Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Challenge accepted from Gin no Kaze. - So about this, somehow I get the feeling I'm wording this wrong. So help anyone, about this possibly grammatically wrong sentence?

Thank you my lovely reviewers, and everyone who's managed to stick with this fic so far! Even when it might have seemed like I abandoned it. It's really appreciated! And in other news, this fic is officially slowing down - not as in slower updates, they are already slow as is - but as in the flow. Yay! *throws confetti*

One Too Many

The Longest Train Ride

It is completely arguable that there truly is a distinction between us and the barbaric half-breeds. These very half-breed creatures that a certain number within the populace claim there is no difference, however if they are so different why hide? What is there to fear – if they truly were so similar to us then why is the death rate when it comes to them so high? There are a number of people who would agree and justify that these half-breeds are people who deserve just as many rights as we do. However, is not a ravenous creäture that solely consumes and sole focus is to spread about the populace not just a carnal instinctual creäture? These creatures hunt, and do nothing more than to satiate there primal urges. Beasts (werewolves, vampires, centaurs – call them what you please) have no minds as these creatures are controlled by their baser of instincts. It is our duty to defend – and if you choose, to hunt them down…

Trash, that's what he is reading – trash. Not even an hour has passed since he had that peculiar conversation with Luna. Ever since those parting words with her, Nero hasn't been able to stop thinking. Especially with those echoing words of Remus and Sirius still ringing in his head, what did they mean be "what is"? And since Nero couldn't stop his damn brain from thinking too much he had decided to do something useful, rather than focusing on words that certainly did not bode well and Luna's "You are lost" statement really didn't help his situation at all.

So after a lot of twitching and scowling he decided to pick a random book out of his luggage, hopefully it would drown out his constant screaming thoughts of "something's not right!'

Was it a stupid move; why yes it is.

Should he try to figure out what's going on? Yes.

Is his world turned completely upside down, the answer would be a hell freaking yes!

So in all reality, should he really be reading propaganda bullshit on print meant to manipulate young impressionable minds? No, but it does help him get away. Or at least it did – now not so much. Nero pretty much knows he's not completely human. According to Dante – he's not completely human but has more human in him than Dante for that matter. ("You're mostly human, kid. Look at the bright side at least 75% of you is human," Dante beamed, sarcastic smirk ever-present making Nero want to slam his fist on that stupid mug.)

Oh yeah, he's "mostly" human is certainly a huge comfort, notice the sarcasm – well, actually it was somewhat comforting until the wizard of Oz came along explaining to him about his mother's "great sacrifice" and how her "love" saved his life. Not that he questioned his birth mother's love for him nor is it that he didn't care about her either, it's just that Lily Potter was just some person that was a casualty of war. A letter written to him wouldn't change that he did not know a thing about her besides what Sirius told him. Although Lily did briefly raise from the first year of his life, he had absolutely nothing that he can fully grasp and cling to; and if he did, those memories are gone, buried into the deepest recess of his mind. Lily Potter would never be his mother – no that role fell solely on two people: Ms. Terrance and his mom who adopted him. Mrs. Potter didn't teach him how to read and write; she didn't read him stories when he woke up from nightmares. And she definitely didn't teach him how there wasn't anything about himself that was disgusting or shameful, for he was who he was.

He's being harsh – but that's the truth and reality of it all. That's not to mean that he misses what could have been. He wants to know more about this woman who obviously loved him enough to die for him – to sacrifice her life for him to survive. It's confusing.

As a child he yearned for her comfort and warmth; now fifteen he yearns to know more about her. Too bad that he isn't the communicating sort and is extremely awkward to the point of pushing people away when he actually wants to speak to them.

Looking back at the book in his hand – he snorted, his gaze on the tome so intense it's surprising it hasn't burst into flames. Angrily, he stood up, shoved the window open and promptly threw the tome out the window. Slamming the window shut, he sat back down, anger rolling off him in waves.

"Why the bloody hell did you through a book out the window for?" An angry Hermione stood in front of the open compartment door. Her face a touch pink from brewing anger that hasn't been fully unleashed, behind her a bored looking but suspicious Ronald stared at him with forever narrowed eyes.

