Disclaimer: The rights to the Harry Potter series go to J.K. Rowling. All original ideas present in this belong to me.
Trigger Warning: Rape - Caution! Mentions of sexual assault in this chapter.
Chapter Eleven | Dazed and Confused
The sorting ceremony went by quite quickly, although there were some surprises. I found myself quite surprised to see Ginny somehow find her way into Ravenclaw, much to the dismay of the rest of the flock of red-heads. She dropped down right next at the table to me to say hello, rushing her words slightly as she did so, but in a much more understandable way than she used to speak before we became friends. It's a lot easier to keep up a conversation with someone without the whole pain in the ass of dealing with her blushing and running away a second afterwards. Little victories.
I wonder how she's going to turn out now that she won't have to go through a horrid year being half possessed by that godforsaken diary? Hopefully she comes out of first year better adjusted, considering she must have gone through some stressful and horrific shit the last time round. I can't imagine how horrible it would be to be eleven-years-old and not understand why you have memory blanks, why you've woken up covered in blood and feathers and have no idea how you've gotten there.
The ever-entertaining and ever-confusing Luna Lovegood is of course, sorted into Ravenclaw yet again. I'm going to go out of my way and make sure the poor girl isn't bullied and harassed for her conspiracy theories and quirky outlook on life in this timeline, which means I'll most likely have to scare the hell out of the older Ravenclaw girls with some form or another of bodily threats. After getting to know her in fifth-year I found her to be an absolutely delightful person to be around, and it's a terrible shame that people bullied her for simply being a bit different.
Lockhart, of course, spent the whole meal leering over the students, basking in their attentive and worshipping looks. Somehow the git managed to avoid the hit to his fame after getting the stuffing beaten out of him last week. Must have spun it as a publicity stunt or the like, probably a preliminary defence lesson or some other bullshit excuse for assaulting his aging group of fans with half-digested pub food.
The most important thing for me to sort out right now is going through my yearly check list. After I organized things last year I figured that an itinerary of sorts makes meddling with the timeline a lot easier.
So… I've got to deal with the basilisk somehow. Either by making friends with it as I did with a few of the snakes that made their home in Petunias garden, or by killing the ancient creature in some way shape or form. Well, it'd have to be a horrific way, considering my very limited experience with battle magic as well as the animals innate resistance to most spells. I'd most likely have to rot the thing from the inside out with a well-placed spell, as I'm not too eager to go at the behemoth with just a sword, hat, and a very flamboyant bird once more. I didn't come out of that feeling too peachy the last time. I wonder if it's only a basilisk's hide that's resistant to magic? What would happen if I snagged it in the mouth with a curse if it took a lunge at me?
I might as well get some hands-on experience casting said terribly deadly spells, as well as tack on, "Research basilisks and their weaknesses," before I execute plan, "Deal with aforementioned basilisk." Additionally, "Learn more magic. Preferably dangerous, grandiose, and incredibly useful." I can't limit myself into only learning War Magics, Necromancy, and Blood Magics. I have to be well rounded. Transfiguration is an incredibly useful field, and it's why Dumbledore is such a feared dueler. The longer the fight goes on, the more debris and rubble he has to use in his attacks.
Going forward, I know Death said to hunker down and look at the darker side of magic, and I understand his justification considering that I'm the only person who can even work with half of the spells or rituals without exploding into meaty giblets, but I still don't like it one bit.
Sure, I'm coming to terms with the idea that I'll have to kill at some point or another, as there most likely will be a war in my future, and I'll be caught up in some skirmishes. I would just prefer to cast a diffindo at some poor saps jugular instead of choking them to death with their own intestines while their Death Eater buddy shits out his heart. Seriously, I've started to delve pretty deep into the Necromancy book the Room provided, and the magic he wants me to learn is incredibly macabre and horrific in every way. I know that Death is the premier source of information on methods to kill an enemy considering he's, you know, Death, I just don't see the point in putting all my eggs in one basket. Especially if that basket is full of eldritch horrors. I'm going to continue on with my research into Blood Magic, but I'm going to forgo the undead side of his recommendation for the time being.
I just find it so damn hard to wrap my head around everything that's happened in the last year. My death, un-death, Dumbledore's obsession with me, probably because of that damned prophecy, and carrying the weight of the whole bloody world on my shoulders.
