Disclaimer: We don't own it. JKR does along with a bunch of other folks who have paid good money for the rights to it. We just write this for my own twisted enjoyment.

Letter To No One

By Rowanrhys and Dancingkatz

September 1996

There are benefits to being a prefect and in 6th year. I have a room of my own now. It's small but that's fine with me. It means that Blaise won't be coming in with Crabbe and Goyle and hiding their intentions behind the excuse of a study group. It's also going to be a lot warmer than last year's dormitory come winter since the stove won't have to heat as large an area.

And I can hide in here when I can't hide how I feel any longer.

Of course, everyone's being good enough to blame my behavior on my "flying accident" and the resultant Daily Prophet article that included an announcement by that idiot they call the Minister of Magic that he was demanding the Wizengemot legislate more stringent inspections and testing of brooms to prevent injury to "the up and coming generations." The ass actually had the temerity to call the thing "Draco's Law!"

I asked Father, at the beginning of our standard beginning-of-the-school-year meeting, to suggest--strongly--that Fudge either do another interview correcting the impression, or have the Daily Prophet print a prominent retraction saying that the Minister was quoted in error. Amazingly, he said he'd take care of the matter.

Equally amazing was the fact that he didn't see any need to give me any reminders about what would happen if I didn't live up to his expectations this year. He probably thinks that doing so would land me back in St. Mungo's; this time without a convenient excuse to explain things. He doesn't need to give me any reminders. Everything he's done or had done to me is vividly recorded in my memory. If I manage to live to be two hundred I'm not going to forget a thing. Even anOblivation charm couldn't burn out those memories. They're not in my brain, but embedded in every muscle and bit of skin and bone I possess.

When I got to Platform 9-3/4, I was accosted by Pansy before I could even chose a compartment. That girl is a menace to sanity, and you'd think I was still in St. Mungo's on my deathbed the way she acted. I was flat out rude to her but she still didn't get the hint. She sat down next to me and I really wish that Aldona wasn't so well-mannered. Some owl chalk dropping on her from the cage in the luggage rack would have gotten rid of her faster than saying "Expelliarmus!"

As it was, soon Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle had joined us, and the ever present headache that I've had since Blaise's attack spiked behind my eyes to unreasonable proportions.

Oddly, none of them were making any threats or indicating they intended personal mayhem. The fact that Pansy was there wouldn't have made a difference. She's so oblivious to anything that exists outside her limited interest of becoming the next Mrs. Malfoy, a Dementor could have walked into the compartment and she wouldn't have noticed.

I was rescued by the arrival of Anne Markham in the doorway of the compartment. She was wearing the Head Girl pin on her robe and the attitude of "I'm the first Slytherin Head Girl in a decade so don't interfere with me." She bluntly told Pansy and the others to get out since this was a Prefect's compartment. She was followed closely by Millicent Bulstrode and her cat, Sheba. Pansy's incipient protests were smothered by a fit of sneezing and she fled the compartment. Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle followed her much more decorously.

The rest of the Sixth year Prefects filed in: Padma Patil and Kevin Entwhistle from Ravenclaw, Susan Bones and Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff; and last of all, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. The Weasel hung back in the doorway and Granger sat as far away from me as she could get, which suited me just fine.

The compartment was only meant to hold six people so Entwhistle perched himself on the windowsill and Finch-Fletchley sat on the floor, leaving the free seats to the girls. Anne went right to business and handed us initial patrol schedules and a calendar listing Prefect meetings. I looked it over and found that I was scheduled for far fewer patrols than the others. I looked up just in time to see Weasley scowl and open his mouth, and caught Granger planting her foot firmly on his instep. Markham mentioned that the schedule had come from the Headmaster along with her appointment letter and I got the pleasure of seeing Weasley looking downright apoplectic before Granger reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him down so she could hiss in his ear. I must have been dreaming, the muggle-born witch was defending me! If I wanted proof that I was still concussed, that was it.

Markham kept the meeting short and left, urging everyone but Millicent out into the corridor. The rest of the trip was quiet. Millicent moved to take the forward facing seat by the door, propped her feet up on the opposite seat and opened a book. Sheba took the opportunity to stretch out elegantly along the length of the rear facing seat and glared at the people going up and down the passage. I had intended to do more work on my incomplete hols essays and go find Cordelia, but ended up falling asleep.

When the Express reached Hogwarts I looked around the platform for Cordelia. I couldn't find her among the crowd of students and got in one of the last carriages to the castle. I'd talk to her at the welcoming feast.

I don't remember this morning's first class. I could have transfigured Professor Flitwick into a cockatrice instead of assembling a complete crystal goblet out of shards and wouldn't have realized it.

My schedule gives me a free period between Charms and Arithromancy and I came to my room so I wouldn't have to answer any questions. I gave an excuse of another headache to Blaise when he tried to stop me in the corridor and I shut and locked the door in Vincent and Greg's faces. They're probably still standing out there staring at the red oak of the door in confusion.

When I didn't see Cordelia at the feast last night I was worried but told myself a hundred reasons why she might not have been there, each one more pathetic than the last. Blaise insisted on me joining him and Crabbe and Goyle in the common room afterwards to "welcome" the new First years. I must have terrorized the few First Years I spoke to enough to suit him since he didn't follow me to my room when I left. It had become a "tradition" ever since our Second year and if I hadn't participated, I'm sure that Blaise would make me pay painfully for it.

She wasn't at breakfast this morning either.

When the morning Owl Post arrived just as everyone else were pushing empty plates away, I received the usual note from Father and the usual package of sweets from Mother. Across the table Daphne Greengrass was unwrapping a crystal ball with every evidence of satisfaction. The old newspapers that had surrounded it in transit were scattered all across the table. One of the crumpled pieces caught my eye. "...tragedy in Fairing-Under-Sezincote..." I managed to grab it and tuck it in my robes while shoving the rest of the papers back across the table, snarling for her to keep her mess to herself. She glared back at me and I know now I'll have to watch out for her as well as Zabini. She's no slouch at hexes and she doesn't care about my family's standing since hers is almost as good.

I got up, strolled out of the Great Hall followed by my usual shadows and headed for the Charms classroom. Once there, I sat in my usual seat and pretended to browse through the textbook while looking at the piece of newspaper. The date on the page was August 3rd, the day of my "accident." Only certain words in the article in the Daily Prophet leaped out at me. They were all I needed to see to know the truth.

"125th birthday of Bramwell Mallory"..."mysterious gas explosion and fire"..."no survivors except Hardin Mallory, grandson of Bramwell"...

Oh, gods...Cordelia is dead...