Still on the vampire theory, huh?

"It was a textbook, I believe." Luna piped up from her now right side up magazine. "Fifth year's DADA, although I suppose it isn't just fifth year's – everyone has the same edition this year. Do you think it's a new teaching technique?"

It really wasn't a question judging from her ever blank face with blue-gray eyes glinting in hidden amusement.

"You threw, a book necessary for the year out the window?! A book, mind you, which is flying at a high velocity downwards, that could potentially hit someone in the head!" She started slowly but ended in quick gritted out words.

"It's just a book Granger, no need to get your knickers in a twist." Ronald stated sarcastically as he pushed her out the way to sit down – uninvited.

"Just a book!" She sputtered.

Ronald spoke over her as she sputtered, "He has more than enough money to buy a new one."

"There must have been unpleasant things in it," Luna, the ever calm one at this point defended him. Her wide-eyed gaze bore on his, "You were growling for a bit there, are you alright?"

Nero arched a brow in response, not really knowing how to respond to that bland tone and deadpan stare, luckily no vapid smile appeared to add more to the already awkward air.

"Wait, wait – hold on, aren't you that Loony – " Nero sent a sharp gaze at Ronald in warning that went completely unnoticed. The ginger, lacking any tact, pointed at her loudly, the brief minuscule flinch wasn't missed by Nero. "I mean, that Luna-girl that –"

"Ron!"

"Hey, shut your trap!"

Both Nero and Hermione snapped simultaneously: one in anger and the other annoyed at the amount of tactless actions she bore witness to.

"What I was just going to –"

That guy is really asking for it, "I said shut your mouth before I kick your ass!"

Ronald glared, "I was going to say – before I was rudely interrupted." Some balls he has there. "Was that aren't you that girl I sometimes see with my sister, y'know Ginny?"

"Yes; you're Ron – her brother. She says you aren't very much fun anymore – not since Ha—"

"That's great and all," Hermione cut her off, muscles tense and brown eyes shadowed with an underline sense of paranoia. Her facial expression completely stony, declaring topic over before it even started. "How do you know Ronald's sister?"

Wait, since what happened? Nero sat up, more alert on the conversation at hand.

"She stopped a couple of my peers from taking my things, she was very creative – we're in the same year and house."

Sighing, Nero leaned back again knowing whatever subject they were going on about was dropped for now. At least, he had something that would keep him occupied. Ever since Kyrie nabbed him into reading that stupid book when they were ten, Nero has harbored a need to solve riddles and mysteries.

"So where is she now?"

"She left awhile ago, something about Justin Finch-Fletchley." She shrugged – her eyes distant once more.

Probably in her happy place away from these two interrogators; really, is it any of their business what Ronald's sister does? Even Credo wasn't that weird. Protective, yes; but to the point of bothering her friends, no.

"Okay," Ron said slowly. "So there's that. Anyways, why did you throw that tome out? You're gonna get behind y'know."

"None of your business – that's why," he snapped. Pulling his hood over his head and followed Luna's example.

The first time he attended the Festival of the Sword, it had been with Ms. Terrance in the Opera House. (For good behavior, she said, good behavior earns positive reinforcement.) He remembered hearing the ballad for the first time, the songstress' voice alluring as she called out for their Savior. It was a riveting experience. After that, Nero made it point to always be on his best behavior when the festival was near so he could attend it – even after his adoptive parents assured him that he didn't need to do that anymore, he still did.

The high sopranos and low altos lured him every time – almost like the songstress was calling out to him specifically. It was the Opera House, however, that really pulled him. He could hear the ballad just fine after sneaking in through the back (he's done it before); no, it was the Opera House that always made him want to come back every year. Its cold in there, no matter how hot it is outside, but something about it always held warmth and comfort. It was home (he would sneak into the Opera House whenever he was in trouble or wanted to go away for a while). Of course he hated attending the sermon that followed. The story of the Savior is (was) always a novel to hear, but the patronizing way His Holiness spoke of them – their worshippers – was insulting. He couldn't stand hearing His Holiness speak so belittling of them. It angered him hearing those demeaning words; those very words consequently patronizing the "weak humans" that was his father, his mother, his brother, and Kyrie. Growing up with them, he got to know his family. They were anything but weak.