I'm still having a hard time coming to terms with the idea that my honorary grandfather has been methodically destroying my life ever since he placed me with the Dursleys. It's just so incredibly painful to realize that someone that I loved, someone that I thought loved me, didn't care for me one bit. I was, and am, just a weapon to him.
Going back to the weight of the world problem, yes, it's been foretold that at some point Voldemort and I will fight, and one of us will die. I'm just having a difficult time understanding how I'm going to even come close to defeating one of the most powerful, and not to mention, knowledgeable Dark Lords to have ever existed. Honestly, if the guy took me seriously in our little spat in the graveyard I would have probably ended up as a bloody mess on the side of his father's headstone.
Let's add on to the yearly itinerary. I want to study and practice duelling, fighting, and any other assortment of magic related to combat. I'm not always going to have the option of casting some ridiculously complex spell in the middle of a fight, and I imagine most of the spells that I'm learning are going to be incredibly taxing once I get around to practicing the bloody things. Not to mention that I don't want to publicly come out as a potential Dark Lady. I'm sure Dumbledore would have a field day with that, and I'd be summarily executed by the ministry if they even caught a whiff of my necromantic skills.
Of course, speaking of bloody things, I've been planning on executing some enhancement rituals. I'm going to need every edge I can get on Voldemort. Although I'm confident he's done many of the rituals I'd like to do, I'm thankfully not going to suffer from whatever horrid side effects normally come with an enhancement ritual, those being the usual 'sacrifice one trait for another' kind of deal. Often one's sanity and general mental well being the first to go. Either that, or I'd have to deal with something similar to the whole 'snake face' fiasco that happened to Voldemort's mug. I'd prefer to go through life looking human and not having to depend on glamours to go out in public.
So that's why I now find myself sitting here in the Room of Requirement after having snuck out of the Ravenclaw dorms. First day of school and I'm already breaking rules, I guess I'm a born troublemaker. I blame my dad for that, it's obviously a genetic problem.
Grimacing at the cold, I strip down and grab a wickedly curved ceremonial knife off the rack. The ritual I'm about to undertake is focused on bodily strength, and if all goes well it should give me one hell of a right hook. I'm going to have to do a stamina and control ritual, as well as one to boost my respiratory system later down the line so that I don't pass out utilizing my newfound strength. That, and I don't want to accidentally crush someone's spine if I give them a hug.
I walk into the centre of the room, promptly kneeling onto the frigid stone. I can't believe it's only September and the school is already freezing.
I realized since I still bleed, even if its just a bit, I can still use Blood Magics. It doesn't necessarily have to be my blood that I use in the rituals, but attaining blood from someone else for it would be much more difficult than simply using what's already readily accessible. So, I've been collecting my own blood for the last few weeks to make sure that I have enough ready, pouring the preserved jars of deep red liquid around my knees, letting it sink into the depression in the floor.
Focusing on my magic, I push the air around me, levitating the knife and directing it to the back of my neck. Breathing deeply, I brace myself before beginning the process, letting the deadly sharp tip of the blade sink into my flesh, slowly and carefully slicing the elder futhark characters over my spine.
Who knew that I'd one day find myself performing ancient ritualistic magic so that I could defeat a Dark Lord without getting blown up in the process. Hopefully this goes about the same as the ritual I undertook with Rockseeker, although I would enjoy it if it was much less painful than that one.
Mentally shrugging, as it's a little hard to physically shrug when you're carving yourself open, I direct the knife down my arms, making sure to place the runes in such a way that I can add on to my current set with other rituals later in my life.
To be more specific, apart from having to worry about making sure there's enough 'canvas' left for future work, the size and placement of the runes is vitally important to the ritual.
Too large and I'll end up snapping my bones whenever I so much as flex, too small and I might as well just forgo the whole ritual as it'll end up doing fuck all apart from hurting like crazy. Even though I'm blessed with a ridiculous pain tolerance (which was most likely built up over years of having the shit kicked out of me by Dudley and his friends), this isn't exactly a pleasant ordeal, even though I've gone through a similar one last year. I don't think anyone regularly goes out for a spot of tea with a small side of biscuits and voluntary self mutilation.
I'm going on a tangent here. So, getting back on topic- if the runes are too close or far apart, there won't be a decent enough spread of magic when I infuse them, making the whole thing terribly inconsistent as well as frightfully dangerous, as I may rip my muscles apart due to the power not being spread equally throughout my body.
To say I'm nervous is an understatement. I'm goddamn terrified of botching this.
