"The definition of diplomacy is being able to tell a person to go to hell in such a fashion that they actually look forward to the trip." –My Grandmother
Chapter 15
Doing his paper work, teaching his students…
A massive headache was forming directly behind my eye sockets. I closed my eyes and momentarily rubbed my forehead. The pressure was steadily building as I drew nearer to my last lesson of the day: first year potions.
I'd spent half the night sitting in a stiff, straight-backed wooden chair listening to Professor Snape lecture me about teaching first year students and possible situations I might find myself in due to their stupidity. Leaking and exploding cauldrons, which could contain permanently deforming substances, fume poisoning, shattered vials, unauthorized potion testing, severe allergic reactions…potion ingredients in the hands of a bunch of morons could give a person nightmares.
After that dreadfully enlightening conversation, I couldn't help but admire the man. No wonder he was such an asshole. If I had to hover over incompetent students handling potentially volatile ingredients, I'd be pissed too.
I'm a little more than pissed, actually.
The headache laying siege to my brain gave a painful throb. I could almost pity the unsuspecting eleven year olds waiting for me in my classroom.
My classroom. I rolled the world around in my mouth. It tasted sour.
Professor Snape had supplied me with my own room and supplies in case I should screw up. He didn't want me digging around in his supplies and scuffing up his desk. That was his area and to be frank, I was immensely relieved. The thought of using his desk and personal area made me uneasy. It would have been invading his privacy and both of us were adamant about maintaining that privacy. I didn't need to know anything about my Head of House than what was absolutely necessary.
Though the room was located a few damp passageways over from Professor Snape's, there was little difference between them. Other than the reinforced charms and spells protecting the equipment in my room, they might have been identical.
Walking purposely down the hall and toward the door behind which twenty-two students were whispering nervously to each other as they awaited the notorious Head of Slytherin, I smiled grimly.
After the morning I've had, I doubt it'll be Professor Snape they cringe from in the hallways anymore.
With next to no sleep, I'd half-assed my morning run before slumping into a seat in Professor Snape's double potions class. To top off an already shity morning, I'd been partnered with an incompetent twat named Crab who kept trying to grab my ass.
Faced with snickering sixth years and a pointedly oblivious professor, I'd finally petrified the knuckle-dragging ape in his seat. The girls, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, who'd witnessed my subtle solution, had gazed at each other as if to say "Why didn't we ever think of that?"
Of course Malfoy had taken a personal affront to the treatment of his bodyguard and had surreptitiously tried to trip me up several times in class. His cohort, Throckmorten, had repeatedly attempted to fling incongruent objects such as quills and locus wings into my cauldron. Maureen and that Pansy girl had set up their lab behind me while I deflected his missiles.
I gritted my teeth as I approached my classroom door, thinking about the snotty comments they'd directed my way throughout the entire class period and on through lunch. The scene in the library had clearly cemented everyone's belief that Allman and I were "an item".
In his wet dreams.
But, thankfully, I wouldn't be seeing much of him. As a seventh year, Allman wouldn't be taking any of my classes except Defense, Health, and Charms (apparently the Durmstrang charms instructor had disappeared unexpectedly halfway through his sixth year so he was retaking it here at Hogwarts).
He had wisely kept his distance during lunch, however, limiting himself to only the occasional mock-hungry stare to keep everyone convinced that the rumors were indeed true.
Just by this simple action he'd effectively slapped a "Property of Allman" sticker on my forehead. Envious eyes from the female population followed me along with snide comments about my virtue. Not because we were going out, but because Allman had felt the need to point out the new Defense teacher's unusual interest in me. I'd prudently hexed his mouth shut after that.
Just one more class, then I can leave and go to work.
Ever since I'd crash-landed in Europe, I'd somehow gone from a hideous, black-hearted bitch to the sexy, bad-ass Yank. How or when the change occurred, I don't know.
Nor did I really care. If anything, it served as a powerful deterrent for half-grown jerk-offs. Simply being perceived as attractive somehow daunted boys. I had a sneaking suspicion that my looks hadn't changed, simply my disposition. Relying on myself and knowing I was in control of my life from now on had made me confident. I was also harder and colder. Well, perhaps not physically cold. The corners of my mouth kicked up as I thought of the library incident.
Instead of refuting the rumors I decided to take advantage of them. People would underestimate me and make assumptions. So much the better. I could hide behind that identity and keep my personal life, well, personal. No one needed to know that the farthest I'd ever gone with a boy was a sloppy kiss on the lips.
