A/N: Revised - 27/03/2020.
AWF
The white noise of the common room gives way to silence the moment Hem steps through the entrance. Unfazed, she observes how most of the First-Years are present ̶ (though Draco is nowhere to be found, surprisingly) ̶ with only a few upperclassmen lingering about. Which is understandable, seeing as the majority of them have class at this very moment.
Hem soon spots a blonde girl with a manic gleam in her eyes and a matching grin staring at her from one of the leather couches. (Sally-Anne.) "Hemera! It's good to see you're all right," she greets with a louder volume than what's strictly necessary. Hem assumes that it's because she wants everyone present to hear her clearly. "Actually, you seem more than all right! You look like you didn't even get a scratch ̶ "
"Except from herself," someone else interrupts, which elicits a few pointed snickers. That seems like a pointless thing to say, though, but Hem could be wrong about how insults are supposed to work. Maybe it's supposed to hurt her feelings that someone's noticed and called attention to her self-harming tendencies? Embarrass her? Or is it to amuse themselves?
(Is she overthinking it? It would seem so. She's always more fatigued when she wakes up after dealing with Tom's emotional outbursts.)
Perhaps it's because her wounds are seen as a weakness and snakes are always looking around to see what makes others bleed. To them, all the scars and scabs and dried blood might be a sign that she's weak; mentally unsound. (Which is true, at any rate.) That sounds plausible.
(Is that what Tom sees when he looks at them?)
Sally-Anne blinks ̶ (quite sassily, at that; it's a talent) ̶ looking over to whoever spoke while Hem debates on whether or not she should just ignore the show that's being put on and go take a shower. She doesn't move, in the end.
"From the troll that was raging about as it tried to kill you," she finishes, making uncomfortable, unblinking contact with the other student. When she turns away, looking rather satisfied as she lifts her chin, Hem assumes that her dormmate ̶ (friend? The word sets her on edge. Why would anyone want to be friends with her?) ̶ has won the impromptu staring contest. "Well, I can't be too surprised; I do know how impressive your repertoire of spells is, after all. I'm just curious about which curse you used to take down the insipid creature." Then she stands, tilting her body and gesturing towards the entryway to the dorms with a saccharine smile. "Tell me in our dorm?"
She probably won't, but Sally-Anne's likely not expecting one. Not from Hem, anyway. Hermione, Harry and/or Ron will probably inform her the moment she appears in their faces to demand answers. This just seems to be more of a way to deny their curious audience an explanation. So, with an unexpected yawn, Hem makes for her dorm, the pure-blood girl following after her and probably smiling aggressively at everyone as she does.
"That Slytherin friend of yours," remarked Tom with a soft, contemplative tone. "Sally-Anne, yes? She knows how the politics of the House works. It wouldn't be surprising if she decides to announce her connection to you to the rest of your Housemates in a more official fashion after this. If she does, she'll be effectively establishing herself as your… second, so to speak, although most will consider her of higher status due to her blood. When you're unable to speak, she'll speak on your behalf; from what you've told me of her, she won't lead you astray." His eyes lowered for a fraction of a second. "You're quite lucky, Hem. Keep her close."
"By the way," Sally-Anne starts as she matches Hem's pace. (It's not hard, really.) "My brother put all the desserts I brought back for you in a Stasis Charm. When you've finished freshening up, I'll share them with you, yeah?"
Hem glances at the other girl, who looks at her with a genuinely friendly expression. "Thank you," someone ̶ (her; her voice) ̶ murmurs.
Sally-Anne positively shines as she replies with, "You're very welcome," and Hem supposes Tom's right; she is quite lucky.
(It just never feels like it, unfortunately.)
. . .
. . .
Not much changes in the days following the troll incident. She's still a pariah, obviously, but they're apparently warier of her now. At least, that's what Sally-Anne says. Hem doesn't pay enough attention to her surroundings most of the time, so she can't always be too sure as to how people have decided to treat her.
But she supposes that she can see the way some try to ignore her while also giving her a wider berth; how some sneak her glances and quickly look away when she turns to them. They usually refuse to turn away if they're caught looking, attempting to establish their dominance ̶ (because everything's a competition, evidently) ̶ but failing because Hem's quite excellent at impassive stares. It would be accurate to say that her spontaneous opponents eventually turn away out of perturbation.
