Beta: lil'hawkeye3, thanks
'parseltongue'
The days came and went away, but Anya never talked again with Elizabeth Kneeler – even after the girl's fall from the staircase of Astronomy's tower and her five week stay at the Hospital Wing. The school was painted by white – the snow falling early that year.
"Carpe is at the greenhouses, the prefects are covering the rest. But ye don't need to worry, Banshee's Grin. They never ambush at the Dark Tower."
"Thank you, Griffin Beak, for everything." She said to the pirate lord who had guided them there.
"It's me joy, Banshee's Grin. Take care of my bucko Barmy Niffer, lass. Fair winds, Baron Wyvern, I'm shoving off."
Tom looked at Anya. "Is he always-"
"His surname is Digswell. Do you want to talk about this or enjoy the last night of the year and your birthday?" Anya interrupted.
"So will I finally know why you leave the Slytherin dorm every weekend?"
"I won't ask how you know that."
"Dorea confides to Orion. Orion confides to everyone else."
"We really need to make his tongue a bit tighter, don't we?"
"Desperately. You made friends with a ghost – a pirate ghost who is immoral enough to be rule-breaker – so that you can slip away in the middle in the night?" He inquired.
"Something like that. He is fun, and good with Peeves and Carpe."
"Should I be worried?"
"Only if I get caught. As you also slip away in the middle of the night–" Seeing his surprised look, she chuckled. "You noticed that out of the two of us it's you who shares a room with Orion, didn't you? As I was saying, as you sneak out as well and I have no idea to where, I find it unfair that you worry over me… So, someone once said that if we are not ashamed to do it, we should not be ashamed to say it, so let me tell the truth." She said, her eyes shining in the dark snowing night.
"I'm pretty sure Cicero's condition was not being ashamed of thinking. But I usually like it when you reveal the truth, so go ahead."
And then she pushed him out the tower.
Tom gasped as he felt the floor leaving his feet and afterward, he laughed. Anyone else would have a fit if pushed from a tower somewhat high, but not him – he was joyful. Trust Anya to be sly doing the harshest thing in the world.
Not that he hadn't been levitating himself to the Ravenclaw Tower. But he had been just using his abilities as a kind of invisible elevator, which couldn't be compared to free fall jumping from a prison tower.
Different from Anya, he wasn't obsessed by flying, although he greatly enjoyed it. Nevertheless, holding back a jubilant shout had been one of the most difficult things he had done in life – the freedom you could experience in the air was unutterable to those who had never left the ground or a broomstick.
Above him, the young witch jumped into the air as well, her feral grin unable to translate everything. Even with the soft snow hindering the flight that couldn't be a better birthday gift. Tom smiled as he reached for Anya. "Happy birthday, Arawn."
He checked out his stolen wristwatch. "Happy New Year, Anya."
They landed in the Middle Courtyard just in time to hear a shout coming from far away and Anya noticed that, yes, a prefect had seen them – although probably not recognized neither. Time to go. With a giggle, Anya grabbed Tom's wrist and dragged him to the shadows, now she only had to find a certain dead pirate captain.
They really had to learn the silencing charm.
][][][][]
It had been a chaotic beginning of the year to both Magical and Muggle Community. Minister Fawley had stated a week before in the Wizengamot that any German attack on France would be considered an attack on Britain. But everybody knew that it wouldn't be enough – that soon, these conservative enemies would be marching in the direction of France. In the Muggle World, Neville Chamberlain had done the same thing Hector Fawley had, probably in a conjunct act.
Yet, everybody knew that they would be soon be substituted.
Tom knew what he needed to do for now – some allies among the other houses, even though that was mostly Anya's area of influence than his. However, at that middle of February, one day before St. Valentine's, Tom wasn't thinking of politics, or of a lover. He was instead thinking of torture.
Elizabeth Kneeler had just left the Library and gone up to the third floor, her arms full of books, a feral expression her face. She was alone, as the school had gotten used to see her, since the few friends that had stuck with her after losing so many points didn't survive the fact that she couldn't hold real conversations anymore – always mumbling and spatting at anyone who approached her.
Hiding a few blocks behind her, in the Trophy Room, Tom amplified his voice with a sonorous charm and muffled his presence, hissing: 'Everyone sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are–' The girl (obviously) didn't understand a word of it, but watching her flinch and look around for the source of the hiss showed Tom that the sibilant sounds were enough to scare her.