As far as I'm concerned, the possibility of me ever dating is slim to none. The girls at the Institute wore their boyfriends like merit badges. I just didn't see the thrill in letting a boy grope you and buy you ice cream. Grouping was what apes did, and I could buy my own ice cream, thank you very much.
I'd heard girls talk about emotional support, but they had identity and confidence issues. Only spineless, worthless slobs depended on other people to take care of their problems. Being responsible for one's choices as well as one's mistakes was a sign of maturity.
So then what was the point of having a boyfriend?
There isn't any. Damn my head hurts. I hope the little shits aren't as horrible as he said. The first one that tries to challenge my authority...At this point I couldn't even articulate my thoughts my mood was so black.
Professor Snape had assured me they'd try to goad me. I didn't doubt it. After all, I was only a sixth year. They'd try to push me around and manipulate me unless I did something about it. Drawing nearer to the door, a ruthless smile curved my lips. I'd made sure to be late today so I didn't have to wait around until they all found the classroom. No use in allowing them to examine me before I could issue orders.
Oh how they're going to hate me. The thought was almost a happy one.
Readjusting the book bag across my shoulder, I didn't bother to slow down or stop as I approached the door.
With a silent command, I sent the door crashing open. Several cries of alarm preceded me as I strode into the room. Not bothering to look at the kids, I threw down my bag before whipping out my wand and gesturing sharply to the blackboard behind me.
An uncompromising list of rules appeared in harsh white chalk. Without pausing, I slammed the door shut with a quick gesture of my freehand and simultaneously aimed my wand towards the small cauldrons I'd set up the night before. Small blue flames appeared beneath them to heat up the water.
Standing behind my desk, I conjured up the roll sheet. The room's silence could be compared to the darkest recesses of the lake. I swiftly went down the list, calling out names and matching faces to them as the students answered.
"Where's Professor Snape?" One surly Slytherin asked after I banished the clipboard.
My eyes narrowed and the boy shifted slightly in his seat before adding, "Ma'am."
"Would someone capable of reading," I began, not bothering to hide my disgust, "please inform Mr. Mallory why I am here? Anyone?"
The class cast apprehensive gazes around the room, waiting for someone else to give the obvious answer. A boy near the back of the room with car doors for ears raised his hand hesitantly.
It would be a Gryffindor.
"Mr. Cornell?"
"Professor Snape asked you to supervise his first year classes for the rest of the year as punishment for severely injuring a classmate." The boy obediently read off the blackboard.
Why hide the truth when it could only help? It'd show them I'm not below bodily harm.
"Exactly. I have no choice but to be here. I'll be honest with you: I hate Potions. But my loathing for incompetence and stupidity surpass that hatred. Some of you don't even have the faintest clue of what potion brewing entails. That's what I'm here to fix. From here on out, I will be grilling you on the dangers of potion making and safety precautions that, with any luck, will keep you from killing not only yourself but your fellow students and myself as well.
This is not a game. Carelessness and arrogance is, and will be, a serious detriment to your health here. One mistake could spell death. Deadly fumes or explosions could kill at least one of you before I could stop the rouge potion. Potion making is a serious business and any attempt at horseplay will only end badly for those involved. Do I make myself clear?"
Some had their eyes wide with fear, while others traded bored glances with their friends. I snapped my fingers and the boys whispering at the back of the class found they couldn't speak.
"Do I make myself clear?" My voice was like liquid ice though head was throbbing painfully. The students seemed to notice my escalating irritability and responded in subdued stereo.
"Yes Professor."
"Good. Now for some of you muggle borns, Potion brewing may remind you of cooking. Those of you who do not understand this analogy, I suggest you to ask someone who does." I said curtly, sending a quelling stare at the protesting Slytherins.
The protesting didn't die fast enough and I concentrated, snapping my fingers. A loud, reverberating crack, a sound reminiscent of a sharply struck cane across a desktop, made everyone jump.
Hmm. No wonder Professor Vicker carried a cane around with her. Interesting.
One of my previous professors, my Herbology teacher to be exact, had found great joy in soundly rapping my group table with her cane when I tried to sleep through class. Of course she hadn't always hit the desk and quick reaction time hadn't always spared me from a sharp rap across my hands or head.
The room was still now except for the hiss of boiling water. Sufficiently subdued, the gulping first years gazed up at me with wide, and yes, resentful eyes from where I stood behind my desk.
Good. I'm not here to be their friend. It was true, but a small part of me felt strangely tired. I ignored that part.
