September 1st. The last ride I would ever take on the Hogwarts express.
The last year I would ever be at Hogwarts. It was almost enough to make
me sentimental.
But this was neither the time nor the place for that: Platform 9 ¾ was filled with people, ranging from age eleven to nearly seventeen, along with worried parents and nervous pets and trunks too big for them. With the help of Vincent, and some so-called helpful comments from Frederic, my belongings had been shrunk and I was carrying them around in an old, left- over bag found in the wardrobe. I could easily carry it over one shoulder, dodging eleven-year-olds dragging trunks bigger than they were.
Speaking of eleven-year-olds, I needed to find my sister. I'd promised her I'd ride the train with her, and I wasn't going to go back on my promise now. The only trouble was finding her in the massive crowd. People bumped into me as I made my way across the platform, looking out over everyone's heads, searching for my sister. I bumped into someone who came running head- long from the entrance, and stumbled back. Curses, muffled due to having a Hogwarts' cloak in their face, spilled like water from the person. To my surprise, I recognised the voice.
"H- what are you running for?" I asked, helping Hermione to stand up straight. It seemed we were always running into each other, either by accident or because Vincent ordered me around. "It's only a quarter to eleven; you've got a lot of time."
"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to run into you, but there's such a crowd and I didn't look where I was going," she hurried to apologise, words stumbling over each other, "My watch stopped working, so I thought it was a lot less time left than it is, and I can't find Harry and Ron."
"We're right here," Weasley snapped from my right, and I froze, acutely aware that I was holding onto Hermione's arms. "And if you're done fraternising with the enemy now, we'd like to talk to you."
My eye twitched at the title bestowed to me. Fraternising with the enemy? Weasley really needed to get better insults: that was what everyone said he'd called Krum in our fourth year. The rumours had been running wild about how Hermione and he had had an almighty fight about Krum, and why Hermione went to the ball with him. It had been rather funny to hear, especially when Draco related the tale, and acted out the parts of Weasley and Hermione quite perfectly.
"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione snapped angrily, "How dare you say something like that?"
"I'll just go look for my sister now, shall I?" I said to the world at large, and slipped away from the impending fight.
I didn't have time to find out whether Hermione had defended herself or me, but my heart beat just little faster. Praying to the higher powers that I wasn't blushing, I began to look for my sister again, mentally beating myself up for even allowing my fancying of Hermione to even survive this long. It was silly, pointless and would only end up with her going off with someone else while I had a date with the pitcher of Pumpkin Juice again.
"Blaise! I've got someone here you might like to meet," Millicent pushed her way through the crowd, dragging my sister along.
"Blaise!" she said, wrapping her arms quite tightly around my middle, "Mama said you wasn't coming home, I missed you."
"I'm not coming home, I've moved out," I said, picking her up easily and hugging her back. "I missed you too, pixie. Excited about Hogwarts?"
"Uh-huh," she nodded so hard her newly-bought hat almost fell off. "That funny man with red eyes took me shopping, when Mama said I couldn't go, and we bought a wand!"
"The funny man with red eyes, eh?" I muttered, wondering what in the world had made Vincent Lucas take my sister school-shopping. "Let's get on the train, pixie; we don't want to miss it."
Marise attached herself to me and refused to let go. She hung onto me even as I attempted to play chess with Theo. Draco, Pansy and Millicent had of course met Marise before, but Theo, Agnes and Cain were new acquaintances, which wasn't something Marise usually took well to. However, she accepted the new people quite readily, perhaps because she was so busy talking about what she'd been doing over the summer, and about what her kitten had gotten up to.
Imagine my surprise when it turned out that not only had Vincent taken her to Diagon Alley: he'd let her buy a cat. She kept referring to it as a kitten, but it was a fully-grown grey cat, with more scars than should be legal. It looked vicious, but it was stretched out in its cage and purring like a thunderstorm. Draco had tried petting it, but after it nearly took his fingers off, we all let it be. Easily, the topic of conversation turned from our summers (which in Millicent's, Pansy's, Draco's and Cain's case had been smashing, but in the case of Theo and Agnes had been dismal) to the usual planning of pranks on Potter, Weasley and Hermione.
"Playing pranks isn't very nice," Marise piped up after a while, looking mildly disapproving.
"No, but we're Slytherins, pixie," I said, smiling, "It's expected of us."
