"So…these dinners are just an opportunity for Slughorn to suck up?"
"Suck up and enjoy being sucked up to…though no-one can say his dinners are completely awful, the food, for one, is amazing. He always makes sure he has the best of everything. Must be his vanity. But my father says I should make sure to stay in his good books. He has a lot of good contacts at the Ministry, he could really help me after I graduate."
Astraya caught Cora's eyes in the mirror. "So you're already thinking of going into the Ministry, then?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
Astraya could have provided her with a list of why she shouldn't go into a career at the Ministry, but she didn't think her reasons – some of them extremely unflattering – would impress Cora very much, so she held her tongue. Instead, she turned her attention back to her hair, brushing out the last of the tangles in her thick black curls. They tumbled past her waist now, she reflected, not for the first time contemplating giving herself a haircut. Maybe even using a hair potion to smooth out her curls. They were getting cumbersome; as hard as she tried to tame them into a braid they always seemed to escape and get in her eyes.
But unfortunately, she seemed to have developed an annoying feminine attachment to her long, wild curls, so she postponed that haircut for now. Perhaps over Christmas she'd get around to it. She decided to leave her hair loose for Slughorn's little dinner party, pinning them back from her face with delicate filigree clips, a small emerald mounted at the top of each. Again, buying those had been one of her rare, vain impulses, which seemed to be getting more and more frequent, all the girlish desires she'd been forced to supress making themselves prominent. She wasn't sure how comfortable she felt with that. She'd never had the freedom to be just a girl before. Sometimes she felt so far removed from the other girls that it seemed impossible they were the same age.
"He used to invite me too," Ava grumbled, from where she was lying on her bed, her head hanging off the mattress upside down, reading a copy of Witch Weekly. Astraya wondered how she didn't get dizzy. "Before Blackwood got Father fired from his job, that is."
Astraya smiled sympathetically, turning away from her reflection in the mirror. "How are you doing with your Defence homework? I can help you if you like."
"I offered, too," Cora said before she could answer. "But she said she'd rather fail his class." She widened her eyes innocently when Ava glared at her. "What? It's what you said."
Ava groaned, covering her face with the magazine. "Even if I actually wanted to do well in his class – which I don't – that slimy bastard will do everything in his power to undermine my grades, so why would I bother?"
Cora rolled her eyes, as if the idea was ludicrous, but Astraya had the feeling that Ava was right. Blackwood seemed like the very kind of man that would hold a grudge for a long, long time for no reason at all except to be spiteful.
Their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was a discomfiting mystery. There was something strange about him…Or maybe something familiar…Whatever it was, she often found herself uncomfortable in his class. Sometimes she swore she could feel his narrow eyes burning into her back, but when she turned, she would find him talking to another student. And when those eyes did fall on her, she would feel icy fingers rake down her spine and the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise.
Her thoughts came to a screeching halt as the door was flung open so hard it crashed into the wall. Then, a furious bull charged inside, Ophelia following anxiously after it.
Well, it wasn't a bull, but the likeness was close enough.
Theo ripped Witch Weekly from Ava's hands with a snarl, and Astraya closed her eyes in exasperation as the shriek she expected rang through the room.
"Let go of me, you brute!"
"You sleazy git! You snitched on me to Dumbledore, didn't you?"
Theo shook Ava forcefully by the collar of her robes, which was gathered in her meaty fists. Astraya swore she heard Ava's teeth clack against each other as the poor girl grasped and swatted at the fleshy manacles around her neck. Then Theo's words registered.
"What's this about, Ava?" she asked sharply. Cora's narrowed eyes bounced back from furious Theo to Ava, whose face had flushed a dark red, to Ophelia, standing a safe distance away from the scuffle, shifting her feet nervously.
"Oh, Merlin," Cora muttered suddenly. Her gaze, now full of incredulous anger, darted from one girl to another. "You've been doing it again, haven't you, Theo?"
Theo's broad, square face was mottled red, and her chokehold on Ava seemed to be tightening. "It was just once," she said gruffly. "One single time since the start of school, and this little twit—" she gave Ava another mighty shake "—went right ahead and snitched on us like we were some lackwit Gryffindor or one of those namby-pamby Hufflepuffs! Dumbledore knocked off thirty points each, did you know that?"
She would have shaken poor Ava into oblivion if Astraya hadn't taken out her wand and snapped, "Relashio!"
Theo stumbled backward, wobbling dangerously before toppling back onto Cora's bed.
"What are you all going on about?" Astraya asked, eyeing Theo cautiously. Ava was still trying to recover from her assault.