And now, upon learning his (so convoluted) heritage and reading the patronizing words against half-breeds – referring to them as uncultured, unthinking beasts angered him. Like His holiness, who ridiculed the unknowing populace (they were so much more than just "weak") angered him – calling half-breeds "disgusting beasts" of the "unthinking mindless nature" infuriated him. He knew that Remus was an intelligent man; there was nothing mindless or uncultured about him. The more he got to know more of his mother's world the more he wanted to either shoot something or just get his thing and leave.

Children learn lessons as they grow; one of the first lessons ever taught to children (or rather should have been in his case) is the Golden Rule:"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Ron's first lesson to ever hit him in the face – and probably the most regretted action he has ever done in his fifteen years of walking in this world. How could he have known that his childish jealously of a muggleborn knowing more and obviously being smarter than him would cause such a dramatic, horrifying, and fatal consequences?

Come to think of it, he was angry at his sister's friend for even bringing it up. Not like he could forget it, he had tried to forget but he can't. It's an impossibility. She bears her scars, so deeply hidden yet so glaring obvious for him to see that it is impossible to even pretend to forget. The mental trauma that has been forever ingrained into his memories and nightmares, he can never forget – and will never forgive himself. Prof. McGonagall speaks to him a lot about what happened that Halloween night four years ago – but as always, his lips remain sealed. There's nothing to talk about, it is his fault plain and simple.

Perhaps that's why he tries so hard to make it up to her – but like his sealed lips, she remains an unmoving force to his attempts at friendship. He can't blame her either.

He's forced all his intellectual capacity to be on par to her brilliance. He's practiced his wrist movements so much that at times it's a chore just to lift a spoon or a goblet. He's practiced his pronunciation so much that speaking was just too much of an effort to do so. (His mother has never been so proud – but his father has never been so despondent with his reasoning despite how noble they may be.) All his efforts, all his work and dedication were because of her. To protect her, to make those scars fade away, to make it okay – to make her painful scorn go away, but it won't.

It's another year, another year of working himself to death. Prof. McGonagall pleads for him to stop "all this nonsense"; she tells him that he's going about it all the wrong way – but when is there ever a right way? When it comes to him, Ronald Bilius Weasley, there is only a wrong way. Every attempt of apology, or attempt at friendship has been met with a figurative slam of the door.

She didn't want his apologies; Merlin only knows what that scorned woman wanted from him, that is, if she wanted anything at all. She's bright, had a tongue sharper than that of Gryffindor's sword and stung harder than a wasp's bite. She has no care for her appearance – other than last year's Yule Ball. She has developed an impenetrable wall made of the strongest of metals that harsh insults shatter upon impact. He made her cry once upon a time, and her very steely gaze makes his world crumble.

She sits across from him, next to the white-haired Mr. I'm-not-a-vampire bastard. Her legs crossed, bouncing impatiently, bushy hair brushed and wrestled down into a ponytail. Her brown gaze distant, focus directed at the open tome on her lap – she's in her own world now. Ronald's gaze sharpens on the silent scoff that rings in the air. Nero has shifted from scowling with crossed arms (doesn't that hurt?) to his right arm hanging on its sling and left elbow resting on the windowsill while his hand rested at the crook of his neck. Hooded eyes and shoulders shook in silent laughter.

"What," he snaps.

Instead of answering, Nero put on face picture perfect of: "I have no idea what you are talking about" with a dash of, "what are looking at?"

"You were staring," Ronald flicks a questioning gaze at his sister's best friend. She gives him an expectant look, like he should now what she was going on about.

This time a snort comes from Nero's direction, and Ronald is quickly finding himself annoyed.

"What are you going on about?"

"Me," he points at himself, he shifts into a lazy lean back. He crosses his legs so that one ankle is resting on his knee bouncing lazily. "Nothing, subtly really isn't your thing, is it?"