"Why?"
"Everyone thinks we're mean, because the Founder of our House wasn't very nice," Cain explained to her with a careless shrug. "After a while, you get tired of proving them wrong, so we might as well prank them: it's what they expect, after all."
Cain seemed to have grasped, without explanations, that Marise wasn't quite up to an eleven-year-old's mental capacity, and had taken it quite calmly. It was difficult to keep from smiling at them, and I kept having visions of letters signed ´Marise Angevine´ in the future. But I didn't say anything, like I would have done a year ago: it seemed petty now.
"That's not very nice of them. If they think you're nasty, you will be." she pointed out with a six-year-old's logic. "Won't you?"
"Exactly," Cain replied, with a Chocolate Frog in his mouth. "Frog?"
Some halfway through the ride, I excused myself to go to the restroom, left Marise chatting with Cain and headed out from our compartment. I didn't really need to go, but I needed some time alone before we reached Hogwarts to figure out how I was going to explain things to them. Marise was simple; she already knew some of it, and would believe everything I told her. Millicent and the others would be more difficult, mainly because I'd been lying to them for over a year, and hadn't communicated with them over summer.
I washed my hands, for no other reason than to drag out on my absence from the compartment, and stared at myself in the mirror for the second time in less than a week. A few more scars had been added to my collection, most noticeably one running across my cheekbone, a thin, white line about an inch and a half long, earned during the attack on Diagon Alley. I was still puzzled about what had made them attack like that, in broad daylight no less. And the identity of the red-headed woman remained a mystery. Finally deciding that the train-ride would not be ideal place to drop the bombshell, I left the restroom and headed back to the compartment.
I spent the rest of the journey playing Exploding Snap with Draco, Pansy and Theo and losing most of the time. Agnes was draped on Theo's shoulder with a dreamy expression on her face, while Millicent curled up on the seat and wrote a letter to Gaspar. I kept up the ignorance of not having written any letters to them over summer, and no one seemed to bother to point it out.
The staff-table was, unusually, filled this year. Snape, who had been missing most of last year, was back, looking like death warmed over. After the initial shock, whispers broke out all over the Great Hall, and more fingers were pointed his way than in any previous year. Sinistra and Vincent were sitting next to each other, and I choked when I remembered that he'd said he'd fancied her for a year and a half. I hoped to high heaven that it had been when he went to school, because any knowledge of the teacher's love lives was disgusting. Then I'd have to imagine they were human, instead of robed menaces out to torture students.
I was so busy trying to block out any thoughts of Vincent and Sinistra in the same sentence that I missed most of the Sorting Song. All I heard was the end of it, which was more confusing than ever.
"The Thinking-Cap has returned
And within these walls
You shall much wisdom learn
You will not leave these halls
As you have entered them
But I shall but you in the House
Where you will be ready when duty calls."
It didn't even rhyme, and didn't make sense in any case. You will not leave these halls as you have entered them? That was obvious: we'd be smarter at the other end, but it had never sounded like this before. It was more like the songs drill-sergeants taught, about honour, duty and dying on the battlefield. The song ended, and the children trooped up to get Sorted, looking just as scared and nervous I remembered being seven years ago.
There were a few Hufflepuffs, and two Gryffindors, with "Mab, Juliana" being the first Ravenclaw, and "Maini, Graham" the first Slytherin. As when I had been Sorted, Marise had to wait until last to put on the Hat. When her name was finally called, she ambled up to the stool and put the Hat on, and I waited, holding my breath. It was almost out of the question for her to become a Slytherin, she was too nice for that, but I hoped she wouldn't end up in Gryffindor.
"Ravenclaw!" The Hat shouted after what felt like an eternity, and I jumped up and cheered together with the Ravenclaw table, whistling loudly.
Draco pulled me down again, looking faintly annoyed.
"Blaise, you're not supposed to cheer when they end up in other Houses," he said when I finally stopped clapping. "It goes against our Code of Honour."
"Who cares? She's in Ravenclaw!" I said, waving my arms wildly. "I'm proud!"
"Why? She's not in Slytherin!" Draco pointed out blankly.
"It really shows that you haven't got any siblings, Draco," I said, turning my attention to the Head Table instead. "If you did, you'd be happy even if they ended up in Ravenclaw."
"Whatever," he muttered.
