People Disappear Here by Halsey
I hurt myself to make sure I exist
I pinch myself to make sure that I'm real
I hurt myself to make sure I exist
I need someone to tell me how to feel
February 14th, 1979
Ivy had known there was a risk of ending up seated across the desk from the Headmaster. Clearly, she had not thought it through enough, as she couldn't seem to recollect her preprepared lie. Not that she remembered it being very convincing, whatever it was.
Dumbledore's disappointed blue gaze didn't help matters. He watched her in needling silence, waiting for an explanation she was still trying to conjure. The tips of his spindly fingers were pressed together atop the desk and her hazel wand was nearby, though she had little desire to reach for it.
The quiet was only occasionally broken by whirring and puffing sounds which came from silver instruments that sat on a small nightstand-like table.
Still unconscious, Slughorn had been retrieved mere minutes ago by Madam Pomfrey, who was clad in a nightgown and bemused expression. Fortunately, Dumbledore hadn't offered an explanation and the matron hadn't asked for one.
Despite having always been good under pressure, she was beginning to sweat as time dragged on, the perspiration made worse by knowing this was his desired effect.
Ivy's gaze bounced around for inspiration, eventually landing on his personal collection of books. Scanning the titles for words she could twist into stories, she spotted werewolf, but quickly decided it wasn't workable. Passing over adventures, natural, and secrets, she was about to give up on the bookshelf and move on when something registered in her brain, sending a shock of delirium through her.
Shooting out of her seat, she was standing before the volumes in seconds. Reaching out greedily, she took hold of That Which is Natural and That Which is Not. Returning to the desk, she meant to set the very old, very thin book down, but in her excitement, she ended up slamming it, making herself jump.
"I need to read this," Ivy said emphatically, retaking her seat.
"I wondered," Dumbledore said quietly. "Who had tried to summon it in November."
"I'll tell you anything you want to know if you let me read it."
It was a dangerous offer, one she was acutely aware that she should not be proposing. But That Which is Natural and That Which is Not was quite possibly the last chance she would get to understand her Divination senses. There were few things she wanted enough to divulge her secrets, but that book was one of them.
"You may read it," Dumbledore's eyes narrowed just slightly. "With my supervision, if you agree to share three memories with me. Three memories of my choice."
"What does that mean?" She frowned. "You want me to recount three memories?"
When the Headmaster gestured to his right, she followed his indication to a shallow stone basin. Having known how eccentric the old wizard was, she'd written the bowl off years ago as something he used to wash. Now looking closer, she realised that the sides of it had symbols, runes, and ancient-looking stones embedded into it. When she sat up straighter in her chair, she could see that it contained a silvery substance that she couldn't differentiate between liquid and gaseous.
"That is a Pensieve," Dumbledore elaborated. "If you agree to my proposition, I would use my wand to syphon three memories from your mind. You would not lose your recollections; I would simply be able to view copies."
"View?" Ivy didn't like where he seemed to be headed.
"Yes. I would be able to view your memories as though I had been there myself. Everything that you saw, I would be able to see."
She was distinctly unsettled by this idea. "What's to prevent others from seeing my memories?"
The Headmaster smiled and spread his hands, as though to indicate himself. Although the idea of him being the only defence was not particularly appealing, she had to admit that if anyone could keep her memories secure, it was likely him.
"Which memories?" Ivy asked slowly.
"First, I would like to view the memory of your sister's death. Second, the moments surrounding your Dark Mark initiation ceremony. Lastly, I desire to see what perspired tonight between yourself and Professor Slughorn."
Ivy would've preferred to undergo the Cruciatus Curse. The number of things that could go wrong were astronomical.
But she needed the bloody book.
"Alright," she said acidicly. "We have an agreement."
Inclining his head, he got to his feet, motioning for her to follow him as he approached the Pensieve. Standing before it, Dumbledore had her recollect and focus on the moments he wanted to examine. Withdrawing his wand, he pressed the end lightly against her temple, extracting glowing silvery wisps that he proceeded to delicately drop into the basin, which began to emit an equally silver light.