"Weston says I'm too antagonistic when I look at people I don't know or care about. It's true, clearly ̶ he used to do the same ̶ but that got me thinking about how to describe yours better. Do you think a predatory stare works? I know they say that's a psychopath's characteristic, but, well, it fits, no? Oh, we should get to class, now, shouldn't we?"
The malicious pranks, jinxes and hexes have temporarily decreased as well. It's alright, but most of the snakes weren't trying all that hard to bully her to begin with. Trying to harm her even though she's constantly shielded seems to be more of an obligatory action, in her opinion. Although, some see it as a game of sorts; whoever can successfully cause her injury is something to be proud of.
(They target her because they don't want to be a target. She can't blame them for trying to fit in. They have more of a chance to than she does.)
"I don't think you know how mysterious you are, Hemera," states Sally-Anne as they sit on her bed, a pile of sweets bought from a shop in Hogsmeade between them. (Weston bought them. Didn't he?) Hem went straight for the jelly slugs. "People are simultaneously intrigued and cautious around you as a result."
(Why is she talking about this? What started it?)
She points a raspberry liquorice wand at Hem's chest, who blinks at it. "Let's see… You don't talk ̶ as far as they know ̶ which gives others the impression you don't find them worthy to speak to. You barely react to anything they do aside from staring at them or retaliating with the occasional spell, which sets them on edge because they expect retaliation at some point. They think you have a dangerous repertoire of spells; the fact that they're not sure how dangerous is already enough to make them wary. The Shield Charm certainly helps with that. And, of course, you managed to kill a troll ̶ don't blink at me like that, they don't know the real reason ̶ by yourself. That's not all; I could go on all day about all the little details I've picked up, but that's the bare bones of it. It's more than enough for people to take notice of you."
Hem can't disagree with that, even if she'd prefer to remain anonymous. (That'd be something; being invisible in a pit of snakes.) She's been close to having more episodes because of unexpected events, but there's usually someone to grab her hand and ground her. However, it's only a matter of time before she's alone and her brain takes the chance to run wild, leaving her with the reality of having cursed someone when she returns.
"Like this," Tom directed, showing her the wand movements. "That's how you cast the Conjunctivitis Curse. Although… my version is a touch stronger than the original."
"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? Sticking curses into my subconsciousness so that I can accidentally use it on someone."
He smiled, so blindingly innocent that it made her squint at him. "I have no idea what you mean, Hem."
Sally-Anne bites the edible wand ̶ (gracefully, somehow) ̶ and waves a dismissive hand. "But, naturally," she starts after swallowing the bitten piece, "we mustn't forget that you're muggle-born. Your sister's just about the smartest in our year and you're thought to be some kind of budding duellist, but the fact that you don't have magical parents will always make them hesitate." A sharp smile, then; amused and mocking. "Not to mention the fact that your allies are mostly comprised of notorious blood traitors. Not even being Harry Potter's friend helps much. So, associating with you ̶ and in turn, me ̶ would be akin to social suicide until you've properly carved your place within the hierarchy."
The thing is, though, is that Hem doesn't care about any of that. She doesn't care about showing her superiority or becoming some kind of leader to pure-blood minions like Tom's in the process of creating. (Or has he done that already?) They all see potential in her that she can't see herself and it's…
Well, it's vexing. (She doesn't want to keep disappointing people.)
"I wouldn't worry too much about it," continues her more talkative dormmate. (The twins, Hestia and… Flora. Probably. They only talk to each other, and in hushed tones. It's a somewhat pleasant arrangement.) She passes Hem a box of crystallised pineapples, which she accepts easily enough, as those are nice, too. They won't try to burn a hole in her tongue, at least. (Why is that a viable sweet?) "We likely won't get anyone willing to join our little clique until next year, but you're in people's peripheral, at least. Maybe as something akin to a dangerous animal they don't know how to put down, but, you know. Whatever works. It's honestly quite likely that they'll see you as my pet of sorts simply because I'm a pure-blood despite the whole blood traitor aspect."
