Chapter 10: The Fall of Alexandria
Author's Note: Just a quick warning: this chapter has a bit of strong language (not vulgar, just harsh). I think it lends a feeling of realism to the piece. However, if you find it offensive, please, let me know, and I'll take that into consideration for later chapters.
A.M. opened her eyes to see the creamy silk canopy of her bed. When she had applied to Hogwarts, she had asked for no special treatment, but received her own dorm nonetheless. Now she was grateful for the privacy.
The room spread out in a crimson and gold glory. An ornate folding screen hid a deep marble bath and sink, daily laden with plush, fresh towels by the house elves. Her few meager belongings were strewn haphazardly across a cherry vanity, complete with oval mirror and gold inlay. Her fireplace had already been lit and was crackling merrily, an iron teapot warming above the flames. In other words, the room was incredibly posh and well cared for- much more so than any other room in the school.
Not ready to put her feet on the cold, stone floor of the round boudoir, she simply rolled away from the sun streaming in the windows. She wasn't planning to go back to sleep, but would welcome it if it came.
As her thoughts drifted to Harry, she felt a quick, sharp pang in her chest. She thought that if she showed that she was a good person and appealed to the positive attributes she saw in him, he'd come around- but that apparently was not the case. 'One more try,' she promised herself. 'One more and I'll know there's no chance.' With that resolution, her only task was to work on dragging herself from the warmth of her bed. A knock brought her stumbling across the room to open the heavy door.
Outside her room stood Parvarti, impatiently tapping her foot. "May I help you?" A.M. asked, slightly annoyed that the other girl was now trying to peek in her room.
"Oh, yeah. That Weasley guy wants to talk to you. He sent me up here to see if you could come down and talk… hey, your room looks a lot bigger than mine-"
"Yes, well, thank you for the message, Parvarti. Just tell Ron I'll be down in a few minutes." With that she closed the door, protecting herself from further spying.
A.M. knew what Ron wanted to talk about and was in no mood to deal with that particular can of worms. 'He could have Hermione at his beck and call. Why would he want me instead?' A.M. didn't consider herself particularly intelligent and certainly her magic was unimpressive. While she had other wizarding skills, no one knew anything about them, so those couldn't be grounds for an attraction. She was pretty, but if Hermione would fix herself up a little, they'd rival each other physically. She had a fairly good sense of humor, but the lies and secrets- no joke could make up for what A.M. was hiding. The fact was, she was a mental mess with no mother and a strange affinity for the most hated teacher in school. No exactly someone you'd take home to mum.
She quickly pulled her hair back and threw on the wrinkled sweats she had worn last weekend. When one was about to reject another's feelings, one should at least have the decency to rough up her appearance. The only thing worse than being dumped is not being able to make fun of the dumper. A.M. would make it easy for Ron.
She found the redhead pacing nervously at the foot of the stairs, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. If A.M. were to put her potential dance dates on a spectrum, Ron would be to the far left. While he'd become more sure of himself since they'd met, he certainly wasn't any maverick. He constantly suffered from foot-in-mouth and a sheen of sweat on his brow. If he were to take more time to consider his words, he'd be less of an embarrassment to himself. He was a good person, just a little naive and spastic.
Draco fell on the other end. He was an egoist, only interested in others if it benefited him. He sickened A.M. with his arrogance. She hoped he choked on it. No amount of money or power could get her to touch him, let alone become romantically involved. While A.M. was usually a pacifist, after seeing the way he treated Hermione (the words "sickening, bigoted racist" had replayed in her head for hours after their meeting), she vowed to use his own tactics against him, if the chance were to come about.
But Harry made up the happy median. He was quietly confident, sure of his own actions, but not willing to admit so aloud. How could he not be after he'd thwarted Voldemort so many times? A.M. didn't know if it was skill or blind luck, but he always came out on the good side of things. He'd been feeling some turmoil lately, especially after what had happened to his poor godfather (despite his failure to acquire the prophecy, Voldemort was delighted to hear of Sirius' demise). A.M. could sense his underlying anger, but even more than that, a never-ending determination. She'd read in an antique psychology book that ambitious people often had horrible tempers (droning and pages about masking their disappointment in themselves or something of the like), so Harry was indeed a shade better personality-wise than most men of his caliber.