"This is not a democracy. Do not push me. Unlike your other teachers, I am not bound by normal school regulations and have no problem sending you from my classroom like the worthless little shits you are." Several of the students gasped in shock, focusing on my vocabulary and not on what I was saying.
I continued on, frustrated with their response. Cursing in here would be more of a distraction and hindrance than a help.
The Headmaster knew that too. Damnable man.
"Let there be no misunderstanding in this," I continued, "once you walk out that door, there will be no coming back. How you explain your failing grade and attendance to your parents is not my problem." I said. I paused here, letting that little bit of information sink in.
Of course, none of what I'd said was exactly true. Professor Snape would skin me alive if parents began sending him hate mail because of his new assistant. But the students didn't need to know that.
"Now put your wands away and turn to page twelve."
"Do you want a detention, Mr. Mallory, or are you just an idiot?" I yelled, snatching the vial of monkshood root from his raised hand.
"An idiot." Someone snickered.
"Can it, Mr. Cornell." I snapped, still glaring at my belligerent housemate. "Please read all five lines of the recipe, Mr. Mallory. Is the ingredient monkshood root in there? No, it's not. This is a simple Dye Potion. You only job is to make sure you add the right ingredients in the order they are listed then stir for two minutes."
"Yes, Ma'am." The boy said sullenly to his desk as I loomed over him.
"Mr. Mallory, you've been working on this potion for twenty minutes and it's not even close to being finished." I swept back to the front of the room, clenching my fingers around the vial. He could have botched the whole potion and run screaming from the room after it exploded.
Idiot!
"Class is over in five minutes. If your group's potion isn't bottled and on my desk before then, those groups will be doing an extra six inches on the homework I'll be assigning you all tonight." They started to protest and I snapped my fingers.
The sharp crack silenced them.
"I will not tolerate whining. If you whine, the entire class will be assigned yet another six inches. Understood? And make sure everyone's name is on the label." I said, irritated that I'd even have to tell them that. "If not, the whole group will get a zero."
When the bell rang five minutes later only one group had to do the extra homework. I watched them all file out the door before collapsing in my chair. Hovering over them hadn't been as dreadful as I thought, but I was still frustrated. I did not want to teach first years. They whined constantly and asked the stupidest questions. They needed to get the idea that I would do their potions for them out of their head.
I'd even done a demonstration before turning them loose on their own. Sighing, I waved my hand and vanished the contents of the cauldrons and put out the fires.
"And I have to do this again on Friday." Making a disgusted face, I opened my desk drawer and tossed the vial of powdered monkshood root in there.
I glanced up at the clock over the door and growled. I still had an hour before I had to be at work. "Fine. Might as well grade these while I have time…"
"Afternoon, Astrid. I'd say it was good but you're looking none too happy." Rosemerta remarked, wiping down the counter.
"Yeah." I said, not caring to explain. It was nearly five and the place was starting to fill up. I followed Rosemerta behind the bar and took the lap apron she handed me, ditching my school robes.
"Let's see you work the bar. I'll tell you the general policies as we go."
"Alright." I said, tying the apron strings tight.
Though the flood of customers was slow at first, as the night wore on it got steadily worse. I found myself remembering longer orders and mixing drinks I'd never even thought to make before. The rules were pretty much the same: Smile, collect the money, mix the drink, and smile again.
Nobody ever ordered food, since the cook left at four every day. My co-workers were nice enough. One was Rosemerta's nephew, Marcus, a quiet, gangly twenty-something with brown hair. He helped me mix the drinks and showed me how to work the register. The others were a couple of rowdy matrons with sharp eyes and loud voices.
They tried to bait me at first, waggling their eyebrows and making comments lewd enough to make Rosemerta scowl at them. I didn't mind, I'd heard worse at the Institute. As the saying goes, girls will be girls.
"I'd like a pitcher of fire whiskey, please." A stunted, unremarkable little man said, handing me two Galleons.
"How many glasses?" I asked.
He was staring at me nervously, his right arm twitching curiously as if he was keeping himself from drawing his wand. Eyes narrowing, I wondered if maybe he'd already been served one drink too many.
"How many glasses?" I repeated. My tight-lipped smile disappeared when he didn't answer right away.
"Sir?" I asked, studying his face. It was strange, but he had no distinctive features. He was the kind of person that could loose himself easily in a crowed.
The intensity of his gaze made me want to look over my shoulder. Unsure of what the strange little man was capable of, I spared a glance toward Marcus. He was talking to a plump, red-faced man near the register. No help there.