"All you need to do is lean into the Pensieve," he told her. "I will follow."
"None of those are memories I care to relive," Ivy said hesitantly, not having realised she was expected to join him.
"You'll forgive me," he looked at her sternly over his half-moon spectacles. "If I decline to leave you alone in my office after you assaulted a staff member."
She supposed she deserved that.
Not knowing what to expect, she held her breath and leaned into the misty basin. When her nose touched the substance, her surroundings disappeared entirely. Overcome with the sensation of falling through bitterly cold darkness, she rapidly found herself standing in her childhood bedroom at Selwyn Estate. It was the middle of the night, but her eyes adjusted instantly.
Feeling claustrophobic, breathing became an unskilled labour.
Dumbledore appeared at her side, though he paid her little attention, eyes roving around the dark room to land on a small figure in the bed, which jolted awake due to footsteps on the other side of the closed door.
"Hazel," Avdima's voice was muffled, coming from the corridor. "Come downstairs."
Hatred for her mother prickled at Ivy's unhealed wounds, and she reached to conjure her wand, before recalling that she didn't have it.
Younger Ivy rubbed her eyes, hopping out of bed to open the door. "What's going on?"
There, in the hallway, was Hazel.
Unable to believe that she was seeing her beloved sister again, cheeks flushed with life before her very eyes, older Ivy stepped into the corridor. Consumed by the moon-bathed sight of her, she barely noticed when Dumbledore followed, silent as night.
"I think they want to talk to me," Hazel's voice was higher than she remembered.
"What about?" Her gangly twelve-year-old self asked.
"I don't know," Hazel said quietly. "But I have to go before they get mad."
Older Ivy sank to her knees, mumbling incoherently. When Hazel began pulling the black ribbons out of her hair, Ivy recommitted every detail of her sibling to memory. She had forgotten her little nose, the roundness of her belly, and the way her untamable ashen hair frizzed with flyaways.
"What're these for?" Younger Ivy asked as the ribbons were held out to her.
"I don't want them to get dirty," Hazel said.
"Huh?" Her younger self frowned.
The eleven year old sniffled and forced the ribbons into younger Ivy's hands, then walked past her.
"You knew," older Ivy got to her feet, voice strangled as she watched her go. "And you didn't tell me. Why didn't you tell me?"
Hazel ignored her and went downstairs, while younger Ivy retreated to her bedroom for several moments, before backtracking to chase after her sister, ribbons clutched tight in hand.
Dumbledore and older Ivy followed her down the steps into the ballroom, where they all paused. The trio gazed across the massive, dark space into the lit dining room. Avdima and Rhaen were seated at the table exactly as she remembered, holding hands but looking entirely unbothered. She thought again how, if anything, they looked pleased.
The notion sickened her, almost as much as what was about to happen.
Hauntingly in sync, both Ivys looked at the cellar door.
"Don't," she whispered to her younger self, who was now opening the door. Squeezing past the small witch, she got onto the stairs, trying to block her path. "Go back upstairs."
The sounds coming from below were far worse than what she remembered. Bellatrix was releasing crazed, delighted giggles, and Rodolphus was speaking to her in approving murmurs that she couldn't understand. But, by far, the worst part were Hazel's whimpers, which were interjected by strangled gasps for breath and muffled cries like she had been gagged.
Older Ivy choked on a sob, wishing again that she could forget it all.
Expression grim but unsurprised, Dumbledore joined her on the stairs. He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off immediately.
Little Ivy got onto the steps too, closing the door behind herself. A white flash from around the corner at the bottom lit the staircase and the little witch crept further down as colours danced across the wall to their left.
"Stop." Older Ivy was the first to reach the stone floor at the bottom and she threw her arms out to block her twelve-year-old self's view. "You don't want to see, fucking stop!"