But what he hid most was his bravery. When A.M. first saw him two years ago, he astounded her with his ability to face his fears. He never called for mercy, never surrendered to impossible odds. Yet, he wasn't boastful here at school. In fact, many of the fellow students riddled him with teasing, but he quietly withstood it.
"Ron?" It was more of a question than a statement, yet it was enough to bring the boy to attention.
"Uh, A.M.? What happened?" He was wrinkling his nose at her shiny face and messy hair.
"Nothing. I just wanted to hurry down here."
"Oh, okay." He moved closer, and she could feel his breath on her exposed ear. "Can we talk in private?"
"Oh, sure," she replied and followed him out of the common room. They walked down the hall in silence for several minutes, Ron's arms still stiffly behind his back.
"So… what's up?" Ron finally stammered, his eyes glued on the floor. A.M. could feel his nervousness and it was making her tense as well. She was extremely sensitive to other's feelings: a blessing and a curse. When she was in control, she was able to better interact with others, but when she lost the fragile balance, she would mirror their emotions, both positive and negative.
"The same stuff that was up last night. What's so important that you needed to get me out of bed?"
"Oh, I didn't know you were still asleep. I'm real sorry."
She shrugged. "I was just lazing around. I needed someone to get me up." She had to play this carefully. Obviously, she would hurt his feelings when turned him down for the dance, but, if not done correctly, she'd either scar him for life or not get the point across and end up having to go through the same situation at some time in the near future. A.M.'s goal was to make her plutonic feelings perfectly clear, but still keep Ron as a friend. While the more obvious reason for this would be the fragile connection between Harry and her that the redhead represented, in truth, A.M. liked the boy. He had a good heart and, in a different place, perhaps something could have sprung up between the two.
"A.M., would you go with me to Hogsmeade? The next visit is on Saturday and-"
She sighed and hung her head. "I'm sorry, Ron. I can't."
He turned red and perspiration became visible on the underarms of his shirt. "Oh, well, how about the dance? Do you have a date?"
"No."
"Oh, well, if you don't have a date, maybe you and I-"
"Ron," she put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't have a date. But I won't go with you to the dance."
His mouth opened and shut a few times as he stared at her. "What do you mean? I thought you… all this time we spend together… that you were interested…"
"Ron, it just wouldn't work out between us. I think you're a wonderful friend, but a friend is all you are."
"So you've been leading me on?!" His eyes narrowed
"I haven't been leading you on! How many times have I invited you to do anything? Not a one. You've instigated any time we've spent together. And your grades reflect that. I've been working my ass off to help you with that History class."
He placed his hands on his hips and A.M. tried hard to block out images of her mother chastising her as a child. "That's utter crap. You didn't have to spend all that time with me. You could have said no. Instead you decided to be a cocktease."
"Excuse me?!" Her chest tightened and she struggled to keep from throttling him. "I understand you're upset, so, as long as you apologize, I won't lose my temper."
"Apologize? You're the one who should do that. You know, every girl is the same. You act like you want it, then as soon as you know you have the guy on a string, you don't-"
"Want it?" she spat. "What exactly is it?"
"You know what I mean-"
"Oh, are you referring to sexual intercourse?" A.M. smiled cruelly at the flush that enveloped his face. "So now if a girl helps you with your homework, it means she wants to get into your tightie whities? Why would any girl want sleep with a guy that can't even refer to the act? Awfully immature, don't you think?"
"Go to hell." He made a rude hand gesture and began to walk back toward the Gryffindor tower.
"And what about Hermione?"
He swung around quickly, his face contorted in anger. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"
"I heard you in the hallway. I know about the letter-"
"The shit you know about some letter. You don't know anything about Hermione and me. So stay out of it."