"Ronald is the most tactless person in the world," Granger responded before he could bite back a retort. Not once lifting her gaze from the tome, she flips the page and continues on, "subtly would be beyond his comprehension on his part. It's not even in his vocabulary. He is as tactless as he is moronic in all things discreet."

"Ouch, do you need some ice for that third degree?" She paid no mind to Nero's unneeded quip.

Ronald could feel his ears burning in both embarrassment and suppressed anger. Embarrassed because she humiliated him and anger for the asshole's unwanted comment, he was seconds away from hexing him when once again is interrupted. It's a day of interruptions it would seem.

"That wasn't very nice," Luna scolds at the remark.

Nero shrugs, since when did those two become friends? Are they even friends or is Luna just being the weirdo that she is?

As much as Ronald spends his time alone, he comes from a rowdy family – a family that can never stay silent for very long. They are loud, and loquacious, and completely jovial. So silence is something that he cannot stand – let alone awkward tense silence. Merlin knows he detests that type of silence more than anything in the world.

"So where do you come from anyway – you dress too weird for me to pinpoint where you're from," he asks nonchalantly and Nero sends him a sharp glare that clearly states his opinion on the subject, the laughter gone in his eyes turn icy. But it catches Granger's attention, so he pushes further. "You have an accent."

"I don't 'have an accent'," he retorts.

"You do," Luna agrees. "It's nearly gone – is that why you have white hair?"

"What?" Both he and Nero ask, one looking incredulous and the other stupendous. How does loosing an accent correlate with his hair being white?

"There are indigenous banshees in certain regions that the suck color out of you and makes you," she swirls her finger near her ear in the universal sign of 'crazy'. "And next thing you know you're lost and fuzzy in the head."

All eyes on her, she stares at them with those eyes of hers. Is she even…normal? While both Hermione and himself stare questionably at the unhinged girl with disbelief of her antics, he notices Nero looks honestly curious about her fictional creatures. "So," Ronald drags out, "where do you come from?"

"Fortuna Island," he tersely says.

"Isn't the Fortuna Isles one of the most religious places in the world?" Granger queried. Ah, Fortuna, that might explain the accent. Not quite Italian, not quite Spanish but something else entirely. From what he's read, the dominant language is unknown but the second (and mainly spoken) is English, rumors have it that whenever a visitor is there they speak English to keep their native language secret. Paranoid blokes if you ask him. "Don't you have a problem being here then, what with all the religious controversies and practices that cry out blasphemy in a religious context?"

"Fortuna is religious." Nero starts, but he is still cautious and looking unwilling to continue answering. "You don't really know of the religion to make such a claim as you did either."

Granger frowned at the biting answer but interest shown in her eyes – it made his insides burn and coil. "The books I read doesn't say much about your religious practices or anything much that could be taken into context or analyzed other than a martyr you worship known as the Savior. It also goes on to say that a festival is held during high winter in the warmest area which is located at the center of the main island. Who is this Savior? What did he do? What's the festival about? Why the center? Is that why you dress the way you do? Is that the symbol of your religion?"

Nero is silent for a bit, ignoring Granger's impatient huff. "First off, I'm not religious sort, so I don't know much – never even attended church sermons. The Savior is the Savior simple as that. He brought, uh, salvation to us which is why we call him the Savior because he didn't give us a name. We just call him that. The festival is to celebrate the Savior's 'great sacrifice'," Nero said the last part sarcastically, and if anything looked extremely annoyed. ("What was the sacrifice for and what significance does the festival hold, why the center?" Granger asked impatiently but Nero ignored those questions.) Looking pointedly at him Nero says with extreme annoyance and snark as possible, "and I dress like this, because I want to, so excuse me for not following social norms."

Granger looked equally annoyed at being denied certain answers to her questions but let the matter drop. She glanced at the symbol on his arm again, it looked to him that she wasn't going let this one go. "What about the symbol?"

"What about it?"

"What does it stand for," she persisted.

"Nothing, its design Kyrie stitched on my clothes. Are we done with the interrogations – can I go back to ignoring your existence, yes, okay."