"Merlin…" I murmured, reclining at my desk. Although it was getting late by now, nearly ten o' clock, I had no intention of letting her leave yet. Honestly, I did not expect to be any longer than an hour here. I had intended to reprimand her for careless and selfish behaviour, and then supply a multitude of things to scrub until clean and sparkling for an hour. What I found was that she was stubborn and defiant, and… quite… interesting. She had a few incredible tales, and did not mind telling them upon askance.
Upon hearing that the cuts on her wrist were a form of torture, I did not believe her. Children often make up wild tales to cover their tracks, forgetting that they are easily discovered. Furthermore, when she told me the story, she sounded disconnected, without emotional attachment. There was no fear, anger, or sadness to her voice. I believe she even laughed once or twice. It was not normal. I should know. However, the more questions I asked, she seemed to look into my eyes more often. I was able to use my skills as an Occlumens to discover her intentions. Did she weave these stories for attention? I suspected that this was the case, but flashes of her memory proved otherwise. She was absolutely truthful, telling events unadulterated. I asked about the scars underneath the tattoos as well. She said that it would take forever to tell each story, but said that some were from other forms of torture, some were from fights, and some were mere accidents. And then I asked her why she covered those, and not her wrists.
She said, "It's not that I choose to cover this one, but not the other. I will eventually hide these too, but I haven't gotten to them yet. I don't like to think about the people who gave me them. If I can cover them with art, I have new stories to tell. Notice that on this shoulder," she reached and pointed to certain sections of her right shoulder, "All of the scars are small. They have gone into the Ecthroi's hands, giving them definition. They are part of the work. They are covered, but not hidden. Hated, but glorified. It's easier for me to think of the Ecthroi, and what they are, beings much like dementors. I don't want to remember sliding across three metres of pavement over broken glass all the time, you know."
I winced slightly at the notion of the latter event. She smiles and looks down, a faint blush across her cheeks. "Professor… I have an idea, as to what you are thinking… please know that no matter what happens, I can't change what I've done or seen. I don't want to change what happened to me. I used to, but now I realize that there's no need to. When the Death Eaters strike the castle- and they will soon, Professor, don't shy away! It's only a matter of time… When they come, I'll be better prepared than the others. I'll survive because I already know pain. I'm not going to collapse upon the first scrape. I'll fight like hell, or I'll die in the process."
I cannot breathe as she stares up at me with those crystalline blue eyes and soft grin. What kind of person behaves in this way? She cannot possibly grasp the concept of death and war, but to welcome and submit to the fact… most cannot do this. Our Minister of Magic cannot do this, half of the Hogwarts Staff cannot do this, the majority of the students here cannot do this. I must force myself upon the inevitability of war, but only because I am in direct contact with the opposing forces. And I know that even though this child has a strong will, and possibly a high tolerance for pain, she will not escape alive. There is no chance for her. Yet she resigns herself to this idea of war and of casualties. Merlin… and she is Hufflepuff! She doesn't belong in that House, not with thoughts like hers.
"Death is not a concept to play at, Miss Davis. Neither is war. You know full well that you won't get out alive, and don't dream that you will. You are a child, a child that cannot keep up on basic schoolwork at that. You could not manage handling yourself on a battlefield. You cannot take orders. You, Miss Davis, would perish."
Why did I say that? Of course, I meant the first two sentences. But to remove all hope for her- perhaps she really will slash her wrists now. Her head is down; her hands are folded in her lap. She is almost rigid. I can barely hear her soft voice when she speaks her few last words for the night. "I know that, Professor. But I must try. I cannot and will not give up so easily as you would have me to. I will survive. I don't care who I have to kill to do it either. War is war, and there are no rules to follow except that you kill or be killed. I'll make it, Professor. I always have."
Such a strong will. Stronger than I was when I was her age. Of course, by her age I was also a Death Eater, but she doesn't know that. There is a chance she will survive, but only if I can make her stronger through training. She certainly won't get that in Hufflepuff. Now, I have an idea. I can take her in… not through myself, of course. She isn't Slytherin, so I can't cover that up. But I can use Albus to do so. What else can I do? Anyone with the will to fight, not run away, that kind especially needs to be cultivated. She is right- the Death Eater armies are coming. She must be able to fight.
I end the night and demand that she not speak of our conversation. There is no rebuttal from her. She smiles and bows, then softly shuts the door behind her. I sift through the parchment on my desk to find a clean sheet, and begin drafting my ideas. I wonder how many more students like her there are.