Seven Years: Chapter 8.

Mandatory copyright notice: I literally don't own anything.


It wasn't long after the incident in the office that Merula was told of the first game of Quidditch of the year, a prospect that she had forgotten, given her feuds with the multitude of idiots in her life.

Perhaps Professor Snape was right after all, about her wasting her time with plotting revenge schemes and almost becoming troll food. Perhaps she could have used her time better, like out-studying the filthy Mudblood or, come next year, out-flying Potter.

The idea of outflying the muggle-raised Potter intrigued her for a second. He would have been drilled by the Gryffindor team for a year by the time she could even apply to join a Quidditch team, but certainly that was less practice than the summers she had spent flying… right?

But she had seen him fly and grab the Remembrall. She could have done the same too, but she wasn't stupid. Why risk expulsion for the idiot Longbottom?

There was a rise in murmurs and whispers around her, and Merula glanced up at the field and the two teams that had arrived.

Sure enough, Potter, the boy who somehow avoided detention time and time again, was on the field, and Merula felt the strongest urge to get even with him.

But no, that was dumb. Especially with Professor Snape in attendance.

Merula glanced over to her Head of House, halfway across the field, and swallowed when he looked back at her, his eyes boring into hers.

What little remained of her idea to prank Potter shriveled and died, like a plant in the hot summer sun. Potter would get to play his stupid match, and Marcus Flint would beat him to the Golden Snitch for all the school to see.

And then the game began, with Madam Hooch opening a locked box on the ground after saying something Merula wasn't particularly interested in. Something about a clean game.

She wondered how clean Potter would look after the game. She hoped that the all-too lucky Boy Who Lived finally ran out of luck. She wouldn't mind it if he spent a few weeks confined to an infirmary bed.

And then the game began, with the balls flying out of the box on the field, and the two teams rushing after them.

Well, with one notable exception.

Potter, for all his fame and so-called skill, sat on his broom, unmoving, as if he forgot he was supposed to play Quidditch, not just watch the game.

But the teams around Potter were moving, and Merula almost instantly lost interest in the hovering Potter. It was a shame because there was no Bludger or Beater coming for him.

But in the first five minutes of the match, Merula clenched her teeth and growled in disappointment. Some Gryffindor girl, probably a Mudblood or an inconsequential blood traitor, had managed to just barely beat the Slytherin Keeper, not once, but twice.

And then the captain of the Gryffindors, some smirking idiot named Wood, sent the ball flying back, and Merula winced at the look of unquestionable rage on Marcus Flint's face.

And then the game got really interesting.

It started when the Gryffindor keeper, the smirking idiot Wood, was hit by a Bludger. Sent his way by Marcus Flint. What made the scene extra amusing was that Wood fell through the hoop, crashing into the ground with a heavy dust cloud.

Merula cheered at that, though she couldn't even hear her own voice over the other Slytherins around her. Nor could she see the field below anymore, given that her housemates had scrambled to the front to look at where the Gryffindor had dropped.

As interested as she was in watching an idiot Gryffindor in the dirt, she still wanted to see the game continue. And sure enough, she was rewarded when two Slytherin players tore a Quaffle from the hands of an unsuspecting Gryffindor before rushing to score.

Another cheer came from the crowd beside her, and given the fact that her voice was starting to hurt, Merula suspected she was yelling too.

And then the really good play happened.

She saw Flint a second before the attack began, and followed his gesture- the Gryffindor scorer, the one who had beaten their Keeper.

Too late did the Gryffindor see the attack coming, and Merula grinned as she watched Flint and one of the other Chasers pin the Gryffindor between them, peeling away at the last second as the Gryffindor disappeared behind a long banner, her form landing in an unmoving heap on the ground.

She was still looking down at the downed Chaser when the crowd around her roared, and she looked over, just in time to see the Quaffle hit the ground behind the Gryffindor goalpost.

Part of Merula felt disappointed that she wasn't able to see the scoring happen, but another part of her was relieved that the game was tied again, with the Gryffindor Keeper and the lone scorer sprawled on the ground below.

It was an easy game from there, wasn't it? It wasn't like Flint was going to lose to a muggle-raised Potter, especially now that his broom seemed to be trying to throw him to his death.