Dumbledore stood up, made his customary speech about not being allowed in the Forbidden Forest for a reason, (he looked pointedly at Vincent when he spoke) and added that yet another range of Zonko-products had been banned from the hallways by Filch. He finished in the same manner he always did, with some strange words (Mimblewimble! Schlup! Wibble!) like always, and then the food appeared and thought was forcibly removed from from my head.
After I'd satisfied my most acute hunger with some fried potatoes and beef, I leaned back, sipped my Pumpkin Juice and surveyed the Great Hall. Marise was sitting between the Mab girl and Terry Boot, constantly pushing her too- large hat up, and looking quite happy with the state of things. At the Hufflepuff table, Bones was bashing MacMillan over the head with a spoon, while Weasley sported a rather spectacular bruise on his cheek at the Gryffindor table. Aside from Weasley's bruise, everything was exactly like it had been every year so far.
For a fleeting second, I wondered if Hermione had slapped Weasley, like she had done Draco in our third year, but then I shook it off. She might have slapped Potter last year, but that hadn't been hard enough to bruise. I still hadn't found out quite why she'd done that, but no matter. Hermione wasn't one to slap her friends, not unless there were some very unusual circumstances. Like the pig just started flying.
"Stop staring, Blaise, you're going to embarrass yourself," Millicent muttered out of the corner of her mouth and elbowed me sharply.
"What?" I asked, rubbing my ribs where her elbow had dug in, "I wasn't staring: I was looking at the other tables."
"And Granger just happened to be all of the other tables, then?" she sniggered, "You were staring, Blaise, and you know it."
"Silence," I snapped, throwing a peppermint humbug at her. "I was not staring: I was wondering how Weasley came up with that bruise he's got."
Of course I'd been staring: how could I not? With Hermione looking so enraged, her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were pink, and she looked absolutely lovely. It was just that I didn't want to be so obvious about it. Weasley's bruise was proving to be a good excuse for acting silly. I wasn't supposed to be staring at Hermione, even if I did fancy her, but I couldn't stop myself. It was silly, it was stupid, and I was going to stop. Really, I was. It was going to stop right now.
After some additional fidgeting, we were allowed to leave the Great Hall, and made our way down to the Common Room in a rather large group. No Head students had been announced, but they generally weren't: we always had to find out who they were on our own. I had a sneaking suspicion that this year's Head Girl position had been a stiff competition between Ravenclaw and Hermione. Who ended up with the badge was, of course, still to be seen.
"This year's password is Prometheus Bound." Draco announced when we reached the Common Room. "Remember it, because no one around here is nice enough to let you in if you forget it."
"Snape did not pick that password," I mumbled to Millicent.
"Lucas did? Why do you think that?"
"Because Prometheus Bound was a Greek tragedy, and Snape doesn't have enough spare time to read plays," I shrugged, stepping inside the Common Room. "Especially not something written by ancient Greeks."
"How do you know?"
"Because I read it this summer, and it really isn't something for Potion's Masters," I replied. "It's longwinded, and all ends up with Prometheus getting his liver hacked out every night by an eagle. Pretty depressing."
"Should suit you then," she laughed and shoved me towards the stairs, "Go get some sleep: you look like you're falling over."
I was, at that: sleep had been a rare commodity over summer, and the last night before leaving, I'd been plagued by nightmares and bouts of insomnia. The mere thought of having to go back to Hogwarts and pretend like nothing was wrong around Hermione made me want to jump off a cliff, and the realisation that my sister, who had a habit of telling people the absolute, unadorned truth at all times was enough to make Vincent nervous, let alone me.
Climbing the stairs to the seventh year boy's dormitory, I realised we no longer had free access to Hogsmeade. For all I cared, they could shut down the entrance; last time I'd gone out that way, Moon had gone missing, kidnapped by Death Eaters, and she was dead. It didn't matter if she was still breathing, could still see the light: in all ways that mattered, she was dead. The Death Eaters had gotten to her, and it had been almost a year ago. If there was still something left behind her forehead, enough to form coherent thoughts, I pitied her.
Conscious torture was worse than blind pain.
Moon had been the first victim of the war, the first one we ever heard of, knew for ourselves, the one that struck too close to home. Snape had been the second, but only for a while. He'd come back, looking grey and dead, but still breathing, alive enough to stand on his own. The war was no longer distant. For me, it was personal, and I knew that the training I'd undergone hadn't been merely to give me the chance to function like a normal human being. By Vincent and Frederic's rule, I'd been transformed into not one, but two people.