"I've talked to her. And I'm not an idiot. I know that you liked her before I got here, and I figure you still do." She laughed. "Talk about a cocktease. You write the poor girl a letter confessing your supposed undying love, then as soon as you have her interested in you, you don't want her."
"I didn't write the damn letter!" She felt herself grow weak against the power of his anger, but she'd never found an outlet for the hurt and anguish of the past years. Ron had unleashed a power decades in the making and she couldn't stop it.
"You did write that letter! Don't freaking stand there and lie to me! I hate liars!" Then the truth hit her, so hard it hurt. She was just as bad as Ron. She was the liar. 'I'm only trying to protect myself,' she justified. But her anger was gone. "You know, you're right, Ron," she said quietly. "You're wrong about me trying to seduce you and all that, but you're right about the rest. You and Hermione are none of my business. You and Hermione and Harry, you're my friends- well, I hope you are- but you have your own lives, separate from mine and-"
Ron waved his hand, stopping her in mid-sentence. He peered into her eyes, squinting. "What did you say?"
"I said that you and Hermione and Harry-"
"See, there it is again." He chuckled bitterly and began scratching at the back of his head. "I can't believe I didn't see it before."
"See what?"
"When you say his name, you get this look in your eyes and you kind of smile funny."
"Ron," she was losing her patience, "what are you talking about?"
"You're in love with Harry, aren't you?" He didn't give her time to answer. "I mean, you don't just have some stupid crush, like I do; you're really in love with him."
"Fuck off."
"All this time, I thought it was me you were interested in, but it was Harry. My best friend." He grinned eagerly and leaned toward her. "Does he know?"
"I said, fuck off."
"So what was I, bait? You hook the worm and maybe you'll catch the big fish?"
"I'm leaving now," she stated matter-of-factly, and spun on her heel, ready to head anywhere but that tense spot in the hall.
She heard a quite murmur behind her: "Slut."
"So first I was a prude and now I'm a slut? Well, that doesn't make much sense, does it?" She felt wetness on her cheeks and was surprised to feel tears flowing freely from her eyes. "I didn't want to hurt anybody and I wasn't using you, I promise.
"He's not interested, believe me. He hates you. And even if he did like you, he's a good friend. He knows you're my territory-"
"I'm sorry?! I am no one's territory! Perhaps your friend respects your interests, but it's not because I belong to you. You can just forget that idea right now."
"Whatever. Just give it up. He's not going to go for you. Ever. He's got some other girl on his brain."
She blanked her face to hide the pain in her heart. "I had hoped we'd leave this conversation as friends, but that seems to be your choice, not mine," she sobbed. "I'm going to walk the other way now, so please, just drop it."
"A.M., it doesn't make sense," Ron called after her. "How can you love a guy who doesn't love you back, especially when you've only known him a few months?"
"There's always things you don't know about a situation," she answered over her shoulder. "As it is, I have all the facts and I still don't understand. So, to answer your question, sometimes it doesn't have to make sense."
***
Things were falling apart: she could feel it. The Order of the Phoenix had worked diligently to create her a new life, but it wasn't a new start, it was only a turn in direction. It was as if she had rounded a corner, but it seemed that people were peeking around it and seeing the footprints she'd tried so hard to cover.
So Harry had it hard for the other girl? After A.M. had worked so much to get him interested in her? So what? She had bigger things to worry about. Like being discovered, for one.
Even so, A.M. could not help but feel that there was more than just adolescent love interest at stake. Something pushed her to find… answers, and Harry was the key to discovering them. She'd known that since the moment she'd first seen him, but only now had a chance to learn the truth.
A.M's only comforting thought was the fact that Harry was going for the lost cause. No matter how hard he tried to win the other girl, he'd never have her. That girl knew the dangers of becoming emotionally attached, to involve another person in her twisted, eternally cursed life. A.M. hated that girl, even longed to end her existence, but that would not happen. The two would merely have to coexist, one wishing to be someone else, the other wishing only to be herself.