Wait, that wasn't supposed to happen.

From her spot below, Merula watched as the form of Potter seemed to fight with his broom, clinging to the wood for dear life. Merula had flown brooms before, and never had one of her brooms tried to throw her off mid-flight.

Did Potter buy a cursed second-hand broom? Surely his team at least checked the broom before Potter took to the field, right?

As Potter buckled the broom, Merula could almost see the headline in the Daily Prophet. Boy Who Lived now a bloodstain after a tragic broom accident.

It was when she glanced back up at the would-be disaster that she noticed the cheering around her had all but stopped, though the match itself didn't seem to care for Potter clinging onto his broom. Madam Hooch was still flying somewhere in the distance, perhaps not noticing the broom trying to toss Potter to his death.

Merula glanced over at the flock of professors across the field. Perhaps Professor Quirrell, the one professor in Hogwarts who should know how to fix Potter's broom, would finally do something other than put her to sleep.

But from her point of view, there didn't seem to be much activity amongst the professors, with most remaining seated despite the risk of the Boy who Lived turning into a bloody paste.

But as Merula watched the professors, she noticed something strange. Was there something Snape was doing? From a distance, she could tell he was looking directly at Potter. She could also tell that there was… steam rising up from his robes?

Then Professor McGonagall, sitting next to Professor Snape, acted, and it seemed that all of the professors seemed to act as one, pointing and shouting at the ground around Snape.

A thought flashed through Merula's head. Savouring a final look at the form of Harry Potter, dangling from a broom, she pushed through the dozen or so Slytherins behind her, weaving through legs as she made her way out.

The path to the professor's box was empty and deserted as Merula rounded around the end of the stadium, almost running into the Mudblood she had been searching for.

"Granger," Merula hissed as she skidded to a stop, her wand already drawn. "What are you doing here?"

"None of your business," the Mudblood replied.

"I thought you were going to support Potter," Merula continued, a feeling of triumph rising through her body. "Why are you here?"

The Mudblood grimaced as a gasp of shock reverberated through the stadium, followed by a deafening wave of cheering.

"I know what you did," Merula growled. "Why did you attack Snape?"

The Mudblood took a step back. "He's the one who jinxed Harry's broom! Didn't you see his broom act up?"

Merula paused as the information passed through her mind, but dismissed it. Lucius's letters had spoken highly of Snape. The Mudblood was lying. She had to be.

"What proof do you have to say that?" Merula spat. "You were halfway across the field!"

"I saw him through my binoculars!" The Mudblood shot back. "He was casting a jinx on Harry's broom!"

Merula almost laughed at how preposterous the statement was. "So you think Professor Snape would try to cast a jinx on Potter while sitting in the same box with half of the professors at Hogwarts?"

The Mudblood flinched, but the defiant look on her face remained.

Merula felt a flash of rage. If she paralyzed the Mudblood, then all she had to do was wait for the professors to check what spells the Mudblood had cast. She could finally nail the Mudblood.

But something stopped her. Snape's words and the promise she made to him. Even if she did nail the Mudblood for Snape, she would still have broken the agreement she had made with Snape, not to pick another fight with the every-so lucky Boy-Who-Lived.

But something else made the decision for her: the sound of people coming down the closest set of stairs. Witnesses.

"You get to go this time," Merula hissed as she rushed past the Mudblood, still determined to reach Snape before the crowd swamped the exits. "I'll get you next time."


Despite her best efforts, Merula wasn't able to reach the professor's box before the rush of students forced her out, though she had heard snippets of conversation, enough to learn that Potter had swallowed the Golden Snitch, winning the game for Gryffindor.

Merula was disappointed, mostly because they had lost the match, but in large part, because she really wanted to see Potter cough up the Golden Snitch.

But despite the setback in the hallways below the Quidditch pitch, Merula was still determined to report the damned Mudblood. Sure, they had lost the match, but there would be more matches to come in the future, and many weeks in the year for the Mudblood to scrub cauldrons.

Merula giggled at that.

"Is something funny, Miss Snyde?" Snape's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

Merula spun around, looking up at the stern, silent face of Professor Snape and his cold, unmistakable eyes before she looked down, unable to bear his stare.

