Sirius Black:
I am torn. I mean, is it possible not to be? Should I tell a teacher? Even that wretched Dumbledore could be told. But was it really something for me to tell?
It's been eleven days since I found out, and I think that maybe, perhaps, I should tell. I mean, who cares if Ariadne hates me for it, it's better for that fucker to be caught than for us to be friends.
I eventually manage to summon enough courage to approach the Head of Gyrffinder. She is sitting in her desk, writing something on a parchment, so intent on her work that she doesn't notice me. I clear my throat, and she looks up, surprised.
"Oh! My, you surprised me! Yes, Mr-"
"Black. Sirius Black." She's new this year, so she can't be expected know my notorious history.
"Black. Indeed. So, do you have any business with me? Questions about your homework? I'm afraid that if you do, you'll have to remind me of your year-"
"I, er, have reason to believe there is a rapist in the Gryffinder House, Professor." Silence greets my words, and her eyes widen. A pang of guilt hits me as I realize that maybe the brand new Head of Gryffinder isn't the best person to have told.
"Who. . . has been the victim, Block?" I don't correct her. She must have enough on her mind.
"It's a fifth year. Her name is Ariadne Chant. I don't know who it is, exactly, and I don't think she does either . . . but isn't there a way to find out?"
"I. . .I must tell the Headmaster. He'll know!" She gets up, pushing her chair back roughly, the legs scraping the floor noisily. She rushes out, looking extremely flustered. A couple of pages drop to the floor, but she's halfway out the door by that time.
I pick up the papers, glancing at them as I do so. It seems to be a test. I shove the sheets into my cloak pockets as I'm walking out.
Ariadne Chant:
Holy shit, I got raped.
I've never felt more vulnerable in my life. And I don't know whom its safe to tell. I wouldn't be surprised if Sirius never spoke to me again. I shouldn't have done such a thing to him. I was just so scared. What if, seeing me vulnerable, he decided to have some fun?
I don't know if I'll ever want another man to touch me. Are they all the same? Or just him? That scum. If I knew his face I would blow it open. No man should ever make me feel this hurt, this weak. I hate him more than I have hated many other people. More than I ever hated that father who left me.
I clench my hands around my pillow. I pull at it, but I don't have the strength to break it apart. I've got to go to class today. If I excuse myself from class because of sickness for more than one day, someone will come to take me down the Hospital Wing for a check-up.
Picking up my bag, resigned to the fact that I will have to face everyone today. I don't know if I'm ready at all. I fact, I know I'm not. My fingers linger over the bruises on my arms for a second, and I pause. Shaking my head, I mutter to myself, "I have to stop doing that."
My classes before lunch aren't as bad as I'd thought they would be. I can barely meet anyone's eyes, but that is nothing new. I am usually not awake enough in the mornings to make much small talk, or even eye contact with somebody. One instance raises some suspicion with Lily, but I expect that she will forget it quickly.
It is in the Great Hall during lunch that things get tense for me. In the corner of my eye I notice that Sirius is waving me over, but I turn my head and pretend not to see him. I don't feel like apologizing. Well, if truth be told, I was afraid to apologize. I sat between too strangers and ate in silence for most of the meal.
Mid-meal, the Headmaster stands up, and the room hushes rather quickly. Everyone has their eye on an extremely serious Headmaster, whose gaze seems to be cornering everyone out. I suppose everyone who isn't terrified that the Headmaster has decided to publicly embarrass them, is extremely curious. Either way, his lips are pressed into a tight line, and he doesn't say anything for several seconds.
"It has come to my attention that. . . a situation has occurred. A student in this school has viciously raped by another." My hand goes to my mouth, which immediately hangs open in shock. I am panicking, but I know I can't let anyone know this.
How could anyone know? If they know, they would have to have been there. And if they were there, they would have stopped it, wouldn't they?
Maybe it's not even about me, I wonder hopefully. But my optimism plummets. What are the chances that two girls will get raped in a period of three days in Hogwarts?
I immediately feel guilty for almost wishing this pain onto another girl.
"We ask that the guilty party reveal themselves. I will not lie to you; the culpable person will be punished. As well as this, I would like to ask any victim of this heinous crime to reveal him or herself as well. We will help you through this difficult time. You are not alone."
You are not alone. The words almost make me push back my chair and stand up. You are not alone. But I am. I am desperately swallowing my tears as I think this. If just feeling like this makes me feel helpless, how worse will I feel with everyone else seeing me as helpless too? No, I firmly say to myself, no. I stay seated. I am not weak, I can deal with this.
"If anyone has information, please speak to any of the teachers. They will direct you someone you can relay this information to." The Headmaster nods his head to show he has finished, and sits down. Silence swallows the Hall for a few moments, but soon whispers are heard, fluttering around the room like tiny birds. Then, full out conversation.