Worst case scenario, I turn this room into a very grim, and eventually quite smelly Jackson Pollock painting. Best case scenario, I'm going to be a world class high jump champion.
Struggling with my magic against the ever-increasing fatigue brought on by the ever-increasing pain, I bring the knife down to my thighs, continuing the cuts across them to the crook of flesh behind my knees, and then along that path to my ankles and the bottom of my foot. I flinch as the blade tickles the soles of my feet, cursing at the fact that I nearly ruined the whole ritual.
With a slight shudder I focus on the slowly growing pool of blood that I'm kneeling in and throw my magic at it, drawing it back into me. The blood rushes back up my body, the warm liquid flowing along my skin and forcing its way through the open wounds and back into its home, cradled and snug in the highway of veins and capillaries that were just a moment ago emptying onto the floor.
Gasping as I feel the magic rush through me, I remember why people rarely, if ever, practice Blood Magic. It fucking hurts. My body is on fire, absolutely burning with pain, putting the cruciatus curse to shame as the runes glow, imprinting their effects upon my muscles, shredding them down to nothing. I collapse in an empty heap, nearly smacking my head against the ground as my skin hangs loose against now barren bones. Before I can react, my muscles begin to reform, wrapping themselves around naked joints and cartilage.
I pass out screaming.
-::-
Dumbledore flew out of bed, feeling a blast of magic slam against the school's wards. He clenched his fists as the wards gave a mighty shudder, sighing audibly in relief as they absorbed the sudden rush of power and integrated it into the greater ward stone and its reservoirs.
"What in Merlin's name could that have been?" He wondered aloud, rushing into his office.
He drew up a visual of the ward scheme, checking to see where in the school the influx came. A few murmured incantations and passwords later, and a rotating model of the school appeared over his desk, translucent and shining with a low turquoise glow. He glanced over it, noticing a suffusion of red over the seventh floor, the colour darker towards the south end of the school. That has to be where the surge originated, he thought.
Having forgotten how to read the ward scheme and the colours associated with it, Dumbledore rummaged around his desk, looking for the Headmasters manual, a tome passed on from each Headmaster to another. The tome contained the cumulative knowledge of the school's leaders, educators, and protectors throughout the ages.
He smacked himself playfully on the head when he realized he could have simply summoned the manual, chuckling as he flicked his wand. A gray leather-bound tome soared off one of his many bookshelves and into his waiting hands. A cursory glance over the tome brought him to the required page. Dumbledore clapped excitedly and laid his index finger over the paragraph.
Ward Display – Coloured Alerts and their Meanings.
Turquoise: Normal status, no change in the ward scheme.
Purple: Location of conflict.
Dark Green: Summoning; hostile.
Lime Green: Summoning; non-hostile.
Black: Dark magic; hostile.
Dark Gray: Dark magic; non-hostile.
White: Light magic; hostile.
Light Gray: Light magic; non-hostile.
Orange: Ritual; hostile.
Red: Ritual; non-hostile.
Yellow: Injured student(s) or teacher(s).
Brown: Deceased student(s) or teacher(s).
He marveled at how far the world had come, laughing aloud at the idea of non-hostile dark magic. What kind of nonsense is that? He mused, shaking his head. We've certainly come a long way since this book was created.
He couldn't possibly imagine a time in which magicals thought of dark magics as anything but hostile or destructive. It's simply in the nature of the magic, he reasoned. Dark takes away, light gives. Taking something away can never be good.
Pausing, he tugged on his beard thoughtfully, surveying the wards yet again. Red, ritual magics.
"Very curious," he said quietly. Whatever it was, it was by no means a small feat. The level of magic required to make the wards react in the way they did would have to be absolutely immense. Who could have possibly done that?
Dumbledore ran through a mental checklist, wondering who amongst his staff, since no student could have possibly unleashed such an amount of magic, would be dabbling with rituals.
Severus possibly. He was a clever man, but he would never dabble in rituals within the confines of the school and would always confide in Dumbledore before attempting such a thing.
Minerva was right out. She lost her husband a few decades ago to a ritual gone wrong. A disaster involving a venomous tentacula and a poorly timed equinox ritual. No, she would never again touch the field of rituals, let alone make mention of it.
Filius? Maybe, but Dumbledore recalled his days of experimenting with such magics to be long over.