One reasonably normal, if slightly crazy, seventeen year old boy. The other a cold, harsh weapon. All summer, I'd known that I was more than just someone to help for Vincent. After all, he'd never been a very helpful person. Keeping that though away from acknowledgement had been tough, but I had managed somehow. But now, back in the real world, there was nothing between me and the seemingly split personality I'd acquired. As soon as something threatening appeared, like the Death Eaters in Diagon Alley, I would slip into a more focused, cold state of mind, where I could easily counter anything they threw at me.
Multiple personality disorder might not have been the best way to get through the war, but it was the only one I had. If it required becoming a cold-blooded killer when people attacked me, I might pose a threat to my fellow students, but I would never be caught unaware. With every gift comes a curse, and the danger I still held was my curse. Shaking off my gloomy thoughts, I looked around in what would be my home for the next year.
The seventh year dormitory was different that any others, in that it was situated so far up the stairs of the Slytherin Common Room that it overlooked the grounds. It even had decent windows. It had an elegance not found in the rest of the dormitories too: a portrait of Phinead Nigellus on the wall, looking severe even while asleep, no dust in the drapes around the beds, the floor was polished and there were no loose floorboards.
It was cleaner than I'd thought it would be, and yet it seemed older than the others. On the bed closest to the door, my name had been written on a small, copper plaque, set on the bed's headboard. Draco had a similar one on his bed, but then I noticed that there were only one more bed in the room, and it went nameless. There wasn't enough beds for the four of us, and only Draco and I had gotten name-tags on our beds. Peculiar. Crabbe and Goyle had nowhere to sleep.
Shrugging at the curious arrangement, I walked back to my own bed and started to undress. I was probably going to oversleep in the morning, but at the moment, the bed looked so tempting that I couldn't stop myself. My shirt joined my robes on the floor closely followed by trousers and socks, and I collapsed on the bed, pulling the covers up so I wouldn't freeze, and closed my eyes.
It felt like coming home.
Ending Notes: A bit of a short chapter, but I hope to move the plot along somewhat in the next chapter.
But this was neither the time nor the place for that: Platform 9 ¾ was filled with people, ranging from age eleven to nearly seventeen, along with worried parents and nervous pets and trunks too big for them. With the help of Vincent, and some so-called helpful comments from Frederic, my belongings had been shrunk and I was carrying them around in an old, left- over bag found in the wardrobe. I could easily carry it over one shoulder, dodging eleven-year-olds dragging trunks bigger than they were.
Speaking of eleven-year-olds, I needed to find my sister. I'd promised her I'd ride the train with her, and I wasn't going to go back on my promise now. The only trouble was finding her in the massive crowd. People bumped into me as I made my way across the platform, looking out over everyone's heads, searching for my sister. I bumped into someone who came running head- long from the entrance, and stumbled back. Curses, muffled due to having a Hogwarts' cloak in their face, spilled like water from the person. To my surprise, I recognised the voice.
"H- what are you running for?" I asked, helping Hermione to stand up straight. It seemed we were always running into each other, either by accident or because Vincent ordered me around. "It's only a quarter to eleven; you've got a lot of time."
"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to run into you, but there's such a crowd and I didn't look where I was going," she hurried to apologise, words stumbling over each other, "My watch stopped working, so I thought it was a lot less time left than it is, and I can't find Harry and Ron."
"We're right here," Weasley snapped from my right, and I froze, acutely aware that I was holding onto Hermione's arms. "And if you're done fraternising with the enemy now, we'd like to talk to you."
My eye twitched at the title bestowed to me. Fraternising with the enemy? Weasley really needed to get better insults: that was what everyone said he'd called Krum in our fourth year. The rumours had been running wild about how Hermione and he had had an almighty fight about Krum, and why Hermione went to the ball with him. It had been rather funny to hear, especially when Draco related the tale, and acted out the parts of Weasley and Hermione quite perfectly.
"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione snapped angrily, "How dare you say something like that?"
"I'll just go look for my sister now, shall I?" I said to the world at large, and slipped away from the impending fight.