How did they find out, I ask myself. It could be Lily, I think to myself. She's been asking me if I'm alright for the last few days. Then why didn't she mention my-
"Miss Chant?" I feel a hand on my shoulder. I can't turn back. But I have to.
"Yes?" I reply in my sweetest voice, a false smile gracing my lips. It's that new Headmistress of Gryffinder.
"Will you please come with me?" I don't see a choice, really. I smile graciously once again, and I stand up, nodding my head in assent.
She leads me through the halls, and my heart is beating fast, like those drum rolls that they play before announcing the winner. God, I feel like screaming from the suspense of it all. What if they're not even calling me over for that? Perhaps I've messed something up. I think I just might prefer anything.
"Right over here, Miss," the Headmistress murmurs as she approaches a tall statue of a dragon. "Darth Vader."
Darth Vader? What does-
And then the dragon moves. It opens its mouth to yawn, blinks at me, and steps off the platform. "Oh, shi-" I cry out, covering my face with my arms, to protect myself. But the stone dragon just sits on its haunches on the ground, staring at me. The Headmistress is already up on the platform, waiting expectantly for me.
My eyes don't leave the dragon for fear that it will move and begin to ravage me before the Headmistress can stop it. Somehow I manage to follow her up. Beyond the small doorway on the platform there is a large, long, elegant, extravagant staircase. I cannot see the top. I curse under my breath. Is this the headmaster's office?
Our steps are so loud as we clink our way up the staircase. My legs are tired far before we're even near to the top. I clutch the rail tightly, pulling myself up as casually as I can. I don't want the Head of Gryffinder to think I am some weakling.
When at last we reach the top, I'm out of breath, and my thighs ache. They'll hurt in the morning, I'm sure of it. And there is the Headmaster.
"Oh deeear, is dis the powr gerl hew got-" What? Since when did the Headmaster get such a horrid accent?
"Shut up, Oedipus. This is a serious matter and your chattering is not helping none- I mean, at all." The Headmaster is addressing the large bird near his desk, I realize. I examine the bird closely. There's not much there, truth be told. Its feathers are a bright array of hues, from blue to green to red. It's claws look sharp, and every so often, he fidgets on his perch. His beak is twisted downwards maliciously, and its eyes look sharp enough to cut glass.
"Das an insult, dat is." The bird sounds injured, and turns his back on his master, sniffing cheerlessly.
"You asked for her to be brought to you?" the Head asks shyly, stepping behind me a bit, as if she is expecting to be dismissed.
"Yes, yes," he murmurs, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He leans over suddenly, and stares at me intently. "Who was it, Miss. Chant?"
"Who was what?" I ask, attempting to make my voice as calm as possible.
His expression did not change. He continues to stare at me, his eyes seemingly empty of any expression. He's studying me, I realize with dread. Why do people always feel the need to burrow into me? I'm the one who can burrow into him! I proved that with Ambrose hadn't I?
"Who raped you, Miss Chant?" His voice is purposely sharp and clear. He want to shock an answer out of me. But he won't. I'm not idiot. I can read minds, I'm not going to fall for any mind tricks.
"He can not hurt you anymore," the Headmistress adds. I had forgotten she was there. Hadn't the woman wanted to leave a few minutes ago?
"I really have no idea what you're talking about. "I fold my hands in my lap. "If someone had hurt me, I would say something. No one has." I look up at the Headmaster, my eyes wide and innocent. He has to believe me. . .
"If you tell us who he is, we'll expel him and then there will be absolutely no way for him to get to you again." He looks so eager to help, too. I'd admit to it. . . but, I can't. How can I admit to my biggest weakness. Because what happened is exactly that, a sign of weakness.
And shame. Because. . .I wonder, in the back of my mind if I enjoyed it. Because if I hadn't, maybe I would have fought harder. Maybe if I hadn't wanted it I could have escaped. So perhaps something in the deep crevasses of my mind did not regret that the rape happened.
"We have a testimony that you have been a victim of a rape, Miss Chant. Now, you can either tell us of your own free will, or we will assume you are protecting him for some reason. Are you, Miss Chant?" The Headmaster leans in dangerously, and stares at me, if it's even possible, more intently.
I lean back in my chair, and I frown. "Fine, don't believe me!" I push the chair back as I stand up, using this momentary height to my advantage. "I don't bloody care. I wasn't raped. I don't know who told you I was, but he's wrong. I mean, it was nighttime, right? This witness could have heard anything in the middle of the night!"
The two adults are completely silent. They glance at each other and seem to be passing secret messages, which I cannot decode. This is ridiculous! What are they, five years old? Say what you mean.
"We didn't tell you the rape took place at night, Miss Chant."
Damn it.