Wary and just a tad suspicious, I looked back at the creepy little shit standing before me only to watch him suddenly turn and head for the door.
"Okay then." I said after a stunned moment of silence.
Freak.
Shaking my head I served a few more customers before handing Rosemerta my apron and the coin I'd gathered. She patted my shoulder and told me I'd done better than she'd thought I would. Not sure how to take that, I shrugged and wished her a good night.
Once I was outside, I shrugged into my school robes. It was colder than I'd expected. And bright. The stars spiraled across the sky like a bright fog, a truly beautiful sight. Strolling in the dark, I wandered towards the outskirts of town before drawing my wand. Just as I was preparing to apparate myself near the front gates, my left leg suddenly seized up.
I grunted in surprise, dropping to one knee. My knuckles turned white around my wand and my breathing speeded up. It hurt. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to distract myself as my calf muscles locked up and vibrated. I tried not to breath or move, thinking it would help for some reason.
It felt like someone had reached inside my leg and squeezed. I gasped and remembered the night before my birthday. I'd woken up with a massive Charlie Horse then, too. The sound of boots squishing in the muddy street I was kneeling in had me struggling to my feet.
"Who's there?" I growled, whishing I'd just apparated from outside the Three Broomsticks. No, instead I'd been a fool and let myself be distracted by the scenery. I couldn't apparate yet, not with my concentration impaired as it was by my leg.
The pain in my leg intensified and I cursed, holding my wand out before me like a shield. A particularly strong twinge jerked my knees forward and my leg crumpled beneath me. I grunted and whipped my head around.
I found myself looking up at creepy stranger who'd ran off earlier without his fire whiskey. The moment I spotted him he stopped moving.
"Stay back." I growled, pointing my wand directly at his chest.
I wasn't afraid of him, just cautious. I forced myself to breath calmly as the fire in my leg became torrid enough to scald the sun. I gritted my teeth, knuckles whitening around my wand.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" The wizard asked smugly, his voice girlishly high.
I bared my teeth at him. "Get away from me."
"He said it would. When you failed to show the other signs, he wondered. Now we know why. The markings summon the magic, but they also guard it. I must free you of them." He breathed, his previously ordinary features twisting into a fanatical grin.
"What are you talking about? Get away from me!" I spat. Pain, anger, and alarm gave my words power.
The man stumbled backwards a step. A flicker of surprise and eager anticipation crossed his face. Grinning insanely, he splayed his bare, empty hands out before him and began to mutter. The small hairs on my neck and arms stiffened. I went very still, cautiously pressing my free hand against my stomach.
Something inside of me was stirring. It shifted in its sleep. My lips parted as my breathing hitched, coming in fast pants. The pain in my leg receded suddenly, frightening me worse than when it had hurt.
A heartbeat later it whooshed back, only it was worse this time—much worse. I cried out, dropping to the ground like a stone.
Something was tearing apart my leg, gnawing on the flesh and ripping it apart from the inside! The whites of my eyes shone in the dark as panic blossomed in my chest.
No, no, no!
I reached for my leg only to fall backwards on the ground as the fire snarled and clawed its way up my leg to my thigh and beyond. I couldn't scream. The agony was all consuming and left me jerking noiselessly on the ground as my mind shrieked. I struggled to curl up into a ball, jamming my fist into my soundless mouth.
Then it was over.
The abrupt relief made me gasp. Air rushed into my lungs and cleared my oxygen-deprived brain. The sharp crack of the stranger's departure had me struggling to stand. Not yet fully functional, I got to my knees, blood rushing quickly to my head. As soon as I gained my feet I lost them, dropping to all fours as I followed a sudden urge.
I found myself tossing up everything I'd ever eaten. I vomited so hard, I felt like that freaky bitch off Exorcist. My throat and nose burned when I was done. Shaking, I stumbled sideways and fell onto my back. I covered my face with my mud-smeared hands. Rain, tears, and blood from my mangled fist mingled with the clumps of mud in my hair. I felt as if all the muscles had been ripped out of my body.
A furious yowl startled me. The same feeling from before surged through me—the sensation of being awakened.
It was like having a bucket of cold water thrown on me, freezing me from the inside, out. The frozen knot in the pit of my stomach was accompanied by a craving I couldn't explain. It sent me flying into a crouch with unfamiliar strength and dexterity. On their own accord, my hands curled and my arms hung out to my sides as if I was going to hurl something.
"Merrrrooww!" Prince cried as he galloped forward and launched himself at me. The moment I gathered him into my arms I felt the feeling recede along with my tension.