He snapped his fingers, having remembered that Gilderoy Lockhart was now teaching at the school. Dumbledore believed that the man must be undergoing a ritual of some sort to aid him in his future exploits, otherwise, how on Earth would he have been able to wrestle a wendigo or wrangle a werewolf? Making a mental note to check in with the man and have a discussion with him, Dumbledore began to wander back to his chambers.
"Ah, Gilderoy," he chuckled, pulling his blanket up to his chin, resting his beard over top of the covers. "A true Slytherin through and through. How clever of you to get yourself sorted into Ravenclaw and hide your true talents!"
Oh, how he wished that more students in Severus' house were like that man. Smart, and ambitious, yet not an evil or bigoted bone in their body. For the man to go on to be one of the most famous warlocks of their time was just a testament to his wit and skill. Dumbledore mused that it was a shame that he wasn't born towards the end of July, that his parents weren't involved in the war effort, nor was he ever targeted by Voldemort.
Lockhart would have made an excellent chosen one, considering the attitude of Helene Potter.
Dumbledore frowned, his good mood forgotten. The Potter girl. He'd kept his distance from her, wanting to see if she would grow and flourish on her own, with him making his presence known indirectly, speaking with her professors instead of her directly to see how things were coming along.
She was the top of her class, clever beyond belief, powerful as well if what Filius said was true. A corporeal patronus at eleven? Absolutely inconceivable. No, he shook his head. There's no possible way that an eleven-year-old could cast such a spell, not to mention a corporeal patronus. Why, Dumbledore himself only mastered it at the age of fifteen.
He did curse the fact that the Greengrasses had torn her away from her family and had tried to argue with Octavius about the need to place her with the Dursley's. While the blood wards may be long destroyed, it would still be good for the girl to understand what a blessing it was to have a living and loving family. Dumbledore felt his stomach twist in remembrance of his sister, Ariana.
He thought it was such a shame that Helene didn't want to spend time with her family, as you only get one. He wondered momentarily if what the girl said about the Dursley's was true, but Dumbledore shook his head in disgust. No one could ever treat their family that way. No one. It just wasn't possible. He remembered his frustrating conversation with Filius, how the small man argued incessantly that the circumstances behind the girl being placed with her family were horribly unprofessional. How furious he was to have Filius question him in such a way. Did he not understand that he did everything for the betterment of others? That he made the hard decisions, so they did not have to?
For all of magical Britain was his kingdom, he believed, and everyone in it his children. Dumbledore was there to guide them, to mould them to be the best they can be. Regrettably, a few misguided souls didn't understand that and fought tooth and nail so that they could make disastrous choices. Every once in a while, Dumbledore had to bring a child back in line, and he would do his best to make sure that none of them strayed as far as Tom Riddle once did.
Unfortunately, he didn't understand that magical and non-magical brains worked a bit differently from one another, and that influenced the likelihood of child abuse. One of the most important distinctions between the two minds was the imprinted emphasis on family that a magical brain carries, how the bond of blood was much more sacred between magicals and non-magicals. Child abuse was exceedingly rare in the magical world, almost unheard of for that matter. Only a few rare cases, such as Severus Snape or Tracey Davis were known to Dumbledore, so the idea that the Dursleys abused young Helene was quite absurd to him.
Yes, he would allow her free reign for the time being, and as long as her behaviour wasn't concerning he would leave her to her own devices. If something happened, he could always step in.
-::-
I wake up in the Room of Requirement covered in a thin layer of sweat. Shakily, I climb to my feet, flexing my arms and sighing in relief as my bones don't shatter the moment I strain my muscles. I quickly ask the room to provide weights so that I can test out my newfound strength.
In an instant, a series of barbells and dumbbells are lined out across the room. I test them out, working my way through the weights and marvelling at how easy it is to lift them. After about a half an hour of casually working out I figure out my limits regarding how much I can pick up. Apparently, I can now pick up seventy kilos with one arm without hurting myself. Watch out Arnie here I come!
I throw my forgotten robes on and sneak back to the Ravenclaw common room, dashing into the showers and then quickly heading to the Great Hall for breakfast. After destroying a large plate of bacon and eggs I attend my morning classes, starting off with transfiguration.
Thankfully, McGonagall seems to have calmed down a bit and is no longer hanging over my shoulder to see what I'm doing throughout the whole class. I guess Dumbledore told her to lay off. Either that, or she's already forgotten her (what I assume are) orders to stalk me.
The ringing clock tower announces the end of class and I quickly pack up my bags while checking over my schedule to see my next course.