Hem thinks she can appreciate Sally-Anne's blunt honesty. (She isn't fond of people dancing around the subject, trying to spare her feelings. What feelings are there to spare, after all?)
"By the way, Weston's gotten himself a Ravenclaw girlfriend. I wonder if she knows he's asexual. Hopefully, that's not a problem or I'm going to have to hurt someone."
. . .
. . .
Finding herself occupying the newly repaired alcove ̶ (is it the same one?) ̶ and sitting next to an unsociable Bloody Baron, Hem finds a boy standing in front of her. Another Slytherin, possibly in her year because he's vaguely familiar but her mind's not being helpful.
They stare at one another, assessing. Brown hair; brown eyes. Neat side-part with a bit of a fringe and a slightly gaudy ring on his right middle finger. (His hair doesn't have much of a wave; not like Tom's. Still pretty, though.) So put together and sophisticated; the boy reminds of her of a darker, but somehow softer version of Draco. (It's probably the lack of sneering that gives her that impression.) Maybe he's a pure-blood, too. The ring seems to implicate that.
He pulls out something from his bag ̶ (it looks expensive… and like dragon skin?) ̶ which turns out to be a sketchbook. "This is yours," says the boy as he presents it to her. She glances down at it, the gold of her initials illuminate against the black cover. (Hermione's idea.) "Your sister doesn't draw," he adds.
That's right; they have the same initials. But her sister has never been much of an artist since she's a perfectionist and the lack of perfection in her attempts at art frustrates her to no end.
Hem continues to staring, rather against her will, because she'd like to take her book back and let him be on his way. Her body thinks that's a bad idea, apparently, so she's forced to watch him in silence.
The silence grows, no doubt becoming more uncomfortable for the poor boy as he's stared at by a mute girl and a ghost covered in blood and chains. His fingers twitch, but he maintains eye contact; it's a rather impressive attempt to hide his discomfort. He appears to be determined to do so.
"Merci," a voice whispers, finally breaking the stillness between them. His eyes noticeably widen while her hand eventually ̶ (finally) ̶ reaches out to take the book ̶ (her book) ̶ from him.
He recovers quickly, a speculative glint in his eyes, now, but he nods to her, all the same, "Je vous en prie. I'll take my leave, now. Granger." Then, he nods politely to the House ghost. "Sir Baron." When the spectre nods back, he turns on his heel and swiftly disappears down the corridor.
She and the Bloody Baron watch him go before the latter turns to the former and rasps, "I'm surprised he didn't tamper with it."
Looking down at the book in her lap, Hem agrees; it was the perfect opportunity to get her.
. . .
. . .
Hermione tells her that their parents have sent them a letter during Potions. Which isn't anything new ̶ (or is she remembering wrong?) ̶ since Hermione often updates them on their daily lives at the magical boarding school. Hem doesn't even try to write her own letters anymore; the first time she tried, she stared at the parchment for three hours ̶ (Sally-Anne swears) ̶ and still hadn't written anything. The second time, she started doodling after writing down her parents' names.
"They say that Professor Sinistra and Headmaster Dumbledore informed them personally of what happened," informs Hermione as she multitasks with enviable ease. They're brewing the Forgetfulness Potion, which has been, ironically, memorised by Hem. Well, in a more muscle memory fashion than a conscious one, but it still counts. Hermione likes practice tests and Hem doesn't really have a reason to say no, so it was expected.
"They're glad you're okay, now, but they were really worried." Hermione leans over the cauldron as she stirs. "I think they were mollified by the fact that Dumbledore's hired a specialised healer just to make your time here easier. It's really nice of him, actually. I wonder what they're like."
(They're always worried. Always. Why do they have to keep doing that?)
"I wrote them back, but I think they'd really appreciate it if you could write to them, you know." Her sister gives her a feeble, somewhat apologetic smile. "I know you don't like writing letters, Hem, but I'll help you, okay? It'd make them happy."
Hem only gives an absent nod; they deserve that much, at least. (They deserve so much more.) But in the end, all she writes is two truths and one lie.
I'm alive. I'm fine. Sorry for making you worry.
AWF
A/N: Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.