Cora glared at the other three girls. "It seems Theo's been skipping essays and making Ophelia write them out for her. She's done it before – since first year actually – but I put a stop to it at the end of our third year. But, apparently, Theo's gone back to her old ways. I should have known we hadn't seen the end of it." Now the glare was focused solely on Ava. "We've never told a professor about it, though."
Astraya was stunned for a moment. "How come none of the teachers recognised the handwriting?"
Ophelia spoke up. "I used an enchanted quill. My older brother gave it to me. He used to get up to all sorts of trouble with it – forging notes from teachers and –"
"And that's what you want to do?" Cora snapped.
She reddened and bit her lip. "I just wanted to help Theo." The poor girl sounded close to tears. "She struggles with all the work and –"
"Shut up!" Theo bellowed at her, her face darkening to purple. Ophelia shut up immediately, looking stricken.
"Hey, don't yell at her. It's not her fault." Astraya had been astonished that someone so rule-abiding as Ophelia would do such a thing, but now she understood. Sympathy – and the intimidation factor – would have pushed her easily into doing what Theo wanted.
"Astraya's right," Cora said firmly. "Don't blame her, Theo. You shouldn't have taken advantage of Ophelia like that. You shouldn't have let her either, Ophelia. And you—" she turned to Ava sharply, who sullenly refused to meet her eyes "—shouldn't have snitched on them."
Astraya glanced at the clock and sighed. "Come on. We're going to be late."
"No more shoving all your homework onto Ophelia. She has enough of her own to deal with," Cora ordered in her prefect voice. "And no more snitching, either. You have a problem with them, Ava, you tell me, not tattle on them. You just lost us sixty house points out of spite!"
Ava huffed, but relented. "Fine," she spat. But from the poisonous looks she and Theo exchanged, Astraya knew this was far from over yet.
Cora linked her arm through Astraya's, leading her to the door. Once they were out on the corridor, Cora said, in a mildly apologetic tone, "I should probably explain. Ophelia and Theo are cousins, and I'm sure you can imagine what sort of bully Theo was in their childhood. Ophelia's terrified of her. She's the perfect person for Theo to go to for this. Plus, as her cousin, she's aware of Theo's … struggles with writing, and because she's an utter softie she feels obliged to help her." Cora shook her head. "I would try to help Theo with her essays, but she always throws my offers back in my face."
Astraya digested this as they climbed the stairs. "And this is the first time Ava's ever told a teacher?"
"Yes. We Slytherins don't snitch on each other. Ava must have been feeling especially mean to do this." Cora heaved a sigh and shot an exasperated look at Astraya. "She'll get hell from the others tomorrow when they find out."
Astraya had to agree. Slytherin was a mean house, but she'd learnt they had an odd sort of solidarity, in that they were never mean to each other. Maybe they were to the other houses, but never to each other.
Polite chatter drifted out of Slughorn's office as they approached. It was a spacious room on the sixth floor, wide windows stretching along the wall, behind which the evening sky was starry and unusually clear, the colour of ripe plums. The room was dotted with plush sofas and armchairs, all very well padded and piled with velvet cushions. A fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace, and a table nearby was already laden with food, the different aromas from various dishes rising and blending into a tantalizing cocktail.
Slughorn himself was standing near the dining table with Riddle, his friends, and the few other Slytherins that Slughorn had deemed important enough to invite. He was talking animatedly, gesturing with his hands as he relayed an anecdote from his youth. His gooseberry eyes brightened when he saw them.
"My dears!" He beckoned them with two short fingers. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to join us. Come, come, dinner awaits."
He motioned them all to the dining table. Astraya beamed at him, but her smile dimmed as she met Riddle's eyes. He held her gaze coolly for a long moment then turned away. She released a slow breath, trying to get rid of the sudden tightness in her chest, then made to join Cora near the end of the table. Slughorn stopped her, however.
"Now you sit here, m'girl," he waved a hand jovially on the seat directly to the left of his at the head of the table. Then he motioned Riddle to take the one on his right, opposite Astraya.
She occupied the offered chair with the same polite smile Riddle had as he sat in the opposite seat. The flames were dancing heartily in the fireplace, but Astraya felt cold with Riddle's presence so close.
The last time she'd talked to him was when he pinned her against a wall in the dungeons and told her, in a clear, cold voice, that he was going to kill her. The statement, pronounced so baldly, could have been understood as the sort of meaningless threat friends or siblings spat when they were annoyed or angry with one another, but coming from Riddle, and in the way he had said it…
He'd meant what he'd said. She'd seen the clarity and menace in his eyes when he'd said it. Or at least, he'd meant it at the time, when his anger at her was still fresh. She would have liked to tell herself that it might have been something he'd blurted at her in his state of rage, but she knew that was just self-deceit on her part. Riddle wouldn't have changed his mind about killing at all.
