Anger

Myrtle took the seat next to Bakura's at lunch. He hadn't been expecting her, but the look on her face was so hopeful and eager that he didn't have the heart to tell her to go away. Instead he took a plateful of some type of bird and a piece of bread, tacitly accepting her presence.

The meat was perfect, tender and juicy and everything that he'd not been able to have except on feast days. Meat seemed to be so common here. These people didn't understand just how lucky they were. They had warm clothing, huge amounts of food available at any time they wanted, and they were being taught magic by some of the most powerful mages he had seen. Bakura smiled around the fork that he handled awkwardly as he saw others around him doing. This was an amazing opportunity and he thought that he was beginning to understand what the hat had meant about looking to the future. If he could learn all of this, what else might he be able to do?

Both of the classes that he had taken so far today had been interesting to him, although the first class, History of Magic, had been presented in a dull way and he had seen that most of his classmates had fallen asleep, the rivalry that had been obvious as they filed into seats quickly vanishing into somnolence as the teacher spoke. Professor Bins did indeed have a very monotonous voice with none of the emotion that generally made a speaker interesting to listen to, but the subject was more than enough to hold Bakura's attention. Learning about the history of this world that was so far in the future to him was so interesting that he had been able to immerse himself in learning despite the teacher's deficiencies.

Smirking as he finished his lunch, Bakura looked over at the mousy girl sitting next to him and thought that this was yet another difference between this place and his home. In Kemet she would have been married if she had not been a criminal like he was, and her softness was enough to tell him that she could not have been that. He didn't understand why she seemed to feel as though she needed to hide from her classmates, but that weakness showed why she had been chosen as the target.

"Why does everyone have to buy those ridiculous hats if they are not going to make us wear them?" Bakura's question sounded abrupt in the silence, but Myrtle looked up at him and smiled, happiness spreading over her face like sunshine and transforming her rather homely face into something almost pretty.

"It's because they're used for special ceremonies," she explained cheerfully, seeming to blossom under even the negligible amount of attention he paid her. "At the end of the year, for instance, everyone has to wear the hats for the ceremony where the House Cup is awarded."

Bakura nodded and asked his next question, the one that her comment had brought up. "What exactly is the House Cup, anyway? I have heard people talking about points, but I never really got an explanation." There wasn't really been anyone else that he felt comfortable asking. Professor Dippet had his duties a headmaster to fulfill which meant that he wasn't available most of the time, healers were much too important to be bothered with such minor question, and Professor Dumbledore made him nervous. Those twinkling eyes seemed to see much more than Bakura wanted him to. As for Professor Slughorn, his head of house, Bakura wasn't willing to spend any more time in his company than was absolutely necessary.

"The House Cup is given to the House with the highest amount of points. Points can be added or deducted by the Head boy or Girl, or by teachers. Generally points are given out for doing exceptionally well at something whereas every time you misbehave points are deducted. It encourages people to behave, or at least to try their hardest to hide it when they don't." Myrtle was grinning, caught up in her description. "It's been years since Slytherin has won it since mostly our House is too caught up in the rivalry against Gryffindor to stay out of trouble, but at least it's mostly Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff that wins since we've managed to discredit Gryffindor along with our own House. I don't think anyone could stand it if the Gryffindors won the House Cup."

Bakura chuckled at her enthusiasm. "It sounds as though this is really a big thing here," he commented lightly, wondering how simple the youth here must be if such a small thing was so important to them.

"It is." Myrtle agreed, glancing at the banners decorating the walls of the Great Hall. "The rivalries between the Houses, especially Slytherin and Gryffindor, mean that no matter what there's going to be competition so every chance they get people try to one-up their rival House." Bakura nodded. He wondered how much of that animosity was carried on after they had left the school, but he had already asked enough questions. To ask more would be like inviting her to think that he was weak, and it was never good to let anyone else see that you were not as strong as you wished to appear, no matter how unimportant they seemed.

It was too late, however. Myrtle asked one of the questions that he had wished to avoid having to answer. At least, he thought glumly, it was unlikely that anyone else was listening. "How come you don't know all this stuff already?"

Bakura sighed and gave the cover story that Professor Dippet had manufactured for him. He would have preferred to make up his own, one that didn't make him seem so much of a child, but the professor had been adamant, and Bakura had given in. "I grew up in one of the countries too underdeveloped to have a wizarding school. When the orphanage at which I stayed closed, I was sent to England with some of the other children and the Ministry found me. They were worried that I would not be able to learn coming in so late so they arranged for me to be sent here as Hogwarts is known as the best school both in the country and out of it."

"You're an orphan?" Myrtle blurted the words, then covered her mouth with her hands, face reddening. Bakura could see the pity in her eyes and snarled, anger changing his face for a moment into a mask of fury. He needed no one's pity.

Seeing the fear that appeared on Myrtle's face, however, Bakura sighed, anger draining away. "It is all right. I just get angry when I think about how they were killed because of that senseless war." He looked away for a moment, then turned back to her. "I do not want to talk about it." He'd never talked about his parents anyway, but here he was afraid that if he did so he might slip up and let the secret out.

Bakura only stayed a few more seconds at the table before rising and heading back out into the halls. He'd seen the Transfiguration classroom earlier, so he headed off to the class, putting thoughts of his dead village out of his mind. It was over. His people had been avenged, and although he had not been the instrument of that vengeance he could now leave that behind him without thinking of their cries.