These were the sort of thoughts that plagued A.M.'s waking hours. Many of the other students gossiped about the fact that, on days with no classes, she would often sleep past noon. Her life had become so sordid, her subconscious seemed to be the only sane part of her left. Had she been psychologically analyzed, the constant confusion, fatigue, and general malaise in which she lived would be diagnosed as post-traumatic stress syndrome. However, the Order of the Phoenix had no ties to neurological specialists, so it was too risky to sneak one into Hogwarts. A.M. knew that most of the members of the guerilla group cared for her general welfare, but secrecy was more important than slight inconsistencies in A.M.'s mental state.
Perhaps this was why Ron's reaction had shaken her more than she let on. She was usually good at handling conflicts, but had never expected the redhead's antagonistic snipes. Still, after all she'd been through, she'd trained herself to handle almost any barb and had been able to bury her true emotions from the event. It was his inference of serious feelings for Harry that scared her. Was it true? Had her simple crush turned to something bigger without her knowing? She hadn't denied his assumptions, though she could have easily. Was it a Freudian slip? Did she indeed love Harry?
It was frightening to think that such a powerful emotion could hide below the surface and avoid detection by its very owner. So many questions of, "How do you know it's love?" were answered with a simple, "You just know," but that just wasn't true. After all, many friends remain just that- friends, for years, only to get married decades later. Certainly they didn't go all that time without knowing their real feelings, right? A.M. had always prescribed to the idea of love at first sight, but knew that it could blindside a person as well. After all, she'd owned While You Were Sleeping on VHS. She had video documents on the idea.
A crack of thunder had her jumping from her post by her fireplace. She walked to the window to see the first of the heavy rain begin to fall. Since her dorm was on the top floor of the tower, the rain roared on the thin roof and echoed through the circular room, even masking the usual creaks and groans of the ancient castle. As A.M. looked around she realized that all her candles had burned down, leaving only the glow of her dying fire. The sky was as dark as smoke, offering no warmth to the shadowy room. Her throat tightened as she realized the black shadows behind the furniture could hide any number of dangers.
Lightning ate at the sky and lit the tower with a ghoulish strobe effect. The gale, quickly closing in on the school, followed with another raucous clap of thunder. However, the noise was not enough to mask that familiar cackle riding the wind. 'Surely that's not him,' A.M.'s mind quickly raced, but was unable to catch the frantic pace of he heart. 'Dumbledore and Snape promised he wouldn't find me.' Of course, she didn't believe that. After all, Voldemort was the most powerful wizard the world had ever seen. Even if he was stripped of his magic, he still had an incredibly impressive network of goons and henchmen. It was ludicrous to think he wouldn't have someone on the inside, ready to rat her out.
The room suddenly felt entirely too large. The door was miles away from her tiny figure, pressed against the frigid glass window. If someone was in the room, there'd be no way she could reach it safely. 'The wards, the guards, the spells: there's no way anyone could get past all of those,' A.M. tried to convince herself. 'Not this soon. I'm safe. Just take one step at a time towards the door. Just one step at a time.' She nudged one foot an inch across the floor, but the fear was paralyzing. What would Voldemort do when he found her? Kill her like he did those other girls? Cut out her heart?
She
took a deep breath and ran for it. She
slipped on the ancient Persian rug, but was able to regain her balance and make
it to the hallway. There was no one
behind her, no one trying to get to her.
A nervous, hysterical laugh escaped A.M.'s lips. She was so paranoid that now she was even
hearing voices and seeing things in the shadows. 'Maybe it's time for a reality check,'
she told herself, trying to ignore that nagging feeling in the back of her
mind.
She was certainly entitled to a bit of paranoia. She had barely escaped with her life. Snape had come to her one night, when she'd been tossing in her tiny bed and whispered two words in her sleepy ear: "Back door." With that he'd quickly disappeared down the hall, leaving A.M. with her bald terror. She had always suspected that the day would come when the tides would turn, but she had never expected it to come so soon. It had taken her ten minutes to pack her bag and two hours to reach the front door undetected.