Shit.
Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Cursing whatever terrible god has seen fit to ruin my life I take my time meandering through the halls before coming up to the dreaded Defence session. Walking into the classroom, I'm wondering about how I'm going to survive the coming year. Sure, basilisks are scary and all, but Lockhart is a danger in and of himself. What was the 'spell' he cast against the pixies before? Peski Piksipestornomi? What in the hell is that supposed to do? It's not even real Latin! It's a bloody play on words! This is going to be a long bloody year if I can't get rid of the creepy, walking accident waiting to happen within the next few months.
Pushing my mental whinging out of the way, I make sure to nab a seat towards the back of the room as it begins to fill up, Hermione taking the spot next to me, complaining about our seat placement and chiding me on my evident lack of work ethic due to said seat placement. I just smirk at her and ask her if she really wants to sit so close to the 'Great Gilderoy Lockhart' while Lisa and Padma sidle up at the table in front of us.
In a wave of pompous glory, Lockhart floats into the room, eyes twinkling and teeth sparkling as he poses in front of the class. God damnit why can this school never hire a relatively sane Defence teacher?
After dealing with the usual spiel about his incredibly glorious life and achievements, Lockhart distributes his poor excuse for a pop-quiz. I might as well have a little bit of fun with this. Peering down at the sheet I laugh out loud at the ridiculous questions he's posed to the class. I can't believe I forgot about this! What a self-centred shit!
What is Gilderoy Lockharts favourite colour?
I pause, before scribbling, 'The sickly false gold of his garish toupee.'
What is Gilderoy Lockharts secret ambition?
To deceive every aging spinster in Britain.
What is Gilderoy Lockharts greatest achievement to date?
Successfully tricking the public into believing he's a great wizard.
On and on I write the snarkiest answers I can to his abomination of a quiz, smirking to myself after Lockhart scans over the hand outs and looks as if someone has punched him in the gut as he reaches mine. Lockhart quickly collects himself, although I do notice a furious grimace as he bends over to grab something underneath his desk. Palming my wand, I prepare for the insanity that is about to occur.
I feel like I'm watching a car crash in slow motion as he sweeps the sheet off the bird cage he has removed from behind his desk, revealing the furiously hyperactive Cornish Pixies rattling against the side of their tiny prison.
Grinning like a loon, he unlatches the cage and is quickly dispatched by the little pranksters after his failed 'spell,' screaming like a scared child as he retreats to his office, sans-wand. I guess I have to do all the work. Again.
Snapping off a wide area stunner, I catch the largest group of the pixies before they can cause any psychological damage to the now terrified gaggle of second years surrounding me. The flock of pixies quickly notices my attack and rush in to retaliate, squealing and chirping loudly as they dive at me like some sort of demented neon blue paratrooper squad.
Twitching my hand slightly, thankfully hidden due to the confusion in the classroom, I push the wind around the pixies and condense it, slamming them all together into a knotted cluster before firing off another stunner and banishing the lot of them back into their cage.
"Everybody! Hey! Stop freaking out, the pixies are taken care of!" I shout, catching the attention of the students who are still running around the room in a frenzied panic. The students who noticed the quick dispatch of the pixies that I just dished out are looking on at me in undisguised awe. Honestly, second years are so easily impressed it's ridiculous. Shit, any of them could have stunned the little devils instead of having me do the job all on my own while they ran around terrified.
I see a glimpse of blond out of the corner of my eye as Lockhart pokes his dopey head through the door, giving the room a quick once over. Strutting back out of hiding like he owns the place, he sits on top of his desk and claps once to get the attention of the class.
"Fantastic work Miss Potter! I wouldn't expect any less from the Girl-Who-Lived!" He preens excitedly, eyeing me like I'm a particularly delicious steak. I shudder under his gaze, turning my eyes away. "Would everyone in the room please give Miss Potter a round of applause! Absolutely stellar work my dear!"
Damnit.
Sending off a meek smile and wave to the cheering and clapping class, I sit back down and wait for Lockhart to continue the 'lesson,' or whatever passes for a lesson in his eyes.
After a particularly gruelling half hour of narcissism, which I largely block out as I daydream about interesting ways to humiliate Lockhart and get him fired, we're finally released from the hell that is Defence Against the Dark Arts as taught by the Golden Fop.