I realized what the sensation was only after it was gone.
Hunger—that's what had motivated me. Not hunger for food…something abstract. Something I didn't want to think about, didn't want to acknowledge.
"Pain, I wanted to cause pain." I whispered into Prince's silky fur. "I wanted to watch them die and drink in their screams."
A monster. There's a monster inside of me. Hysterical laughter bubbled up in my throat, making me clamp a hand over my mouth.
"The markings did something to my magic." I murmured, recalling the man who'd attacked me.
Murderous rage and anticipation swept through me when I thought of the stranger. I my desire for the fool's death swirl around me, my imagination painting a picture of human carnage that made me bare my fangs.
"Merrow." I felt Prince's claws dig into my arms, snapping me back to reality and leaving me slightly dazed.
"Sorry." I exhaled, shaking myself. I laid a chaste kiss on his nose and placed him back on the ground. A fat, cold raindrop struck my nose as I straightened.
I was standing on the very outskirts of Hogsmead in the rain. The stars were gone, hidden by angry black clouds that emphasized the darkness surrounding me. Out of habit I felt my hand stray towards my wand pocket. It was empty. Frowning, I opened my hand and concentrated.
A moment later my wand flew into my palm, covered in mud and grass. Exhausted and only dimly concerned, I slowly headed up the path along side Prince.
Looks like I'm going to be late for curfew.
The rustle of leaves and the echoes of raindrops on rooftops masked the soft pop of my side-along aparation back to school.
The incident at Hogsmead proved to be a reflection of the rest of my week: miserable.
After arriving back to the castle, I suffered only an hour of relentless questioning from Aurors and Professor Dumbledore before Madam Pomfrey saved me; out of gratitude I foolishly promised to zonk out every night in the hospital wing until they found out what was wrong with me.
After a shitty night's sleep, or lack there of, I lost seventy points for "intentionally" angering the potted spit-devil mushroom I was supposed to be examining. In reality, Professor Sprout only deducted thirty points: ten for showing up late, and twenty for the stupid plant. The other forty came from Madam Pomfrey when I showed up in the hospital wing with a nasty, oozing rash. I used it as an excuse to skip Healing—the test wasn't till next week anyway.
"Of all the foolish, irresponsible—"
"Just fix it, Pomfrey." I said, annoyed.
The damn thing was called a spit-devil, for cryin' out loud!
It's not like they're naturally nice beings, besides, who the hell cares? It's not like I'm not gonna see her tonight. I shouldn't have promised to spend the night in one of these damnable beds.
Apparently Pomfrey cared. She harassed me until she was blue in the face and I was gripping the edge of the bed I was sitting on in an attempt to control my irritation.
Her words became muted as I sat there, feeling my irritation become anger. The moment it did a cold breeze fluttered my hair and ice flooded my veins. My eyes bugged out as I felt a frozen knot replace my stomach.
"Pomfrey. Pomfrey. Shut. Up." I growled, breaking out in a sweat just above my hairline.
A faint echo of the pain I'd experienced the night before cut through me like a ghost. I felt my upper lip begin to curl in a feral grin of anticipation; the sane part of my mind was screaming at me to do something, anything!
I shot to my feet and threw myself off the bed away from the nurse. "Get out of here! GO! Just—just go!" She wouldn't listen.
"Miss Sweetblood, I will not be ordered about my own hospital by a patient! Now sit."
Grimly, I shut my eyes and concentrated. Stupefy, stupefy, stupefy!
I didn't fall. An image of the hippogriff attack flashed through my mind: I hadn't been able to open the doors with wandless magic then either.
On it's own accord, my body suddenly tensed. My eyes flew open; Pomfrey was walking towards me. The need to see her twitching lifelessly on the ground for disobeying me was great. My mouth began to salivate as the primal monster within me began to take controll.
Desperate, I fought to draw my wand. Pomfrey began to run and I jammed it into my chest.
"STUPEFY!"
I shoved my fear and horror into the uncontrolled spell. A flash of red erupted from the end of my wand only to ricochet off my chest with blinding speed. Madam Pomfrey was knocked clean off her feet as the Stunning Spell collided with her chest.
The cold surge of energy receded slightly as I stumbled passed the unconscious form of Madam Pomfrey and out the door away from here. Once I slammed the door shut behind me, repressing my bloodlust became marginally easier. Then the doors started to open.
"Merlin's bastard sons!" I swore, pushing off against the wall. My face contorted as my blood began to sing, urging me to slit a few slender throats. Bile rose up in my throat at both the idea and the fact that I wanted to.