Sure enough, there was a small but noticeable hole gaping at the bottom of his robes.

"An Incendio spell," Professor Snape's voice cut into her train of thought. "I don't believe you had anything to do with it, did you?"

Merula looked up at Snape, now looking directly into her eyes. "No sir."

Snape said nothing as he stepped past her, into his office. "Well then, Miss Snyde, what is it that you've come to ask me about?"

Merula's mouth went dry as she looked down at the hole in Snape's robes. "Were you hurt by the fire?"

Snape shook his head. "The professors around me were… quick to notice it. I was not hurt by the flame. Given the number of students in Hogwarts that dislike me, it will be difficult to pin down the perpetrator."

"I saw Granger in the halls as the game was ending," Merula said. "I know that-"

"Perhaps my previous instructions weren't clear," Snape's voice was cold, and Merula wanted to melt into a puddle. Anything to avoid the anger in his eyes. "You will stay away from Ms. Granger. I will not have you start any more trouble with her this year. Is that clear?"

Merula nodded stupidly, unsure of what else she could do.

"Will that be all?"

Merula nodded before she turned around, taking a step away from the door and Snape, who shut it with a resounding thud.

She left the corridor in a slight daze, wondering what, if anything, she should do for the afternoon.

The idea of returning to the unused classroom came to mind. The Mudblood needed to be put in her place, but Merula's hands were tied, given that she had promised Professor Snape that she would stay away from the Mudblood.

And yet the Mudblood had been looking for trouble, setting Professor Snape's robes on fire at a Quidditch game. Merula couldn't let her get away with that, even if she wasn't allowed to raise a finger.

But… Blaise on the other hand wasn't held back by a promise to Professor Snape. He was cunning, had no love for Mudbloods, and Merula suspected his knowledge in dark jinxes was greater than what he let on.

Yes, Merula decided. Blaise would certainly work. Now the hard part was deciding how to get the Mudblood in trouble. It wasn't like the Mudblood was as gullible as Longbottom to wander the hallways alone.

"You look like you're thinking about something," Blaise's voice cut into her thoughts.

Merula jumped back, hand over her pounding heart as she glared at Blase, half-hidden in the dim hallway.

"I noticed that you ran off from the Quidditch game," Blaise said with a shrug as he glanced around the deserted hallway. "Any reason why?"

"The Mudblood set Snape's robes on fire," Merula growled, anger bubbling up in her chest as the words left her mouth. "I was going to hex her into next week, but there's the promise I made to Snape to not mess with everyone's favourite Mudblood."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Why would the Mudblood set Snape's robes on fire? Is she jealous that he gives you better grades than her?"

"If that was the case, Madam Hooch and Quirrell need to watch out too." Merula sneered. "And probably McGonagall once we get back from Christmas break."

Blaise chuckled at that. "What do the holidays at Malfoy Manor look like?"

Merula shrugged at the question as she began to climb the stairs to the third floor. "Draco and the idiots go play their stupid games, and I sit in my room and read books."

"Are you sure you're not a Ravenclaw?"

Merula rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to shove Blaise down the flight of stairs. "If I don't read a book, then what else am I supposed to do? Play with Draco?"

Blaise shrugged. "Maybe plan your revenge against the Mudblood."

"I want your help with it," Merula said. "Remember how I'm not supposed to pick fights with her anymore?"

"I see," Blaise said as they reached the deserted hallway. "What are you thinking of?"

Merula didn't say anything until she stepped into the safety of the abandoned classroom. "I don't know actually. I was going to ask you for ideas."

Blaise paced beside the empty desks, but when he looked up at her again, he had a wicked gleam in his eye.

"How would you… you get a gift at Malfoy Manor?"

Merula raised an eyebrow. "Blaise, what are you asking?"

"Answer the question," Blaise replied. The look in his eyes made Merula swallow.

"We get gifts like everyone else."

"How do you tell your gifts from Draco's?" Blaise continued, taking a step closer to Merula.

"Nobody gives gifts to me," Merula grumbled. "Not anything worth keeping anyway. Except maybe chocolate."

"But there's a way to tell your gifts apart from Draco's, right?" Blaise asked. "Some sort of tag? For Draco, from someone."