A flash of blue went right through her, casting no shadow on the wall. The colour was one she knew well and, as much as she wanted none of them to see what happened next, she couldn't help looking over her shoulder in hopes that she'd managed to change something, anything.
But the violent green flare still came. In the fading light, she could still see Hazel dead on the cellar floor with SQUIB carved into her arm.
The only difference she noted was that her sister's body was far tinier and feebler than she remembered. She took up so little space on that cold floor, just as she'd taken up so little space in others' lives. The gut-wrenching unfairness of it all heaved over Ivy again like she'd been tossed back into the undertow of the sea. Hazel was still everything to her, and she wanted - needed her back to fill the space where her little sister should be.
Ivy barely noticed when her younger self was shoved by Bellatrix Lestrange, then thrown over Rodolphus's shoulder, because just as she recalled, someone was screaming.
This time, it was both versions of her.
The next thing she knew, she was standing in a blood-spattered kitchen.
She squeezed her eyes shut and crouched down, hands clasped firmly over her ears.
It was bad enough that she'd had to remember details of Hazel's death, details she'd worked very hard to forget; she refused to also relive the most barbaric violation she'd ever committed.
Very little sound reached her ears as she used the memory of her first murder to recover. Recovery, however, was made difficult by the knowledge that it was so quiet because her younger self was torturing a dead body.
Ivy only uncovered her ears again when she felt a hand gently grip her shoulder. Puffy eyes opening blearily, she stood upon realising they'd reentered her darkened childhood bedroom at Selwyn Estate. Her nearly sixteen-year-old self was sitting up in bed, tearing streaking her face as Regulus held her hands.
Dumbledore's hand remained on older Ivy's shoulder, but this time, she didn't shake it away.
"Yes I am," her younger self's voice was breaking. "I was new when Hazel died and I'm new again tonight. I never wanted either of those things. I never asked to be this way."
"I like the way you are," Regulus countered.
"Why?" Younger Ivy asked bitterly.
Occasionally, she still wondered the same thing.
Although, she thought that now she might have the answer; the two of them were dual, like two halves of a fucked up whole. While Ivy's rage was unbridled and ravenous, Regulus had somehow managed to control his fury, preferring to let it simmer under his skin. Terrible as she knew it was, she eagerly awaited the day when he unleashed it.
"See?" Younger Ivy pulled her hands out of Regulus's. "I'm like Bellatrix now. I don't think there's anything left to like."
"You are not like my cousin," Regulus demanded.
"The Dark Lord said it himself."
"And just because he says it, that makes it true? You're nothing like Bellatrix. She's cruel and just… pure evil."
As a realisation fell over older Ivy's mind, she cringed. It was embarrassing to discern that Regulus had always agreed with her secret thoughts on pureblood ideals. It might have taken him a while to figure out why he agreed, but she was now certain that they'd been harmonious the entire time.
She'd just been too ruddy paranoid to accept it.
"And I'm not?" Younger Ivy asked bitterly.
"Don't do that," Regulus took her hands again. "I want you to look me in the eyes when I tell you this."
"Tell me what? That I'm not just a younger version of Bellatrix, destined to a life of wickedness? Of murdering innocents, torturing them even once they're dead? This thing on my arm – there's no undoing it. It's who I am now."
"You are not your scars," Regulus persisted.
Older Ivy rounded the bed to examine him as they continued talking.
This conversation had occurred only three years prior, but the difference between then and now was significant; the Regulus she currently knew had lost all the baby fat from his cheeks, revealing a well-defined jaw that highlighted his smile and cheekbones. Somehow, his eyes also felt darker to her now, and his countenance had become that of a confident, controlled man.
Ivy realised that she had tuned out of the conversation for too long when her younger self leaned forward, kissing Regulus hard. Nearly jumping out of her skin, she was about to tell Dumbledore to move on, when the Pensieve did so for them.