I didn't have time to find out whether Hermione had defended herself or me, but my heart beat just little faster. Praying to the higher powers that I wasn't blushing, I began to look for my sister again, mentally beating myself up for even allowing my fancying of Hermione to even survive this long. It was silly, pointless and would only end up with her going off with someone else while I had a date with the pitcher of Pumpkin Juice again.
"Blaise! I've got someone here you might like to meet," Millicent pushed her way through the crowd, dragging my sister along.
"Blaise!" she said, wrapping her arms quite tightly around my middle, "Mama said you wasn't coming home, I missed you."
"I'm not coming home, I've moved out," I said, picking her up easily and hugging her back. "I missed you too, pixie. Excited about Hogwarts?"
"Uh-huh," she nodded so hard her newly-bought hat almost fell off. "That funny man with red eyes took me shopping, when Mama said I couldn't go, and we bought a wand!"
"The funny man with red eyes, eh?" I muttered, wondering what in the world had made Vincent Lucas take my sister school-shopping. "Let's get on the train, pixie; we don't want to miss it."
Marise attached herself to me and refused to let go. She hung onto me even as I attempted to play chess with Theo. Draco, Pansy and Millicent had of course met Marise before, but Theo, Agnes and Cain were new acquaintances, which wasn't something Marise usually took well to. However, she accepted the new people quite readily, perhaps because she was so busy talking about what she'd been doing over the summer, and about what her kitten had gotten up to.
Imagine my surprise when it turned out that not only had Vincent taken her to Diagon Alley: he'd let her buy a cat. She kept referring to it as a kitten, but it was a fully-grown grey cat, with more scars than should be legal. It looked vicious, but it was stretched out in its cage and purring like a thunderstorm. Draco had tried petting it, but after it nearly took his fingers off, we all let it be. Easily, the topic of conversation turned from our summers (which in Millicent's, Pansy's, Draco's and Cain's case had been smashing, but in the case of Theo and Agnes had been dismal) to the usual planning of pranks on Potter, Weasley and Hermione.
"Playing pranks isn't very nice," Marise piped up after a while, looking mildly disapproving.
"No, but we're Slytherins, pixie," I said, smiling, "It's expected of us."
"Why?"
"Everyone thinks we're mean, because the Founder of our House wasn't very nice," Cain explained to her with a careless shrug. "After a while, you get tired of proving them wrong, so we might as well prank them: it's what they expect, after all."
Cain seemed to have grasped, without explanations, that Marise wasn't quite up to an eleven-year-old's mental capacity, and had taken it quite calmly. It was difficult to keep from smiling at them, and I kept having visions of letters signed ´Marise Angevine´ in the future. But I didn't say anything, like I would have done a year ago: it seemed petty now.
"That's not very nice of them. If they think you're nasty, you will be." she pointed out with a six-year-old's logic. "Won't you?"
"Exactly," Cain replied, with a Chocolate Frog in his mouth. "Frog?"
Some halfway through the ride, I excused myself to go to the restroom, left Marise chatting with Cain and headed out from our compartment. I didn't really need to go, but I needed some time alone before we reached Hogwarts to figure out how I was going to explain things to them. Marise was simple; she already knew some of it, and would believe everything I told her. Millicent and the others would be more difficult, mainly because I'd been lying to them for over a year, and hadn't communicated with them over summer.
I washed my hands, for no other reason than to drag out on my absence from the compartment, and stared at myself in the mirror for the second time in less than a week. A few more scars had been added to my collection, most noticeably one running across my cheekbone, a thin, white line about an inch and a half long, earned during the attack on Diagon Alley. I was still puzzled about what had made them attack like that, in broad daylight no less. And the identity of the red-headed woman remained a mystery. Finally deciding that the train-ride would not be ideal place to drop the bombshell, I left the restroom and headed back to the compartment.
I spent the rest of the journey playing Exploding Snap with Draco, Pansy and Theo and losing most of the time. Agnes was draped on Theo's shoulder with a dreamy expression on her face, while Millicent curled up on the seat and wrote a letter to Gaspar. I kept up the ignorance of not having written any letters to them over summer, and no one seemed to bother to point it out.
The staff-table was, unusually, filled this year. Snape, who had been missing most of last year, was back, looking like death warmed over. After the initial shock, whispers broke out all over the Great Hall, and more fingers were pointed his way than in any previous year. Sinistra and Vincent were sitting next to each other, and I choked when I remembered that he'd said he'd fancied her for a year and a half. I hoped to high heaven that it had been when he went to school, because any knowledge of the teacher's love lives was disgusting. Then I'd have to imagine they were human, instead of robed menaces out to torture students.