'–and those few dare not oppose themselves to the opinion of the many. Interesting isn't it? Let's analyse it, shall we? To me, it's pretty obvious what Niccolo Machiavelli meant here, you will agree with me when I say that people won't oppose your persona as long as you don't give any reason – or chance – for them to do so. As Sun Tzu wrote, if you are indulgent, but unable to make your authority felt; kind-hearted, but unable to enforce your commands; and incapable, moreover, of quelling disorder: then your soldiers must be likened to spoilt children; they are useless for any practical purpose.' The girl, he noticed, was paralyzed in her place. Tom watched with pleasure as the Ravenclaw fell to her knees and tried to crawl to where his voice were leading.
'But, while I keep my stance firm, my allies near, but subordinated, there won't be any reason to doubt my abilities and hence, my leadership. I'm proud of having capable agents as allies, and I'm sure some of them would them able to unmask my character if they felt the need.' He sighed, dramatically, the sound of his breathing echoing through the passageway. 'Because of that, you will understand that I cannot allow your crimes to be overlooked.'
She was near now, one block away. Deciding it was time to go; Tom controlled the urge to hex her – or dig his knife into her skin, creating a beautiful and macabre pattern of scars – he pushed the large mirror that covered the door to a secret passage aside, unlocking it and walking away with a smirk.
][][][][]
Most girls of Slytherin seemed to have gathered around the Great Lake to skate in the pond near it. It seemed that skating was a common wizarding sport for young ladies and Anya had admit that they were good – better than her; but that wasn't saying much, as she wasn't extremely skillful in it, having only skated twice.
However, the Black sisters – Callidora, Cedrella and even the shy Charis – were almost professionals. Anya laughed as she watched Charis and Cedrella dancing in Callidora's arms. "Merlin, they are good." She said, drinking her hot chocolate with a grin, seated on the couch Lucretia, Orion's two years older sister, had transfigured from a large rock.
"They life in Blackthorn State, in the pennies. There is a small lake down their house that is always frozen." Dorea explained, helping herself with another pastry. "I used to go there every winter to skate. The weather in Devon is terrible this period of the year; I'm not jealous of my sister."
"Is Cassie fine?" Lucretia inquired. "I have forgotten to send her a letter asking about her well-being. Did granduncle find her a fiancé? I would say not, otherwise father would have informed me, but it's possible."
"Grandfather is your great-granduncle." Walburga sang in the high-pitched voice she used most of time. Lucretia tsk-ed loudly in reprobation, shaking her head as if she had seen an irremediable case. At the lake, Cedrella had skated away from her sisters and Callidora was spinning her younger sister in her arms, in a surprising demonstration of strength.
"I fear he didn't." Dorea said. "Somehow, I believe my sister is fated to end up a spinster. I would dread Pollux's destiny, but he was thankfully successful in the marriage quest." Dorea regarded with a look.
"You should start thinking about your situation, Dora, considering uncle's lack of reliability." Callidora pointed out as she approached them. "Father was very quick in matching us, although Cedrella isn't so acceptable."
"Why not? She would be marrying Caesar Malfoy, Lord Malfoy's young brother, wouldn't she?" Laelia Burke, a fourth year, interrupted. "That's a desirable arrangement." If one were to ignore the fact the man was ten years older, but Anya knew they did.
"What about you, Nastya; is your engagement with Riddle considered desirable by both parties?" Lucretia inquired.
"I fear you have misunderstood, as have most of the school. I'm not engaged to Tom." Anya stated, offering her hand to help the skinny Charis sit and watching as Cedrella sat at Dorea's side. "Now, let's cease this talk. Tell me, is star-gazing the standard hobby of your family? And I've recently entered into the Orchestra, playing cello, any of you play something?"
][][][][]
"We can leave it for later, if you want. I know you are worried about your parents." Eoessa's voice said from her post behind her easel, her clothes dirtied by the oil paints. She took her wand with a mutter of "Sicca oxydatum."
"It's fine. It isn't as if I can help with anything, so allow me to do something productive at least." Anya said, waving the other's worries away. "Why don't you just use a hot air charm?"
