I have that too," Draco said. "We might as well go together. Unless you can find it on your own?"
"Funny," she muttered. "I…I need my stuff," she added hesitantly. He looked at her with what seemed forced patience. "Just give me a minute." She pictured what she needed. Two textbooks, parchment, quill, ink, and the little bag where she kept her potions ingredients. She added her notebook of spells and notes from Wildmoor for good measure. It all landed in a pile in front of her. Looking at it, she decided she'd need a bag too. While she'd been able to summon everything else, she didn't have a bag. That wasn't a problem, though, as conjuring one was the work of seconds. As soon as it appeared she glanced up at Draco. Most people showed some kind of emotion when they saw her work magic, but his face was as unreadable – bored, even – as before.
She loaded her bag quickly and slung it over her shoulder. The door, which she'd assumed would lead to a spiral staircase, actually opened into a bustling corridor. Now that she actually looked, she could see the spell that folded space and carried them between places. Given time to study it, she might be able to duplicate it. She made a mental note to do so, provided she could find her way back here.
Very few could see magic as she could. It was a rare gift, even among elves. Certainly a useful one. It was hard, not being able to use the same spells as anyone else. Ares could do some of hers, but she had to invent them first. That was dangerous. A new spell, or any spell, gone wrong had disastrous effects. The new ones went wrong far more often. In her eighteen years she'd created quite a few, all of which she carefully noted in her notebook. Most just meant visualizing something or wanting it to happen just so, but many were far more complex, though she used those far less often.
Draco led her through the crowd, which seemed to part in front of them, and down into the dungeons. "Hold on a second, I need to get my bag." She leaned against the wall while he whispered the password and entered the Slytherin dormitories. He needn't have bothered; she heard him fine anyway. She didn't need a password to get in. If she had to, she could blast her way in, or pull a stunt like she had with the Hat. Still, she made a mental note of the door and its password. You never knew.