In the blink of an eye, they were standing in Slughorn's office.
Having lived through the Veritaserum memory that very day, Ivy paid little attention to it, instead choosing to wallow in her mortification that the Headmaster had witnessed her snogging. Fortunately, as her previous self interrogated Slughorn about Horcruxes, Dumbledore seemed to entirely forget she was there, as a dark shadow settled over his features, maintaining itself for the remainder of the memory.
When her surroundings vanished and she was thrown out of the Pensieve, she lurched away from the basin with immense dislike. Slumping into the chair before Dumbledore's desk, she mulled over the events of the night while the Headmaster continued staring into the basin.
They sat in silence for long enough that she grew irritated and eventually asked: "Am I expelled?"
Dumbledore glanced at her. "I think not."
Ivy opened her mouth to ask a follow up question.
"Neither are you suspended," he continued with quiet grimness. "No, I think reading That Which is Natural and That Which is Not under my supervision will be punishment enough… I daresay removing you from the castle would be a grave misstep indeed."
Despite not receiving a perceptible punishment, a pit of dread dropped into her stomach at his ominous words. He could very well mean that she was in danger from the Dark Lord, but he knew enough now to realise that she was always in danger when it came to Lord Voldemort. She didn't understand what could have changed her safety status from in grave danger to don't let Ivy out of your sight.
When the silence stretched again, she hoped it meant that she was dismissed. But before she could ask, Dumbledore reseated himself at his desk, the dark shadow apparently having become a permanent feature of his appearance for the night.
"I've another proposition for you," the Headmaster said softly. "I'm sure you know of my organisation, the Order of the Phoenix. Once you leave Hogwarts in a few months, I would like you to join us. I believe I can make your position beneath Lord Voldemort beneficial in regards to both our aims."
"O-Oh," she stuttered, blindsided.
When Ivy first joined the Death Eaters, she had repeatedly envisioned what it would be like to be asked something like this. She had thought of the peace, relief, and praise she would finally get in exchange for her efforts.
Now, the idea of joining the Order made her queasy.
It wasn't that she was necessarily opposed, but it seemed likely that she would end up spending an awful lot of time with -and putting an awful lot of trust into- people who despised or refused to believe her. Additionally, she might be forced to keep such a membership from Regulus and Theya. She would most certainly be required to keep it from Severus.
And didn't she have enough secrets?
"I-I don't…" She tried to wrap her head around his proposition. "Blimey, there's one question I never thought I'd actually be asked. Why do you want me to join? You just saw me-" Ivy cut herself off to look around at the portraits, which had emptied, causing her to wonder when they had left.
"I just saw you murder a man," Dumbledore said severly. "And vow a life of service to Lord Voldemort."
"Uh, yeah."
"Would you agree with me when I say," he peered at her over his half-moon spectacles. "That the life you have is not one you want to live, but one you feel you need to live so that you might one day avenge your sister?"
She nodded slowly.
"Then, Ms. Selwyn, I believe you already have the answer to your question of why."
"What about Regulus and Theya?" She tested the waters. "Would your offer extend to them?"
Dumbledore considered her. "Perhaps. In their cases, I may have to insist upon questioning under the influence of Veritaserum before a decision could be made."
Ivy hid her surprise. It was an easy task when she began to ponder why he would want her to join the Order badly enough to think about letting in a known Death Eater and Dark Arts affiliate. The answer was clear enough; he wanted something from her, something more than he wanted from other Order members.
What it was, she could only guess.
Regardless, it could be leverage for her in the future.
"I'll think on it," Ivy finally said.
"I believe that would be best," Dumbledore inclined his head and gestured to the door. "For now, I believe rest is due."
Ivy practically leapt from her chair, grabbing her wand on the way to the exit, where she paused upon easing the door open. "When can I read the book?"
"I'll send for you."