I really, really wanted to. I knew how, I knew the spells. It would be so easy.
No. NO. I need to leave. I need—I need to find the Headmaster.
With that goal firmly in mind, I tore off down corridor. Students shrieked and cursed at me as I shoved them into walls or other passerby as I careened around the corner. As I fought back the urge to butcher my classmates, I spotted him. Striding down the corridor, robes billowing out behind him, came Professor Snape.
Pale and rigid from the effort of keeping my violent tendencies in check, I sprinted to his side. He saw me coming and his perpetual scowl changed to one of mild irritation.
"What?" He snapped. His eyes narrowed suddenly and a long, bony hand snaked out to grip my shoulder, steering me into the nearest doorway.
"Let go of me. Now." I whispered, closing my eyes tight as I began to lose what little power I had over my gruesome desires.
His grip on my shoulder tightened, making me want to expel his intestines with one of the curses from the Dart Arts book I'd inherited.
"Please." I croaked, my mouth dry as that image triggered a thrill of glee.
My hands twitched and I clenched them tight when he didn't let go right away. Instead, he propelled me into one of the side classrooms. My breathing hitched.
"Professor, I am going to break your arm in eight different places," I hissed, "if you do not give me some space." His hand abruptly left my shoulder.
I sucked in a breath, my yearning for his pain actually intensified by the sudden absence of his touch. The confused and noisy ruckus from the students in the hallway was cut off as he bolted the door shut with a sharp gesture.
My jaw ached as I held back a growl of frustration; I longed to rip the door off its hinges and watch all the little kiddies scream as—
"Miss Sweetblood!"
Startled from the sick fantasy I'd been caught in, I felt my hands begin to shake. "Make it stop." I begged, grabbing a hold of a nearby desk. I leaned over it, pressing my forehead against the warm grain of the wood.
"No."
"Then get Dumbledore."
"No."
"No as in can't, or won't?" I snarled, an icy rage consuming me.
Silent footsteps answered me. I growled and gripped the desk tighter, feeling it flex beneath my fingers like the railing as Number 12 had.
Then I felt him run one, just one, long finger down the length of my spine. I froze. My entire body went rigid as I suddenly became aware of his close proximity. I could feel the warmth emanating from his body.
I stopped breathing, stopped thinking and just concentrated on that warmth. It's the heat of his blood. I can sense his blood.
"Nothing personal, I assure you." His voice held a distasteful grimace.
I can hear it. Even from here, I can hear it. My eyes grew distant as I listened to the sound of his heart. It was beating almost as rapidly as my own.
"Look at me!" He ordered suddenly, whirling me around to face him. My eyes snapped to his, confused and muddled. "Legilimens."
The moment the spell slammed into my mental barriers, I knew I had lost: he'd shattered the last of my concentration.
Time seemed to stop, everything faded. Magic rush through my veins like liquid ice, caressing my skin as it sang to me of it's yearning, its need. It was exhilarating. I knew I should resist, but I couldn't. A newer, more forceful part of me wouldn't allow it.
Memories, beliefs, and opinions—all of them disappeared. I became numb to everything but the magic, a dark magic that whispered to me its cravings for greed, envy, hate, deceit, anger, spite, and above all, its desire for pain and fear.
Sighing, I stretched languorously, reveling in my lack of concern; I could do whatever I wanted when I wanted. It was a heady feeling.
After a few moments I dimly became aware of some emotions that didn't belong to me.
Swirling around in the back of my mind were the emotions of the people nearest me: suspicion, excitement, boredom, anxiety, anger, lust, greed, infatuation, fear, shock, doubt, satisfaction, hunger…
My heart beat excitedly as I picked up on the fear and I opened my eyes. As I searched for the source, I noticed that everything in the room seemed sharper, clearer somehow. I moved like a dream: one moment I was standing before Professor Snape and then, before I even knew I wanted to move, I was out in the hall. There, a pudgy boy I recognized as one of Potter's friends was staring at a smug looking Draco Malfoy.
My nostril's flared and I clicked my teeth together, running my tongue over the points of my teeth. The boys were arguing. I could feel the blond brat's excitement and the Gryffindor's mounting distress.
"Sweetblood." I heard Malfoy sneer. His voice sounded distant, garbled almost. I tried to remember more about him, but only his name came to mind. Shaking my head, I concentrated more on the Longbottom boy.
Yes, that's his name. Longbottom. Neville Longbottom…
As I became more aware of Longbottom's dread, I dismissed everything from my mind but the cravings and sauntered towards him. I felt his fear flare when he spotted me.