Merula frowned and nodded. "Lucius makes sure every gift has a name attached, so Draco has to write back and thank them for the gift."

"And you don't?" Blaise asked.

"I told you already." Merula sighed. "I don't get gifts. I doubt Draco's minions even remember my birthday."

Blaise nodded as he turned his back to her, his hands tapping on the table as he stepped toward the back wall of the room. "I do have a plan, and I think you're going to like it."

"Go on." Merula took a step after Blaise. "What do you have in mind?"

Blaise turned toward her slowly. "I want you to-"

Something behind her caught his attention. His eyes bulged out of their sockets, mouth dropping wide open, hand over his chest as he stumbled into the wall behind him.

"Blaise?" Merula asked, suddenly nervous about the mirror. Did she stumble into something she wasn't supposed to see?

Blaise said nothing, but scrambled up.

"Blaise!" Merula snapped. "What's gotten into you?"

"Snyde, come look at this mirror," Blaise gasped, one hand extended to raise a trembling finger at the mirror. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"What is wrong with you?" Merula growled as she stomped over to Blaise. "It's just a stupid mirror. What can it do?"

"Just look," Blaise managed, his breathing heavy. "Now."

Merula looked at Blaise and looked at the closed door behind them. Did the Mudblood curse him when she wasn't looking?

"I don't see what you're pointing at." Merula sighed as she turned to the mirror. "It's just a-"

Merula felt her voice die and her knees weaken.

Her own face stared back at her from the mirror. As did the stunned face of Blaise.

But the two faces from her worst nightmare were there too, as was a face she had never seen before, but recognized almost instantly.

In contrast to the nightmare, her mother was alive, dressed in black robes, and a warm smile on her face, her arms wrapped around Merula's shoulders. And her father wore a slight smirk, a world away from the screaming berserker from her nightmare.

And to their right, a stranger leaned on a heavy broom. Even though Merula had never seen him before, she recognized the broom- the same broom Draco had broken over the summer.

"Snyde?" Blaise's voice had regained some measure of confidence, but Merula barely heard him. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

Merula tore her eyes away from the reflection of her parents and looked at Blaise again. "Blaise, those are my parents."

Blaise's face twisted in confusion. "What?"

Merula looked back at the mirror again. "That's my father over there, and my mother, and… I think that might be my uncle."

"Snyde, are you seeing things?" Blaise asked. "Don't you see Draco and his goons?"

Merula glanced back at the mirror again. The three people in the reflection didn't change, and she was sure that she would recognize Draco Malfoy. She had lived with him for so long after all.

"Blaise," Merula started. "I don't think we're seeing the same thing."

"Right," Blaise muttered as he looked over at the mirror one more time. "I'm going. This thing is creeping me out."

Merula watched him go, then looked back at the reflection of her family. Her real one.


The rest of the year had gone by with the blink of an eye, but Merula didn't care. Even her goal to humiliate the Mudblood had become a distant memory.

But Merula still kept up her work, as usual. Every day, from the moment class ended to just minutes before curfew, lit by weak light from the hallway or her own wand, perched on a textbook.

Outside of class and even inside of class, Merula dreamed of the faces in the mirror. So much so that when she remembered that Winter break was around the corner, she wanted to send a letter to Lucius to allow her to stay over the winter.

She had almost handed the letter over to Cloak before she tore it up and burned the shreds. As much as she hated the idea of being in the same house as Draco, she still wanted to see Lucius.

But all that meant that she barely had any time left for what she was really trying to do.

It had started as a desperate attempt to finish drawing her family in a single day, but Merula only had to take one look at the end result before setting it on fire. No way was that acceptable by her standards.

Her second attempt had lasted two days, but carrying around the sketch in secret meant that the wet ink had run, and in the end, Merula simply opted to leave the book she was using to draw her family unattended in the room.

After all, it wasn't like anyone actually came to the hallway.

Merula sighed as she opened the door to the room, taking a moment to look at the hallway behind her. Maybe she was seeing things, but Merula could swear she saw something.

For a moment, Merula hesitated. She could always come back after the holidays and continue then. A few weeks wouldn't hurt… would they?