March 2nd, 1979
Bored of the Transfiguration textbook he was supposed to be reading, Regulus glanced sidelong at Ivy. From her glazed eyes, he concluded that she, too, was ready to be done with classes for the day.
For probably the third time that class, a sense of satisfaction fell over him upon noting that her chair had gradually scooted closer to his throughout the lesson. He knew this because she had ended up distinguishably nearer to him than Theya, who was on her other side.
Leaning back in his chair, he stretched his arms overhead to get a better look at Ivy.
While a little bothered that she still wasn't wearing the Thestral pin, more pleasurable thoughts sprung to mind at the rest of her. Her toned, stockinged legs were crossed beneath the table, her black skirt only covering down to her mid-thigh. Altogether, her uniform was noticeably sloppier than he'd observed in previous years; her button down was only half tucked and the tie she wore was merely slung about her neck.
Regulus couldn't describe how sexy the dishevelled look was on her.
Apparently feeling his stare, Ivy looked slyly over her shoulder at him.
He gave her a wink, which earned him a narrowed gaze and playful shake of her head.
Upon going back to his textbook, he found that a folded bit of parchment had landed there.
I know I'm fit, but you could at least be discreet. I don't need another detention. -IES
He smirked and grabbed his quill, dipping it into the ink bottle.
Is that your only objection to my staring? - RAB
It might be. - IES
In that case, I'm unlikely to stop. But I've come up with a few ideas on how we can make detention more tolerable. - RAB
Is that so? - IES
For one thing, we could skive it off. - RAB
Brilliant. - IES
For another, we could discuss the Spring Ball. - RAB
Ivy raised a brow at him.
He gave her a challenging look.
I assume that's you asking if I'm going. I am, why? - IES
Regulus leaned forward so his shoulder-length hair shielded his smile from view.
I was wondering if you had a date. In a strictly platonic way, of course, seeing as we've always been that way with each other. - RAB
Ivy let out a high-pitched laugh upon reading his scrawl, making several students plus McGonagall look at her. He tried not to laugh at how red her face turned when the Transfiguration Professor stalked their way.
"Hand it over," McGonagall demanded.
"Whatever do you mean?" Ivy asked innocently.
Regulus exchanged an amused look with Theya, who covered a smile with her hand.
The Professor levelled Ivy with an impatient look, and the piece of parchment they'd been scribbling on was handed over.
"The middle of my class," McGonagall drawled as she read their notes. "Is not the proper time to find a date, Mr. Black."
The entire class of Slytherins and Ravenclaws erupted into giggles. Ariadne and Mulciber began whispering from a few desks away, while Doe gave Regulus an enthusiastic thumbs up.
"Seeing as you thought detention would be a good time to discuss the Spring Ball," the Professor stalked back to her desk. "I will gladly bestow upon both of you the opportunity to do so. Keep in mind, these detentions are in addition to the ones I gave earlier for reason of incessant flirting."
The class snickered again.
"But-" Ivy began.
"Count yourself lucky," McGonagall said sharply, leaning over her desk with a disapproving scowl. "That you are still attending the Ball. If I hear or see another word out of either of you, you will not be."
The white-haired witch leaned back in her chair with an angry pout.
Regulus, though, was rather satisfied with the outcome of their Transfiguration class.
March 21st, 1979
"My hand is killing me," Regulus flexed his wrist as he and Ivy departed detention into the dark, empty corridors.
"I hate doing lines," she grumbled. "How is writing If I do not pay attention in class, I will fail my N.E.W.T.s a thousand times supposed to help my grades? I'd be in the middle of studying right now if not for detention."
"You got off easy," he swept achy fingers through his hair as they made their way towards the dungeons. "At least you weren't made to write I will stop behaving like an incessant flirt when being given a valuable magical education in front of eight other people."
"McGonagall really should've made you write I will stop checking Ivy out when being given a valuable magical education. Just for the sake of accuracy."
"Smart arse."
"You love my arse. And you love it because it is smart."