He was afraid of me!
The knowledge amplified my hunger and I took a deep breath, drinking his fear in as I navigated through the throng of students on their way to lunch. I heard Professor Snape calling me, but I ignored him. The magic needed more. The fear wasn't enough.
I went to run my hand through my hair in frustration but stopped short. My hand was shrouded in a veil of black fire. Mildly surprised, I made a fist of my hand. The black fire flared, burning coldly. I smiled.
My eyes darted back to the boy's in sadistic pleasure. His terror rolled over me, drowning out the lesser emotions in the hallway. A cool breeze lifted my hair and made my hemmed robes flap open to reveal my muggle attire. I started towards him again only to feel something hit my shoulder before bouncing off.
Annoyed, I looked over my shoulder. Professor Snape was staring disbelievingly at me, wand outstretched. As if he'd turned a switch, I suddenly became aware of the noise level in the hallway.
People were scattering, yelling as they fled the corridor. The breeze around me became a gale as the collective fear of those around me went directly to my head. Lips parted and eyes half closed, I stood there and soaked up their chaotic emotions. I watched Professor Snape raise his wand again and cocked my head to one side, watching him through heavily lidded eyes.
"Control yourself, Miss Sweetblood!" He ordered, glaring at me.
I laughed. "Trying to save face, are we Professor? If it weren't for you, I'd never have allowed the magic to take hold. But now…" I breathed deeply, wrapping my arms around myself in jubilation. "Now I welcome it, as should you."
I peered at him sideways, smirking as an idea formed. Just then, I felt the Longbottom boy flee the corridor. "You did that on purpose." I said, my playful mood vanishing like a flash of lightning.
He'd distracted me so the boy could get away. Enraged, I stalked towards the professor.
He watched me approach, nothing giving away the faint whiff of uncertainty I sensed. The rest of the hall began to empty, the students fading along with their delicious emotions. I growled and continued to stalk towards the Professor.
My sensitivity to emotions was astounding. I could even detect hidden, repressed feelings people might not even be aware of. Like envy, grief, and hatred—I laughed suddenly as I stumbled across another emotion, this one long buried.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" I said, considering the Professor.
I wonder if I can manipulate them as well? Interesting theory.
I concentrated on the dormant feeling I'd picked up in the Potion's Master, reaching out with my new ability and giving it a nudge. Professor Snape's inaudible gasp announced my success.
Excitement rushed through me and I yanked the feeling to the surface, empowering it. Professor Snape shuddered, jerking backwards and away from me. I smiled viciously as he tried to regain control of himself. Desire was a very dominant emotion I observed with great satisfaction as his mind battled ferociously with his body.
"Very impressive. Your control is remarkable." I said, walking in a slow circle around him. He followed me step for step, his face contorting into a furious snarl that would have made even Prince hesitate. I just shook my head patronizingly.
"Control yourself, Professor." I ordered, mocking him.
Outwardly, nothing betraying his attack. It was a spike in his emotions that alerted me. The curse was one I wasn't familiar with but it hit the wall with a crack and melted the stone.
"Hmm, that wasn't very diplomatic." I observed, having sidestepped it. My muscles were singing with awareness and newfound strength as the magic gathered around me.
I snapped my fingers together and a black void of cold fire appeared. It was about the size of a tennis ball. I looked from the burning ball to him, and back to the ball. My intent was clear.
"Astrid!"
The voice was powerful—and angry. Turning, I saw a tall old man with flashing blue eyes and a long white beard approaching. Several people in black Auror robes and an elderly witch who had her hair in a severe bun, followed in his wake. I frowned.
"I should know you." I looked back at Professor Snape, confused. "I should know them. Why don't I remember them?" My voice was gaining volume, the confusion building along with my frustration.
"What did you do to me, you bastard!" Throwing my arms over my head, I drew on the magic. I called it forth, feeling it emerge from some cold, dark place inside of me. It rolled down my arms into my hands like cold flames.
I don't understand. Something is wrong with me! Where am I? What am I doing here?
"Get away from me! Who are you people?" I cried out, holding my hands out before me. What was happening? I could only recall Professor Snape's name.
"Good evening, Astrid. I'm Ablus Dumbledore, Headmaster here at Hogwarts." The powerful old man said politely. "I'm here to help you regain control of yourself, but I'll need your help to do it."
That made sense. I had called the greasy haired man Professor after all. He probably taught Potions. So…I was in a school. I peered into the faces of the others. They were afraid and determined. My eyes darted back to the old man.