She'd spirited herself into the dark forests surrounding the village, where'd she'd slept until daylight. Over the span of three months she'd made her way on foot across the countryside, traveling only along streets hidden from view by thick shrubbery and trees, and only when she was sure she wasn't being followed. Obviously, this kind of behavior, when practiced over such a long time, could easily explain A.M.'s constant feeling of eyes on her back and habit of always looking over her shoulder. Even after Snape and the Order of the Phoenix pulled her, shivering and muddy, from a flooded creek bed, she couldn't shake her nerves.
However, A.M.'s instincts were usually correct. No matter how unlikely it was that she had heard the Dark Lord's laugh or been watched in her bedroom, she had the suspicion that it was true.
The common room was empty, the fire now a pile of smoldering embers, the brightest light the strikes that crashed outside the window. Hurricanic winds drove rain against the windows in sheets, blurring the outside landscape. "Hello?" A.M. called, her voice echoing in the deserted space. There was no answer and it was only until she heard the deep tones of the clock striking that she realized everyone had left for dinner. "Well, there's no one up here, so you might as well go down to supper," she said aloud, trying desperately to break the cloying silence. Her pulse was racing and she was having trouble drawing breath, but refused to give in to her fears. She walked swiftly, head held high, down the hall, her footsteps deafened by the howling wind.
The hall was packed and noisy, the students ignoring the foreboding, swirling clouds above them, mirroring the weather kept out by the thin windows. Hermione had once again saved a spot for A.M. and motioned for her to join the table, a brilliant smile across her usually serene face. "Either you've won the lottery or Ron's asked you to the dance," A.M. told her friend, pleased to see her happiness.
"Number two!" she giggled. "You missed it! He came over right before the food showed up and asked me in front of everyone."
It dismayed A.M. that Ron had made such a display, probably for her benefit more than Hermione's. However, she couldn't be more excited that he had at least moved on to his next choice. It meant he wouldn't be flirting with her anymore and perhaps Harry would feel more inclined to ask for a date.
"A.M.," Hermione asked, worry creeping into her voice, "are you alright?"
"Huh, yeah, why do you ask?"
"You're all white and shivering, that's why."
She shrugged. What was the point of dragging up the laugh and the terrifying darkness? It was all in her imagination. "I guess it's this cold air the weather is dragging in."
"I think you'd be used to it, what from being from Canada and all. Isn't it terribly wretched weather over there?"
It was all A.M. could do to stop herself from saying, "Don't know, never been." She'd almost blown it. "Well, it doesn't usually get so cold so early in the year, you know?"
"Well, this is normal November weather here in England. You might as well get used to it because it's going to keep raining for a long time to come."
"I suppose, but I don't recall thunderstorms being a big problem, especially in such chilly conditions."
Hermione stared into the black clouds above her head. "I suppose that, scientifically, winter lighting is possible, but you're right: don't warm fronts usually create thunderstorms?"
The sense of foreboding grew stronger, stiffening A.M.'s spine. It was suddenly imperative that she be reassured. "I heard something. A laugh."
"Just now? What's the big deal then?"
"No, earlier. When I was upstairs in my room." She leaned in closer to the other girl.
"It was probably just someone down in the common room-"
"No, the tower was empty. Besides, it was outside."
Hermione chuckled. "It was just in your head: it's far too noisy outside to hear anything, let alone a little laugh."
"No, I really did hear something. It sounded like Volde-" She stopped short, but it was too late. A general lull in conversation meant most of the students around them had heard what Hermione and she had been discussing.
They stared, slack-jawed at her for a moment, then quickly turned their fellow friends, quickly spreading the news. "Did you hear that? A.M. says she heard you-know-who." More faces turned toward the girls as the rumor passed like wildfire. Soon enough a girl A.M. didn't know tapped her on the shoulder. "Is it true?" she asked in a thick Irish brogue. "Did you really see you-know-who in your window?"