"Because it will make everything awful. Besides, the colours take different times to dry, so I won't just blow everything and hope it's good. It won't work." She explained. "Lift your head a bit, will you? There."
Anya shifted on her cushion at the feet of the rowan tree. She wore a white cute knee-length strap dress which would have allowed her to be frozen to death at the snow if it wasn't for the presence of the ivory fur blanket around her. "Where did you found these, by the way?"
"My sister is friends with the leader; I borrowed the dress. Dorea was using the blanket before the holidays, and she gave me as Christmas's present as, quoting: 'I have found it so interesting'. Keep your eyes closed, snowflakes are glued to your lashes and that's beautiful."
"Thanks, Essy." Anya said, closing her eyes. She was glad that her Ravenclaw friend hadn't insisted further in talking about her supposed parents back in Austria. Oh, she was worried, mind you, but more about the political implications of everything than about her fake family.
It had all happened that morning, after she had proven herself unable to have a relevant dream. She had written about it, nevertheless, but she doubted that a man turning into a rat and then stabbing cheese was something important – she had felt a bit ridiculous writing about it. Tom had been obviously frustrated by her lack of progress on controlling her visions, and she told him she didn't give a fuck about it. She would never be able to predict the future of Wizarding Britain.
He disagreed.
She felt her eyelids weighting as she snuggled in the blanket, feeling the warm of her body being enclosed near it. The weather was weird, the oncoming spring was beginning to give its firsts signal, however, the snow still covered most of the grounds – a good weird, she supposed. Anya felt herself slipping into sleep as she modelled for her friend.
A woman in pink robes, with an ornate ginger wig and too much of fat. A girl with glasses and pimples. A handsome man with dark wavy hair. A man with a messed hair and a red nose. A living skeleton. A woman with a long shiny dark hair and strong jaw. A man with a very long beard. A woman with white wispy pixie hair. A man with a crooked nose and dark greasy hair.
They were all dead. She didn't know why.
And at her feet, the last remaining corpse – with frozen emerald-green eyes and a long mane of dark hair. Herself. A lightning-shaped scar bleeding at her forehead – Anya recognized it, she had a paler stain of same shape at the same place.
Anya looked at the wand in her hand. She recognized it as well. Phoenix feather, thirteen and one half inches long, yew. Tom's wand. The wand was connected to the wand in her hands; it was of the same phoenix feather, made of holly; even though she was already dead.
"Nastya!"
Anya woke up to stare at the very near face of Eoessa Cadogan. "Laws! I'm sorry, did I slip out of my position?"
"You did slip out of reality, but that was alright, you are still a nice model while sleeping. But I don't want you to be near her." Anya quickly followed the Ravenclaw's point of view and noticed that Elizabeth Kneeler had just entered at the courtyard.
"She should be thanking Merlin that Professor Fairwent moved her to the second-year girls room, otherwise she would be already be dead if I had a say in it."
"I can protect myself from a first year, Laws. And you would have to compete with Arawn to kill her."
"Don't compare me with Riddle; I would never treat you like that." Anya wouldn't be the first one to say that Laws may have taken her lack of fondness for Tom to another level of hate. It was almost as if the thought of him hurt the artistic girl.
"Well, why don't you gather your things? The sun is almost setting, and I would enjoy grabbing some food. I will go ahead, there won't be any use in throwing myself into a fight, anyway." She said, using the blanket as a mantle, putting her would-be-frozen-without-magic feet into her pair of slippers and fastening her wand-holster – a Yule gift from Ragnar – around her arm. Quite the image, sundress, fur cloak and slippers;
The way from the Frontal Gardens to the Great Hall was quite short, but it seemed to get longer as Anya listened to the compassed steps that accelerated and slowed every time she did. It was pretty obvious she was being followed, and one look at the looking glass told Anya by whom.
As soon as she reached the large chamber, she smiled to Tom, who was relaxing at the Slytherin table. Everyone in their year was around, even Dolohov and that was good.
Because, even though nobody could stop the shout of the curse that aimed her, it was good to know nobody would blame her for starting a fight.
Like a true Slytherin, Anya liked to have others present to witness her innocence. She smirked as she turned to take her revenge.
Thanks everyone for the reviews! I'm greedy and the blackmail still stands up! See ya' XD