-::-
Slowly and slowly the days go by, intermittent periods of actual entertainment caught up between the drag of going to a class I've already attended. I'm looking forward to next year at the least, I'll actually have an opportunity to study something new when I take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. There's no chance in hell I'm attending Divination again and dealing with the drunken psychic wonder remind me of my own mortality, and as much as I love Hagrid, he's really not the best choice for a teacher. Most importantly, he's not the best choice for a teacher involved in making sure there's a safe learning environment working with a very deadly assortment of creatures. I mean, Blast-Ended Skrewts? Isn't it illegal to crossbreed most creatures, not to mention crossbreeding a goddamn manticore and a fire crab? Manticore being the operative word considering they're one of the most dangerous creatures to have ever existed. Yeah, nice and fluffy.
My studies with Flitwick have still been going swimmingly, and I absolutely adore the little guy. I'm actually quite happy that I got sorted into Ravenclaw this time around. Although there's one thing I'm going to have to remedy soon. Luna Lovegood. I know she got bullied relentlessly before, and I'd like to make sure that she doesn't have to deal with the harassment this time, especially from her own house. It'd be bad enough if other houses were mistreating the poor girl, but to have your own 'Hogwarts Family' treat you terribly? Absolutely horrible.
-::-
"Hey! What're you reading?" I ask as I plant myself down next to Luna. I finally found her in the library, either hiding away from the rest of her peers or following the calling of all Ravenclaws and delving deep into a new book, searching for clues to some future homework problem.
Curious wide gray eyes pass over me, almost looking through me as she gazes dreamily.
"The Quibbler," she replies airily. "It's my daddy's paper you see. He's the owner, editor, publisher, and writer."
I smile at her. "Yeah? That must be a ton of work for one man! I've never heard of it myself, but do you maybe have an extra copy I could read?"
She frowns as much as Luna could ever frown, which is not very much. Nearly invisible blond eyebrows flex slightly as she tilts her head sideways. I feel my stomach clench when I realize that she's not very trusting of me. I forgot how bad things were for her. Luna's suffered through so much at such a young age.
"Not at the moment, but if you'd like I could talk to him and get you a subscription?"
"I think that would be lovely." I pause, extending my hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name, but I remember you from the sorting feast. You are?"
"Lovegood. Luna Lovegood," she says, lips twisted slightly in a smile as she takes my hand and shakes it softly yet firmly.
"Great to meet you Luna. I'm Potter, Helene Potter," I beam, taking her hand and shaking it softly. "So, tell me a little bit about yourself Luna."
She grins widely, her normally dreamy gaze brightening and becoming much more aware, more focused. "Have you ever heard of the Crumple-Horned Snorcack?" She asks, nearly quivering in excitement.
"No, I haven't."
Her slightly protruding eyes widen even more, a look of delight spreading across her face. "They're this fantastic creature that me and my daddy have been looking for.
"Hey, Helene! There you are, we were looking all over for you," Lisa interrupts, noisily sliding into the seat next to me and garnering a wicked stare from Pince. She wilts under the pointed gaze of the librarian, sheepishly apologizing.
Padma quietly takes a seat next to Luna, smiling at her and introducing herself. "Hi! I'm Padma, I'm afraid we haven't met yet. You are?"
"Luna Lovegood," she replies shyly, unsure of how to act around so many new people. She blushes as Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey show up, the four seated table becoming extremely crowded.
"Hey everyone! Who's the new girl?" Tracey asks, resting her elbows on my back, her chin nestled on top of my head.
"Luna Lovegood," she repeats, head flitting back and forth like a nervous bird, looking for an escape.
"Hey, everyone, give her some breathing room," I say, raising my hands. I smile apologetically at Luna. "Sorry Luna, I didn't expect for you to be bombarded by every single friend of mine."
Tracey blushes in embarrassment. "Sorry about that," she apologizes. "I can be a bit loud sometimes, but Daphne balances things out for me," she adds, gesturing towards my soon-to-be sister. Daphne nods in reply, shooting a playful glare at Tracey.
The girls take turns introducing themselves, informally inducting Luna into the group. I grin as she excitedly chats back and forth with the group, getting along surprisingly well with Daphne, the two hitting it off immediately. I'm happy that Luna has a group of friends to back her up now, and judging by the look on Daphne's face, the friendship is going to last.
-::-
Yet again, I'm in a rush to get to the Defence class. I really don't understand how I keep ending up nearly late for it. Maybe I have some subconscious need to ignore Lockhart's incessant narcissism? That would probably explain a lot, a natural aversion to gits and foppishness.