"Next time," Regulus rolled his eyes. "I hope we're just made to polish candelabra."
"Yeah," she glanced at him sidelong. "If we'd done that, we'd have been able to discuss the Spring Ball."
"Hm," he murmured, pushing down a smirk.
"We could always talk about it now," she prompted.
"Oh?"
"Yeah," she sounded peeved, which only made him grin. "You were in the middle of asking me something back when we were passing notes in Transfiguration."
"Was I?" Regulus had to admit, he was having fun watching her try to tell him that she wanted him without actually having to tell him. Little did she know, he wasn't going to give in this time. She was either going to flat out say what she was thinking, or she could save her frustrations for her hand, like he'd been doing for ages.
He was patient, he could wait.
Ivy, not so much.
"Yes," she huffed. "You were."
"I don't recall." He watched her scowl out of the corner of his eye and bit back laughter.
"You were trying to ask me something about the Spring Ball."
"Doesn't sound like me."
She halted to stomp her foot angrily. "Why are you being such a wanker?"
"Why are you misbehaving?" Regulus shot back, folding his arms with a pleased smirk.
"Ugh!" She threw her hands in the air. "You're such a tease!"
"I'm the tease?" He could hardly believe what he was hearing.
"Yeah! Walking around with your… your… Regulus-ness!"
"My Regulus-ness," he raised a brow.
"You know what I mean," she scowled.
"I don't," Regulus grinned. "Feel free to elaborate."
"Your uniform, for one thing. And your walk. Your hair, your morals, all of it - you're doing it just to tease me. Knock it off!"
"What about you, huh?" Regulus stepped purposefully into her space, watching covetously as her breath hitched. "With your short skirts and stockings… Only buttoning up your shirt halfway then bending over and avoiding eye contact like you're oblivious to what you're doing. You know exactly what you're doing, you always do. And you have your hair down."
The corner of her mouth twitched up. "What's having my hair down got to do with anything?"
"Don't play games with me," he narrowed his eyes at her dangerously.
Ivy leaned forward a centimetre. "Make me."
Regulus let out a low growl and put his hands on her hips, pushing until she hit the wall, which elicited an excited gasp from between her rich lips.
"You're hoping," he told her quietly. "That everytime I see you with it down, I'm thinking about pulling the ribbons out of your hair."
"If you know what I'm thinking," she whispered, maintaining eye contact as she defiantly arched her body into his. "Then why do you need me to tell you?"
"Because I want to hear it from your lips," he brought a hand up to gently touch her mouth. "I want to hear you say it. You've always gotten exactly what you want, but it's my turn now."
Ivy made to place her hands on his chest, but he grabbed her wrists and held them overhead with one hand, while his other went back to her hip. Holding her firmly against the cold stone, he pressed into her just a little, watching ravenously as her silver eyes fluttered upon his hardness grazing her.
"What do you want me to say?" She breathed, leaning in like she was going to kiss him, before appearing to remember his rule and pulling back again with a glare.
Despite her glare, or perhaps because of it, he knew she was right where she wanted to be.
"I want you to say," Regulus leaned in to whisper in her ear. "That you love me. That I'm the only man who will ever touch you again. That you've accepted catastrophe, because I won't offer anything else. I want catastrophic. And so do you."
Ivy let out a quiet whimper and pressed her hips forward. He allowed her to make contact, just so he could hear the needy moan that indeed escaped her.
"So impatient," he murmured throatily. "Are you ready to behave?"
"I don't think I am," she sounded a bit disoriented. "You've no idea how patient I can be."
"Well," he laughed quietly. "I would love to see how patient you can be."
Regulus slowly let her go to step back and admire the effect he'd produced. She was trembling ever so slightly, cheeks flushed, and silver eyes full of rage at him releasing her without meeting her desires first.
"You never were very patient," he said smoothly. "Let's see how you do."
He set off down the corridor, chuckling to himself as Ivy let loose a scream of frustration.