"No! I just heard something and it sounded sort of like Voldemort!" At his name the crowd went silent and a Hufflepuff boy threw a wadded napkin at her. "Seriously, I didn't see anything."
The unknown girl glared at someone across the room, but began walking back toward her table. "You see, Sylvia, it's a bunch of rubbish. She didn't see nothing at all." Even so, everyone in the room, besides the teachers, seemed visibly shaken. What happened next, though terrifying, was no surprise, especially not to A.M.
There was the sound of the great front door slamming shut, then an ear-piercing scream. People looked from one pair of white-rimmed eyes to the next and A.M. felt a hand on her forearm, though she did not look to identify its owner. 'Please, let the faculty get up and make some announcement that everything's just fine. Let them say they're expecting a hideous guest, one that would make a girl scream like that. Don't let them sit there and give us the same blank looks,' she silently prayed. But none of them made a move to reassure the panicked students.
Then she heard the thick, wet, slapping sounds. A.M. recognized them well. When she was five her mother took her to Central Park to play at Heckscher playground. However, after she traded her new shoes to another kid for a ham sandwich, her mother was so infuriated, she made her walk home. Halfway there the clouds burst open, spilling driving, hard drops on them both. Still, her mother refused to run or retreat to the subway. As they leaned against the wind, all A.M. could hear was the rain and her socks, walked loose at the toes, slapping against the pavement. That sick, sloppy squish was now echoing through the giant hall.
A girl A.M. did not recognize shuffled slowly into the room, her back hunched and her arms drooping at her sides like a gorilla. It seemed as if each step was forced by some unseen, giant hand, pushing her along. She made her way to the front of the room, zombie-like, and A.M. finally got her first good look at the stranger.
Her hair was wet and dirty, with bits of leaves, twigs, and other debris nesting between the ragged strands. What once could have been blonde, beautiful locks had been destroyed and waved in tatters around her head. Dark, muddy streaks broke up her pale skin and her blue eyes were hazy, like a dead fish's. Her clothes were shredded and much in the same state as the rest of her, but easily showed a black stain, spread across her chest and abdomen, where it seemed to have leaked down the front of her button-down. Her feet were bare but for a pair of socks, walked down until they looked like defective elf shoes, comically long at the toes.
But the stench was the most noticeable attribute. It filled the room, settling in a cloud that gagged the terrified students. A.M. had smelled it many, many times. It was the stink of death, and it clung to this girl's every pore.
Finally there was movement at the head table as McGonagall, raced to the other side, crying, "Fleur, are you all right?" 'So this… thing is that missing Fleur Delacour girl,' A.M. inferred. As soon as McGonagall came within a yard of the girl, Fleur simply stretched out an arm and the professor was flung effortlessly against the wall by some invisible force. No one ran to help the teacher, who either'd been knocked unconscious, or was pretending to be so for safety's sake.
A.M. couldn't stop her shaking as Fleur opened her mouth to speak, her voice raspy like old, dry leaves. "Within the city of Alexandria stood one of the seven wonders of the world: a lighthouse so tall not one man could conceive it. It stood proudly for many years, flaunting the people's arrogance. But it was toppled by a mighty earthquake and fell into the sea.
"Alexandria," the girl continued, "you will fall. Return to me, beloved, before you disappear under the black sea, sinking into the dark waves; the water will fill your lungs unless you return… beloved… return… my beloved, my lovely, queen of holies… or you will be crushed… you cannot escape, you can only die…"
With that, she fell limply to the floor, as if de-boned. A.M. watched in horror, her hand clapped helplessly to her mouth to keep her screams from escaping.
Author's Note: I have received several reviews asking me to post more frequently. I have considered these requests, and will try to do so: however, please be understanding of the fact that I am working on three majors and a job. I would love to write professionally, but at the time, it's only a hobby to do in spare time. I'd also like to apologize for the late posting on this chapter; I have been to Florida to see one side of my family and to England to do some research on my winter holiday (of course, by research I mean sightseeing and LOTS of eating). I'll try to be really quick with the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to send me a review.