Quietly, I sneak into the classroom a moment after the bell rings.
"Miss Potter, five points from Ravenclaw for being late," Lockhart announces snidely as I enter the room.
Shit.
"Yes Professor," I half-heartedly call out as I sit down next to Hermione, who begins to quietly chide me for showing up late.
"Hey, I'm sorry I'm late, it won't happen again," I whisper, pulling my books out of my satchel bag and placing them carefully on the desk so as to not make any noise. I rummage through the bag looking for parchment and my quill, lining those out as well.
"Just don't make a habit of it," she murmurs back, looking a bit sheepish. "I know I'm being bossy, but it's not hard to show up on time."
"Yes Mum."
Giggling, she slaps me on the arm.
"Another five points from Ravenclaw for disrupting the class Miss Potter. Please see me after the bell."
Groaning, I nod and turn to my book, ignoring the 'lecture' as I study more of the charms lexicon that Flitwick provided me with. I notice a few furtive glances directed my way by Lockhart, but put them out of my mind, instead focusing on doing anything but focus.
Soon enough, the bell rings and I lazily pack away my bag, making sure I don't flatten my spare parchment as I organize my books. I notice that I'm missing one of my useless Lockhart textbooks and tell Hermione, Padma, and Lisa that I'll meet them in the Great Hall in a few minutes, sending them off ahead.
I glance under and around my desk, huffing in frustrating when I can't find the book. I was hoping to get a refund on that when I reveal Lockhart as a fraud. I'm sure Flourish & Blotts couldn't deny me a return if that occurred. I hear a curious tapping as the last student leaves the room, and I look up from my search only to be blinded a bright flash of red light.
-::-
"Miss Potter? Miss Potter are you listening?" A voice asks, muffled and concerned.
"Huh! What?" I gasp, bleary eyed as I look around the classroom. What?
That's weird, everyone's already left. When did I fall asleep? I don't normally zone out like that anymore after learning occlumency. I blink tiredly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I yawn deeply, turning towards Lockhart with a mildly embarrassed look on my face.
Lockhart crosses his arms, tutting loudly. "Miss Potter, you fell asleep. Quite frustrating for me I'm afraid, not even my tale of the Grimm of Gwynedd could keep you awake!"
"Huh, I didn't realize I even nodded off. Long night last night I guess," I explain as concisely as I can. I just want to get out of here and go eat, so I don't want to say anything to encourage the guy. "What time is it? I didn't even notice the class leave."
He glances towards the clock on the far wall. "It's about five to twelve right now, I forgot to wake you up and I'm afraid you may have missed the start of lunch."
"Well, I'll be off if that's the case."
Grabbing my bag, I get up to my feet before crashing back down onto my seat in pain. I grit my teeth, one hand over my stomach and hips. Christ! What the hell was that?! Did I overdo that ritual a couple weeks back? I'm pretty sure I did everything correctly from what I can tell, I haven't been dealing with any weird muscle aches or pain since.
Wait, did he say that it's five to twelve? I try to do the math in my head, still dazed. After a few moments I work it out. Odd. Class ended almost half an hour ago. Why the hell did Lockhart not wake me up?
I attempt to stand up again, my knees shaking. I wince again as my pelvis throbs and aches. "What in the hell," I whisper in frustration. Why would my pelvis-
I immediately think of the worst-case scenario, the dots connecting in my head.
Oh my god. No, he couldn't have possible done that.
I freeze, trying to stop my hands from trembling as I clench onto the desk for dear life. I look up in horror at Lockhart, and everything starts to click. He'd never miss a lunch, no, there's not a chance in the world. He lives for that kind of attention, thrives on it. Sitting up at the front of the school and basking in whatever kind of glory he can eke out of the students is his lifeline, and it's probably the only reason he even came here to teach.
Could he have?
The memory of him grabbing a hold of my waist at Flourish & Blotts springs to my mind, how possessive it felt. How predatory it felt. No, not even just holding my waist. He tried to grab my arse, no doubt about it.
No. I can't believe it… he- what the fuck. There's no way. He's just a creepy guy, right? That's all there is to it. Just one creepy mother fucker, who really shouldn't even be near children let alone teaching them. He couldn't have. It's not possible. He'd never go that far, would he? Oh god no. No no no… holy fuck no.
