Content warning: mentions of drug addiction, suicidal thoughts, abuse, implied mental health issues, and mature language
this will be the only content warning throughout the story
The house Crimson Reeds grew up in was vastly different to the one she lived in now. It rested on a cliff overlooking dark and chaotic waters, covered with vines and surrounded by weeds as her unwell father never left the house long enough to see what it had become. What was once a beautiful stone Victorian manor, filled to the brim with placid servants pedalling around the wooden stairs and expertly trimming rose bushes and trees, had become a cold dungeon used to torment its inhabitants. Lester Reeds hid his daughter away from the world in this dungeon, fearful she might be taken away and bitter at the loss she caused him. Her scarlet eyes only served as a reminder of the day she stole all he loved from him.
The inhabitants of a nearby town called the manor and the hills around it The Crimson Peak (it would later serve as inspiration to a muggle filmmaker). Tales of ghosts roaming the moors screaming of blood that stained every wall and an old man who killed anything that dared to breathe scared off any curious children. In reality, the ghosts who lived at the manor were Crimson's only friends, and at night, when her father passed out from a long day of drinking, Crimson would tiptoe to the basement to play with her housemates. Despite her father's best efforts to give her the most muggle life possible, the spirits would spill stories of their magical lives and what lay beyond the manor. Stories that made life worth living.
Crimson had not been allowed to read the magical tales Lester grew up with; he left that life behind him the day she took her first breath. Fires were started by hand and what mail that arrived came by postman. Her father would not even consider the fact that Hogwarts would come knocking and encouraged her (a euphemism of course, for he was much crueller) to read non-fiction books by muggles.
At age eight, her uncles, brothers, swept through the manor and saved her life. Her father was admitted to St. Mungos after he was found curled up in a corner nursing a bottle of wine and whispering of plans to murder him. The girl, Crimson, was taken in by the two muggle men, one a motivational speaker and the other a boxer, and taught the value of confidence. They did their best to educate the witch on her world when they found her, well aware of their brother's afflictions, but two muggles only had so much they could offer. Crimson grew up far away from the world of magic.
"I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
Sirius Black spun around in his seat when he heard the words slither out of the witch's throat.
"What did you just say?" he demanded, attracting the attention of the entire class. The witch gave Sirius Black a taunting grin, her full lips pulling tightly across her face in a manner that made him want to sock her in the mouth.
"Mr Black! Ten points from Gryffindor–if you would turn around so that class could continue?" A strict look from the tightly wound professor made the boy crumble from his seat of indignance.
He shot a scowl towards the girl before whipping around and slouching in his seat, completely confused as to how she had stumbled upon the words. Professor McGonagall took this as the end of the interruption and continued to teach the class. The entire time Sirius replayed what the girl said in his head. Why did she say that to him? Who was she? Sirius can't remember ever seeing the girl a day in his life. So, how did she know exactly what to say? They hadn't even finished the map yet.
After the class ended, Sirius spun around hoping to catch the girl who had cost him ten house points, but she was gone. All that remained of her was a sleek metal tool left on the ground by her stool.
"What is that," James asked, coming up from behind Sirius. "It looks like a needle."
"It's a pencil," Remus said. "A writing utensil muggles use. That one looks super expensive." He took the tool from Sirius and held it. It was heavy, metal, and the size of the lead was surprisingly thin; it had three little green stripes made of a different, transparent material and its barrel twisted slightly–wear and tear.
"How does it work?" Peter asked. Remus sighed at their ignorance and tried to demonstrate how it worked as they stepped out of the classroom by clicking the end and pointing at the material that grew from the other.
Sirius and James seemed to get it relatively quickly, but Peter struggled with the concept of not needing ink.
"And you can get rid of it if you mess up?" Peter asked in awe. "Like a vanishing charm."
"It's from friction, but yeah, sure."
Sirius snatched the pencil from Remus's hands and twirled it around his fingers expertly. "I think I'll keep it for now."
"Where did you get it?"
"The ground."
Crimson Reeds frantically shook her bag. Her hands trembled as she dumped her bag onto the ground and rifled through all of the materials.
"Miss Reeds! What is the meaning of this?" Professor Arcturus snapped as she walked into the class. "Please take your seat."
"B-But Professor, I can't find my pencil-"
"Then you'll have to use a quill like every other student. Prewett! If you'd lend Miss Reeds a spare quill so we can get on?"
"Alrighty Prof." Gideon Prewett was one-half of the infamous Prewett twins. Their fiery hair burned almost as bright as their love for mischief, something they had been known for in the castle since they had set a hippogriff loose in the dungeons their third year. Nobody ever learned how they managed to sneak it down there in the first place.
The class moved on from the strange disruption, eager to learn about the mysterious art of numerology, but Crimson couldn't stop jittering. Despite her excitement for the class, the loss of her favourite stationery had completely derailed her concentration.
"You can keep the quill," the upperclassman whispered to Crimson on his way out of the classroom.
Once the class ended Crimson left with a feeling of being completely lost. To be this upset over missing stationary would be insanity to most people, but to Crimson it was a normal day. The itch to ditch her next class and retrace her steps plagued her mind, but she resisted it and moved on to her next class. Damn… potions, maybe she should ditch.