I was so busy trying to block out any thoughts of Vincent and Sinistra in the same sentence that I missed most of the Sorting Song. All I heard was the end of it, which was more confusing than ever.
"The Thinking-Cap has returned
And within these walls
You shall much wisdom learn
You will not leave these halls
As you have entered them
But I shall but you in the House
Where you will be ready when duty calls."
It didn't even rhyme, and didn't make sense in any case. You will not leave these halls as you have entered them? That was obvious: we'd be smarter at the other end, but it had never sounded like this before. It was more like the songs drill-sergeants taught, about honour, duty and dying on the battlefield. The song ended, and the children trooped up to get Sorted, looking just as scared and nervous I remembered being seven years ago.
There were a few Hufflepuffs, and two Gryffindors, with "Mab, Juliana" being the first Ravenclaw, and "Maini, Graham" the first Slytherin. As when I had been Sorted, Marise had to wait until last to put on the Hat. When her name was finally called, she ambled up to the stool and put the Hat on, and I waited, holding my breath. It was almost out of the question for her to become a Slytherin, she was too nice for that, but I hoped she wouldn't end up in Gryffindor.
"Ravenclaw!" The Hat shouted after what felt like an eternity, and I jumped up and cheered together with the Ravenclaw table, whistling loudly.
Draco pulled me down again, looking faintly annoyed.
"Blaise, you're not supposed to cheer when they end up in other Houses," he said when I finally stopped clapping. "It goes against our Code of Honour."
"Who cares? She's in Ravenclaw!" I said, waving my arms wildly. "I'm proud!"
"Why? She's not in Slytherin!" Draco pointed out blankly.
"It really shows that you haven't got any siblings, Draco," I said, turning my attention to the Head Table instead. "If you did, you'd be happy even if they ended up in Ravenclaw."
"Whatever," he muttered.
Dumbledore stood up, made his customary speech about not being allowed in the Forbidden Forest for a reason, (he looked pointedly at Vincent when he spoke) and added that yet another range of Zonko-products had been banned from the hallways by Filch. He finished in the same manner he always did, with some strange words (Mimblewimble! Schlup! Wibble!) like always, and then the food appeared and thought was forcibly removed from from my head.
After I'd satisfied my most acute hunger with some fried potatoes and beef, I leaned back, sipped my Pumpkin Juice and surveyed the Great Hall. Marise was sitting between the Mab girl and Terry Boot, constantly pushing her too- large hat up, and looking quite happy with the state of things. At the Hufflepuff table, Bones was bashing MacMillan over the head with a spoon, while Weasley sported a rather spectacular bruise on his cheek at the Gryffindor table. Aside from Weasley's bruise, everything was exactly like it had been every year so far.
For a fleeting second, I wondered if Hermione had slapped Weasley, like she had done Draco in our third year, but then I shook it off. She might have slapped Potter last year, but that hadn't been hard enough to bruise. I still hadn't found out quite why she'd done that, but no matter. Hermione wasn't one to slap her friends, not unless there were some very unusual circumstances. Like the pig just started flying.
"Stop staring, Blaise, you're going to embarrass yourself," Millicent muttered out of the corner of her mouth and elbowed me sharply.
"What?" I asked, rubbing my ribs where her elbow had dug in, "I wasn't staring: I was looking at the other tables."
"And Granger just happened to be all of the other tables, then?" she sniggered, "You were staring, Blaise, and you know it."
"Silence," I snapped, throwing a peppermint humbug at her. "I was not staring: I was wondering how Weasley came up with that bruise he's got."
Of course I'd been staring: how could I not? With Hermione looking so enraged, her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were pink, and she looked absolutely lovely. It was just that I didn't want to be so obvious about it. Weasley's bruise was proving to be a good excuse for acting silly. I wasn't supposed to be staring at Hermione, even if I did fancy her, but I couldn't stop myself. It was silly, it was stupid, and I was going to stop. Really, I was. It was going to stop right now.
