As predicted, sleep didn't find me easily. Although I wish it had taken me within its dark embrace. Wrapping its strong arms around me as I'd fall into a deep slumber.

Drifting off into the unknown realm for several hours should've come immediately, but my thoughts kept spiralling beyond my control of the little mudblood beneath me. Mostly the curious mask adorning her face. I'm sure it was my father who put it there, but why? Is it also charmed beyond being glued to her face like a magnet? Was it willingly done, but I doubt it. She's nothing more than a servant now, nothing she is participating in, would be willingly. Much like the rest of the house elves who bumble around the place using their magic to clean up after us and keep the dust off everything we own.

Who she was before entering this house no longer matters.

Perhaps she was threatened in some way to wear it.

Ugh.

I would expect nothing less from my father. To force something of that calibre onto a mudblood. God knows the enchantment keeping it there.

He can be a vicious man, my father. Cruel, calculated, and a terrible man. But I suppose that's how he got as notorious as he is. Working for the Ministry of Magic, one of the four noble houses of purebloods, he sure earned his title through much bloodshed and shame. I can't bring myself to be as torturous as the tales I've heard of him, but do find using a little pain sometimes quite… pleasurable. As the agony of lesser others always is.

It would often send a thrill through me during spellcasting when one student would be flown across the room, to land harshly on their side or back. Holding back a smile or smirk at their obvious pain held difficult on numerous occasions. Such as in potions, the number of times students, mainly a slimy redhead called Weasley would fuck up the mixture and it would explode. Injuring his freckled face or those sharing his space.

Humiliating.

My father isn't a kind man, although we learned under him well. We mastered many things, picked up nameless casting over several years as teenagers, and basic spells before receiving our acceptance letters. So by the time I was a student at age eleven, I could do much more than the fellow students crowded around me. It meant no shame and embarrassment, and high marks in most of my classes… But I'd rather not think of Madam Hooch and her ridiculous flying instructions. Say up, move left, lean back. Butterfly stupid. I gave up after a couple of tries and took to mocking others as they lost control of their brooms from the sidelines.

I huff out a breath and turn to face the ceiling, the exposed beams glaring at me as I look up into the night. A headache is starting to appear, pounding behind my right ear through my skull. I clench my fists into balls behind my head.

How irritating.

I tossed and turned on my thick mattress, the sheets hugging my frame comfortably. Eventually concluding I can't stay in bed much longer without ripping my hair from my head. I shrug the duvet off completely and come to stand at my desk. Where I am now, parchment facing me, and inkwell dripping onto the porous material.

I didn't have many friends during my time at Hogwarts. Just the one, the strange and mysterious, and very odd young girl named Luna Lovegood. She was much shorter than me, with blonde hair so bright you'd sometimes think you'd be staring at the moon. With a charming soft smile and eyes that were always sparkling. Many overlooked her because of the weird words that would come from her mouth and always missing her socks or other items, namely her school tie or robes. But, strangely enough, she was quite good company. She was happy to talk while I listened, and that was that.

The family owl, Artemis, was perched on a beam high above my head, waiting for my intense scribbling to stop. She huffed in distaste when I wasn't finished within a few minutes and swooped down to land on my shoulder. Leaning over to peer at my parchment, acting as if she could read English, only to snort in derision and shut her eyes.

I rolled my own, writing out the last part and signing it with my name on the bottom. She clambered off me, scratching my shoulder in the irritating process, and snatched it from my hands once I'd finished binding it. Claws clicking on my desk and wings flapping.

"Ah!" I chastise. "Be careful with it." I give her a pointed look with a raised eyebrow. "I mean it. I'll have you put in a stew if you lose another one."

I swear she rolls her eyes at me before taking off as if to tell me she knows how to do her job and I should keep my mouth shut.

Now, with that out of the way, I look through my mess of a trunk for a sweater before pulling it on, grabbing a candelabra, and taking the many steps down to the library. The stone almost crumbled under my step. The light casting long shadows as I'm constantly turning around within the stairwell, every crook and crevice of the bricks thicker and darker. The many small windows crackled within the flames.

The heavy door at the bottom is pushed open easily with a flick of my wrist, landing near silently against the wall it's attached to. I step and find comfort amongst my books. With many alcoves and several floors, it's one of my greatest achievements. Or my fathers I should say, perhaps both. Since it was mostly my knowledge of the books that filled the space to begin with, having waited until I was old enough to decide what materials I wished to harbour for myself. The answer being; everything I was allowed to get my manicured hands on. I spent years modifying it as my tastes changed, but it kept thorough and expansive. Now seventeen, I have several thousand book shouse within the dark shelves, and one could hope for several more by the time I greet the underworld.

Coming to one of my personal favourites, the defensive magic section I flick my wrist again, and a book slowly pulls itself out and into my awaiting palm. It's thick, black with red-lined pages and heavier than I remember.

I took a slow seat at one of the many tables scattered around and chose a comfortable chair. I slid into it easily, flick to a random page and start reading.

Scuffling gets my attention, but I dismiss it as the house elves who keep this place immaculate.

I turn the page again and slowly immerse myself back within the fading pages.

The noise persists.

I grit my teeth.

"Whoever is down here, come back in the morning. You're not welcome after dark." I call out into the pitch black, the only light being from my still-burning candle floating to my right. My tone leaves no room for argument.

The quiet is longer this time, but once again it persists after several minutes. I groan, stretch out my arms, and push my chair back. It scratches along the floor and I walk through the many scattered bookshelves looking for the source of the scuffling. It suddenly goes quiet as I round a bookshelf to the left, and there it is.

"Is there a particular reason you're hovering down here?"

Hermione squeaks in surprise, drops the books in hand, and rushes herself back into an offending bookcase. I smirk as she drops to the floor in a heap.

"I suppose not." I look down at her bare feet, and the books surrounding them.

Odd. The first one catches my eye, I recognize the title immediately. The title reads 'Mnemone Radford: Memory Modifying Charms.'

She looks everywhere but me as I bend down to pick up the book and toss it between my hands, flicking it over.

"And what would you need with something like this, hm?" Her face flushes with embarrassment and she goes still, her fingers trembling as they grip the hem of her gown. Nails are bitten and torn around the edges. Oddly her dress bore a light green colour this time and was longer than the first but hugged her waist tightly, magnifying her cleavage. "Do you not speak?"

"I can."

Right.

"Then answer my question." I approach with the book in my hand, holding up the cover plainly for her to see, a slight smile on my lips knowing I had caught her.

She takes a deep breath. Her chest rises slowly, upon release she looks into my eyes, her lips part as if to speak when suddenly the doors to my library swing open clattering into the walls loudly. She jumps from fright. I drop the book to the floor and face the intruder, my anger rising when I see my brother standing there in most of his glory. Wearing loose pants around his waist, looking every which way, until he finds me.

"There you are sister, and I see you found my little mouse." He smirks finding Hermione cowering behind me. "Please return her to me."

I feel a slight tug at the back of my shirt but before I can push her off me her hand is gone, and she's moving past me to go to him. He looks positively devilish as he grabs her around the waist. His much larger hand encased her well.

Without another glance at me or the mess she left behind he leaves, swinging his hand in the air slightly to slam the doors behind him.

Blowing out my candle in the process and leaving me in the dark.