The trembling turns to tremors, my whole body clamouring to escape, to just get out of here. Nausea rushes over me in a sickening wave, and I attempt to hold back the bile threatening to spill out of my throat. I gag, a thick wet hiccupping noise, tasting the bitter tinge of sick as I empty my stomach all over the floor.
I crumple, knees colliding painfully with the floor. I feel the warm puddle of vomit soak into my robes as I search for my wand, fingers scrambling uselessly at my wrist.
He raped me.
Freak.
Worthless.
Disgusting.
He raped me.
Lockhart looms over me, twirling my blackthorn and yew wand playfully in one hand. "Now, now Miss Potter. We can't have you making a mess all over the place. Can we?" He coos quietly into my ear, closing the distance between the two of us as I try to stumble back to my feet, my body seizing up in shock. His eyes glitter dangerously as he runs them over me, molesting me with them. He grins that same disgusting grin, that awfully narcissistic gesture no longer looking idiotic. This sneer is much more monstrous.
"I don't think we need you going around telling everyone about our little foray. You know I have to punish students who act out, especially ones that are so terribly rude," he complains, arms spread wide. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, rolling his eyes dramatically. "I mean, after your response to my day one quiz I knew I had to reprimand you." He smiles lecherously at that, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Honestly, I'm surprised you managed to throw off that first obliviate. Just close your eyes and this'll all be over in a jiffy."
He raises his wand, and I panicking, moving to blast him away with a gust of air. As I'm doing that, I remember my spare wand, holstered at my ankle and reach out for it. I cry out as I slip on the pool of vomit I'm lying in, gritting my teeth as I crack my elbow on the stone floor. There's a flash of white light, and then next thing I know, I know nothing.
-::-
Dazed, I find myself in the Great Hall. When the hell did I get here?
I shrug ineffectually. Must have wandered off on auto-pilot after that horribly boring Defence class. God, I can't stand Lockhart.
"Helene, are you okay? You look a little peaked," Padma asks, a touch of concern lacing her words. She reaches out and presses the back of her hand to my forehead, checking my temperature. "No fever," she murmurs quietly.
"Yeah, I'm fine… just feeling a bit tired is all," I reply, smiling weakly as I start digging into my food. "It's just been a bit of a long day, you know?"
She nods at my remark, and I frown as I notice an acrid tinge in the back of my throat. Eugh, I think just sicked up a bit in my mouth. This is going to be a long goddamn day I guess.
-::-
Exhausted, I climb into bed.
I'm feeling incredibly unsure about how my day went. Something just seems… off about it all, and I can't quite put my finger on it. There's just something missing and no matter how hard I think about it, nothing comes up. It's driving me absolutely insane.
I've also been feeling achy and sick ever since lunch, not to mention that I've managed to fix myself up with a nice dose of self loathing for some unknown reason. I haven't felt this bad since, well- since Cedric was murdered. That same tinge of regret, that intense self hatred. But why? Why am I feeling this all of a sudden? I felt it for that brief moment before I followed Sirius into the veil as well. So why do I feel it now? What happened?
I can't remember the last time I've even felt sick to be honest. I'm pretty sure that magical folk don't get sick the same way muggles do, although the few illnesses we do have are terrible compared to the 'regular' ones. Common cold? Vaccinated via Pepper-up. Toss back a vial of the stuff and you'll never get a cold again. Lycanthropy? Tough shit, you've got it for life. Best part about Lycanthropy is it's a package deal. Just in case the terrible physical and mental pain you've got to endure every month isn't enough, the wizarding world will disown you to boot. Poor Remus, I should try and get in touch with him if Sirius hasn't already.
A sudden flash of disgust sends me stumbling to my feet and into the washroom. I barely make it to the toilet before I'm retching and spitting bits of my dinner into the porcelain tank. What the hell is going on today?
I rinse my mouth out in the sink, wiping the last bits of filth from my lips. I lurch back to my bed, practically falling over as I climb back in and clumsily shut the curtains behind me.
I have nightmares for the first time in a while. Bursts and flickers of terrible, mocking grins, and an irrevocable sense of revulsion flitting across my mind.
To clarify, the ideas and methods for Blood Magic in this fic come almost exclusively from Miranda Flairgold's fantastic story, "A Second Chance at Life," although it is crossed with a bit of Dragon Age. I love Miranda's ritualistic take of what could have been an incredibly interesting method of magic in the HP universe and wanted to bring it into my own. I just wanted to give credit where credit is due.
Edited, 31/05/18.