After some additional fidgeting, we were allowed to leave the Great Hall, and made our way down to the Common Room in a rather large group. No Head students had been announced, but they generally weren't: we always had to find out who they were on our own. I had a sneaking suspicion that this year's Head Girl position had been a stiff competition between Ravenclaw and Hermione. Who ended up with the badge was, of course, still to be seen.
"This year's password is Prometheus Bound." Draco announced when we reached the Common Room. "Remember it, because no one around here is nice enough to let you in if you forget it."
"Snape did not pick that password," I mumbled to Millicent.
"Lucas did? Why do you think that?"
"Because Prometheus Bound was a Greek tragedy, and Snape doesn't have enough spare time to read plays," I shrugged, stepping inside the Common Room. "Especially not something written by ancient Greeks."
"How do you know?"
"Because I read it this summer, and it really isn't something for Potion's Masters," I replied. "It's longwinded, and all ends up with Prometheus getting his liver hacked out every night by an eagle. Pretty depressing."
"Should suit you then," she laughed and shoved me towards the stairs, "Go get some sleep: you look like you're falling over."
I was, at that: sleep had been a rare commodity over summer, and the last night before leaving, I'd been plagued by nightmares and bouts of insomnia. The mere thought of having to go back to Hogwarts and pretend like nothing was wrong around Hermione made me want to jump off a cliff, and the realisation that my sister, who had a habit of telling people the absolute, unadorned truth at all times was enough to make Vincent nervous, let alone me.
Climbing the stairs to the seventh year boy's dormitory, I realised we no longer had free access to Hogsmeade. For all I cared, they could shut down the entrance; last time I'd gone out that way, Moon had gone missing, kidnapped by Death Eaters, and she was dead. It didn't matter if she was still breathing, could still see the light: in all ways that mattered, she was dead. The Death Eaters had gotten to her, and it had been almost a year ago. If there was still something left behind her forehead, enough to form coherent thoughts, I pitied her.
Conscious torture was worse than blind pain.
Moon had been the first victim of the war, the first one we ever heard of, knew for ourselves, the one that struck too close to home. Snape had been the second, but only for a while. He'd come back, looking grey and dead, but still breathing, alive enough to stand on his own. The war was no longer distant. For me, it was personal, and I knew that the training I'd undergone hadn't been merely to give me the chance to function like a normal human being. By Vincent and Frederic's rule, I'd been transformed into not one, but two people.
One reasonably normal, if slightly crazy, seventeen year old boy. The other a cold, harsh weapon. All summer, I'd known that I was more than just someone to help for Vincent. After all, he'd never been a very helpful person. Keeping that though away from acknowledgement had been tough, but I had managed somehow. But now, back in the real world, there was nothing between me and the seemingly split personality I'd acquired. As soon as something threatening appeared, like the Death Eaters in Diagon Alley, I would slip into a more focused, cold state of mind, where I could easily counter anything they threw at me.
Multiple personality disorder might not have been the best way to get through the war, but it was the only one I had. If it required becoming a cold-blooded killer when people attacked me, I might pose a threat to my fellow students, but I would never be caught unaware. With every gift comes a curse, and the danger I still held was my curse. Shaking off my gloomy thoughts, I looked around in what would be my home for the next year.
The seventh year dormitory was different that any others, in that it was situated so far up the stairs of the Slytherin Common Room that it overlooked the grounds. It even had decent windows. It had an elegance not found in the rest of the dormitories too: a portrait of Phinead Nigellus on the wall, looking severe even while asleep, no dust in the drapes around the beds, the floor was polished and there were no loose floorboards.
It was cleaner than I'd thought it would be, and yet it seemed older than the others. On the bed closest to the door, my name had been written on a small, copper plaque, set on the bed's headboard. Draco had a similar one on his bed, but then I noticed that there were only one more bed in the room, and it went nameless. There wasn't enough beds for the four of us, and only Draco and I had gotten name-tags on our beds. Peculiar. Crabbe and Goyle had nowhere to sleep.
Shrugging at the curious arrangement, I walked back to my own bed and started to undress. I was probably going to oversleep in the morning, but at the moment, the bed looked so tempting that I couldn't stop myself. My shirt joined my robes on the floor closely followed by trousers and socks, and I collapsed on the bed, pulling the covers up so I wouldn't freeze, and closed my eyes.
It felt like coming home.
Ending Notes: A bit of a short chapter, but I hope to move the plot along somewhat in the next chapter.