With a start, I realized I couldn't sense his emotions. They were gone—as if he was hiding them from me. I didn't trust him. I met his gaze coolly, no longer concerned with my inability to remember. If I didn't remember, then there was undoubtedly a damn good reason.
I straightened, regaining my composure. The important thing was to find someone to satisfy my needs. The magic egged me on, agreeing with me. The craving returned, my fingers twitching with excitement as I imagined tightening them around one of the Auror's throats. I ran my tongue over my lips, unaware of how disconcerting it was.
The old wizard seemed to sigh. As if it were a signal, the Aurors started forward. I bared my teeth in a feral grin and hurled the burning ball I was holding at them. Wands a blur, the Aurors tried to defend themselves. My magic flew through their shields as if they didn't exist. A delicious scream erupted from the Auror I struck.
I hungrily absorbed it, pupils dilating as I felt his agony. I felt several spells hit me as I drank in the Auror's convulsing screams. One of the Auror's began Healing him however, easing his pain. I scowled.
All of a sudden, several spells slammed into me before bouncing off. Glaring, I looked over at the other Aurors. Horrified and angry, they all turned to Dumbledore. The old man was shaking with fury. Magic crackled around him, making the others step away from him.
I cocked my head to one side, considering him. He was powerful yes, but so was I. Grinning, I drew on my magic, pulling it around me like a cloak. My hair whipped across my face, my robes flailed, and paintings on the walls shook. My magic was like a black hurricane of fire and ice. My storm sucked the emotions out of the corridor and from the people in it, consuming the feelings with ravenous glee.
I stood in the eye of the storm, grounding the power. With my arms raised above my head, I twirled, laughing. And then I felt it. In the back of my mind, someone howled with rage.
NO! NO! NO! NO!
My grin faltered and I dropped my arms. What was happening? Pounding, like fists on a door, accompanied the shrieking voice.
STOP IT! YOU'RE HURTING HIM! STOPIT!
The voice terrified me. I covered my ears and quit drawing on my power, afraid to ignore it. My eyes darted around the demolished hallway. Shredding paintings, broken frames, shattered statues, and pieces of armor littered the area around me. The Aurors and the witch were lying unconscious on the ground. Only the wizard was standing, but just barely. Snape was slumped against another wall, dazed.
Following an impulse I didn't understand but didn't dare ignore, I stumbled to one of the Auror's sides. It was the Auror I'd struck earlier. He was pale and barely breathing. I could feel him slipping away, his emotions fading.
The voice's piercing cry made my heart leap into my throat and I whimpered, falling to my knees at the dying man's side.
NO! NO! NO! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU!
I began to shake, falling across the young man. Terrified, I began to cry. What was I supposed to do? The man was taller than me with fine auburn hair and long sideburns. I could feel his muscles beneath my hands as I cowered against his chest.
HEAL HIM! HEAL HIMMMM!
"Okay, I'll do it." I sobbed, "I'll Heal him." The magic fought me, wanting to take his life, needing me to enjoy his demise. I hesitated for a moment, considering, but the voice returned in full force and I didn't hesitate to obey it.
"Sano!" I cried, grabbing a hold of the magic and forcing it to do what I wanted. I would not be controlled by it any longer. I was the master!
The man shuddered, his eyes flying open as he gasped for air. His bright hazel eyes found mine and I said the first thing that came to mind.
"Mike Sarlow." As if his name was a key, I felt a door inside of me unlock.
SARLOW!
The voice! The voice was mine! I swayed, crumpling to the floor as my memories, beliefs—everything—came rushing back. It was like being stuck over the head with a cauldron. I closed my eyes, dazed and unable to sort out my thoughts.
Nothing felt real, I was dreaming.
"Astrid. Astrid? Astrid!" I felt hands grip my shoulders but I was too far-gone.
That's his voice. I thought, feeling myself slip away. That's his voice…his voice…his voice…
(A/N)
G-zeus! Finally, another installment!
Okay, well here's another chapter. I know! I'm a slacker. But hey, in my defense, I did post a warning. And, hell, school's out in three days! Shit yeah!
Alright, well here's something to chew on while you wait: In the next chapter Astrid will fight Ron and figure out some things about herself. Also, she'll probably be that much more alienated from her classmates, or...Hmm...I could do the Kate Bell thing and have Dumbledore brush it off to the rest of the school as a Death Eater attack. Suggestions?
If you guys have any questions you need answered, review me and I'll get back to you ASAP. To summer vacation!
Elated, the author