When she told her uncles that her potions professor hated her they waved it off as teenage exaggeration and sent her more lead and erasers as she requested in every letter, but she was being one hundred per cent serious. Slughorn had a vendetta against her from the moment she stepped through the castle gates; something that was made universally worse by the fact that he absolutely adored Lily Evans. So as she suffered through her class, he simply kept taking off house points for 'distracting the other students with her mindless fidgeting'.
It wasn't until dinner time that Crimson had the time to look for her pencil. She retraced her entire schedule twice and travelled to every other classroom she had a class in, but it was to no avail. The anxiety that formed a pit in her gut grew slightly as she put off her quest and tried to focus on her homework instead. It seemed that with every action Crimson took she was reminded of her lost pencil. For, every time Crimson crossed out a misspelt word she reached for her eraser and cursed her luck.
"Rosie!"
Crimson sighed at the voice that interrupted her thoughts. "Steven Stebbins. Oh, how your parents hated you."
The blonde boy rolled his eyes and slouched in the chair across from Crimson. He grabbed the quill from her hands and examined it in the lamplight. Steven Stebbins was a half-blood wizard in Crimson's year that was determined to become her friend. No matter how many mean things she said to him Steven came right back the next day and chatted like they were friends. He was one of the few people who could handle Crimson's extremes and stood by her; the only other people being her uncles.
"What is this? Where's your pencil, Rosie?"
"I don't fucking know, Stebbins," snarled the girl, ripping the quill from his grip. "I can't find the goddamn thing. Unless you want to help me look for it, fucking don't bother me."
He rolled his eyes; she didn't mean what she said. Crimson said a lot of things she didn't mean. The struggle was trying to decipher which was which–a skill that Steven had perfected through years of hollow insults.
"Well, I'm gonna go look for your pencil, maybe you'll feel better once you get it back," he said hopefully.
Crimson grunted and waved him off. Steven smiled and marched out of the library, proud to have her blessing. The first place he went was the Transfiguration classroom. He had heard from some Hufflepuff gossip that Crimson had a meltdown in class so he figured she must have lost it right before her class; she had been pretty calm today at breakfast. Don't ask why, but Steven had memorised her class schedule better than his own.
"Stebbins? What is the meaning of this?"
Steven jumped at McGonagall's voice. He tried to force the pink from his ears before he answered the terrifying woman. "Just looking for Crimson's pencil, ma'am."
"Ah, I heard about that. You might want to try Sirius Black." She gave him a wry smile before returning to grading papers. "Off you go."
"Thank you, ma'am." Steven flinched at the way the door slammed behind him before he took off running in the direction of the Great Hall.
Brown eyes scanned the large room, searching for the matching messes of black hair—one slightly longer than the other—only to find a singular redhead. He sighed knowing that an unpleasant conversation now would save him from thousands of worse ones later. You see, Lily Evans wasn't particularly fond of Crimson or Steven by association. In her words, Crimson was an 'arrogant know-it-all who acted like she was above classes' and had 'no respect and was apathetic to the wellbeing of her classmates'. Crimson had told her she was right, making the girl turn as red as her hair.
"Lily?" Steven flinched as green eyes met brown. "I was wondering where Black was. That little rascal and his friend seem to have taken something from my friend."
"Who Crimson? Are you sure she even considers you to be her friend?" Steven shrugged and Lily sighed. "Look I don't know why you think I would know where they are, I'm not their mum, but if I see them around I'll let them know you're looking for them."
"Thanks." A hop skip and a jump later Steven plopped down across from Crimson with a grin. The books on either side of her seemed to have gotten taller as the pile of parchment grew smaller. "I've got a lead on that pencil of yours."
"Thanks," she said mindlessly. In the time he had been gone, Crimson seemed to have gotten used to using a quill and ink and had combed through all of her homework. She was now sat reading and taking notes on the lesson she missed in Arithmancy due to her scattered brain. Steven stared at her a little longer before she closed her book with a snap, earning a hush, and stood up.
"Wanna get dinner?" Steven's eyes widened at the offer and he practically sprinted after the witch as she strolled out of the library.
Every move she made oozed confidence and it drew him in even deeper. He was mesmerised at the way Crimson tickled the pear or the way she grasped the edge of the hole to hoist himself through. Every action had an air of intention that was unusual in a thirteen-year-old and it made him think about his own actions a little longer before he acted.
They ate in silence, Steven munching on a Philly Cheesesteak that reminded him of his dad's cooking and Crimson on a slice of kidney pie.
"What's that?" Crimson asked, nodding to the unusually long sandwich in his hands.
Steven smiled at the question and answered it eagerly, "It's a Philly Cheesesteak. Dad makes it sometimes–says it reminds him of home."
Crimson took in this new information stoically. He would never admit it, but Steven wished she would show him a little more emotion so he knew what he was working with.
"The Marauders are trying to become animagi."
"The who?"
Crimson shook her head at his ignorance and chewed her pie in silence. "See you in class."
She got up and left.