Merula sighed as she traced her finger down her mother's face, wondering if she could finish the sketch before curfew. She was close, but the ink would need to take time to dry.

"What are you doing?" A voice asked from behind her.

Merula jumped and spun around. What was Potter doing here?

"Potter," Merula growled. "What are you doing here?"

Potter said nothing, but the wand he had pulled on her didn't waver an inch.

"What is that?"

"None of your business," Merula shot back. "Don't you have Quidditch practice or something?"

Potter stepped forward into the room. "What are you looking at?"

"Notes," Merula snapped, suddenly aware of the sound of her own heart. Was she showing too much?

Potter didn't say anything, but he took another step forward, now uncomfortably close to Merula and the open drawing on the table.

"Potter, take another step and I hex you." Merula warned, reaching for her wand.

"I'm just curious." Potter stopped before the desk, his wand falling to his side as he looked down at the open sketch on the desk. "Is this…"

Merula gritted her teeth. "My parents and my uncle. Happy?"

"Ron said they were in Azkaban," Potter replied, almost absentmindedly, as if he had forgotten she was standing a few metres away, his fingers tracing the drawing on the paper.

"Potter, if you rip that. I'm throwing you out a window."

He actually looked up at the threat, and Merula could see genuine pain in his eyes. "I would never do that, even though I don't like you, even if your parents followed You Know Who."

Merula nodded as she took a step back from Potter and the desk. "Thanks."

"Where did you find their pictures?" Potter asked. "I heard Ron say that there are old club pictures around Hogwarts, but I haven't really gone exploring, not since what happened with Neville."

Merula's mind flashed back to the gleeful face of Blaise, all those weeks ago.

"If it makes you feel any better, that wasn't me," Merula whispered. "I spend a lot of time here, alone."

Potter looked her in the eyes for a long moment, and then he nodded. "Where did you find the picture with your parents?"

Merula swallowed and she glanced over at the mirror, wondering if she should let Potter see the image for himself.

"Is that where you saw them?" Potter asked.

Merula nodded. "A… word of advice, Potter."

"What is it?" Potter asked as he took a step forward.

"Whatever that mirror shows you, it's different for anyone else. B- someone else saw something with Draco. I can't promise you that you'll see them."

Potter nodded as he stepped in front of the mirror, taking a deep breath before turning to face the mirror.

And then his wand clattered to the ground, with Potter's eyes widening before he spun around and looked at the wall behind him.

"It's them, isn't it?" Merula asked quietly.

Potter didn't say anything, but Merula picked up the sketch left on the table and the inkwell she kept beside it.

"I'm almost done with this drawing," Merula said as she stood next to Potter. "Once I'm done, if you want any paper…"

Potter said nothing as Merula sat down, her legs crossed under her as she continued to draw again.

A minute later, Potter's legs seemed to give out, and they sat there for a while, neither of them speaking.

It was close to sundown when Merula had finished with the final strokes of her quill, noticing that Potter had dozed off next to her.

"Potter," Merula whispered, nudging the sleeping Boy-Who-Lived, wincing when she somehow hit one of his ribs under his clothes.

Potter yelped and he scrambled back, and Merula scrambled to light the darkened room with her wand.

"Sorry," Potter muttered as he grabbed his wand from the floor. "I think I should go."

Merula nodded as she stood up, carefully placing the drawing on the table next to her. "Potter?"

Potter glanced up as she glanced to the closed door. "Just, keep this between us, alright?"

Potter nodded as he stood up, taking a moment to dust himself off. "I will."

Merula swallowed as she watched Potter depart. "And Potter?"

"Yes?" Potter turned around, his face illuminated only by the light coming from the edge of her wand.

"Enjoy the holidays here."

"You too," Potter whispered as he stepped out of the room, the door shutting behind him with a soft click.

And then Merula was alone again.

Merula looked at the ghostly images of her parents and her uncle, still floating in the mirror.

"Mom, Dad, wherever you are, I hope you're happy," Merula whispered as she tore her eyes away from the mirror.

Little did she know, it would be the last time she saw any of their eyes looking back at her for another five years.


AN: Chapter 8 is finally out. School is busy and I have another project in the wings.