It seemed absurd that she was sitting across from the person who'd vowed to end her life as they drank spoonfuls of creamy pumpkin soup and ate chicken smothered in mushroom sauce, trying to muster some friendly conversation for Slughorn's benefit, who seemed to exert his best efforts to get them to talk to each other. She wondered if he'd even noticed the stiffness in their manner. Doubtlessly, to the rest of the table she looked as Riddle did, calm and charming, without a care in the world as she chatted with Slughorn and the other Slytherins sometimes.
Yet she couldn't help but wonder if anyone else had picked up on how curt her answers were when Riddle was involved in the conversation, and vice versa. The only reprieve she got was when Slughorn finally turned his attention to the others to inquire about their famous, successful relatives. Then she could finally enjoy the rich, flavourful food set out before her, even if she could still feel Riddle's presence nearby. He didn't look at her anymore than necessary, but she found herself to be aware of him all the same.
Slughorn asked Lucretia Black about her engagement to Ignatius Prewett, which then led to a discussion on the lineages of Britain's noble wizarding families and how good matches like Lucretia's were becoming increasingly less frequent nowadays. They were just starting on dessert when Astraya heard Lucretia remark, "We never thought to see the Saders back in Britain, though. My parents even sent me an owl to ask if there really was a Sader at Hogwarts this year."
Astraya's fork paused in midair, before she finally forced herself to bring it to her mouth. She tried pretending not to have heard that line, but everyone's attention had already been drawn to her with that seemingly innocent comment.
"Yes, yes, it was quite a shock to me when Professor Dippet called me to his office and informed me that Astraya was going to be in my House," Slughorn agreed readily. His eyes bounced eagerly to her. "I haven't heard anything from you about your parents, my dear. Did they come with you to Britain, or are they still abroad?"
She took a deep, steadying breath, then lifted her eyes to find the whole table waiting for her answer. None of their curious gazes unsettled her as much as Riddle's, whose eyes were fixed on her with an abrupt intensity. This thread of conversation intrigued him greatly, she could see.
"No, I'm afraid they're still abroad, Professor," she said lightly, pasting a smile on her face.
"Oh? May I ask where in Europe they are? That is, I assumed they were in Europe."
"They're in France, sir," she lied, getting the words past the growing lump in her throat with great effort.
"France?" The mention of the country delighted him. Riddle's eyes narrowed, staring at her so hard she fought a shiver. Had no-one noticed the way he was looking at her? "You must tell me everything about France. Did you live in Paris?"
"No, sir." She relaxed marginally. This part, at least, wasn't a complete lie. "We lived in a small village, south of Paris. My mother never liked big cities, you see. She preferred open air and countryside to the hustle and bustle of the city, and my father wanted her to be happy."
"You told me your father had passed away." Riddle's quiet voice made her face snap to his.
"He has." She took a shaky breath, as if she was trying not to cry. The lump of rising panic in her throat had grown constricting. She struggled to keep talking, but the hitch in her speech was actually useful; it fitted the image of the grieving daughter. "It's why I've come to Hogwarts actually. My mother knew how much my father loved Hogwarts, and she decided to honour his memory by sending me here."
"I'm sorry to have reminded you of your father, my dear." Slughorn's tone gentled, but he was clearly hungry for more details. "Though I understand why your mother would want you at Hogwarts for your father's sake. He loved the school. And I can see you've inherited his talent. I started teaching when he was in sixth-year. He wasn't a dab hand at Potions – I guess you got that talent from your mother – but he was top in every other class. Head Boy, too. May I ask, though – I'm very curious, you see – why he left Britain in the first place?"
"He wanted to travel around Europe, sir. But when he came to Paris he met my mother and fell in love with her, so he decided to stay with her in France, since she couldn't bear to leave her home country behind." It was a soppy story, but believable. She'd have to remember all of those details. She did not want to be called out on a lie, especially by Riddle. She felt like a child caught in mischief, spinning a tale to wiggle herself out of punishment. But she had to give Slughorn something to get him off her back. This wasn't the first time he'd asked her about her parents, but she'd always managed to blow him off during lessons. She knew there was no chance of that this time.
"Ah…love makes the world go round, doesn't it?" He chuckled.
Riddle's lip was curled slightly, as if in disgust. He opened his mouth to say something, but Rosier beat him to it.
"Was she a witch, your mother?" he inquired politely. His stare wasn't as intense as Riddle's, but it unnerved her all the same.
"Of course."
"What is her name?" His eyes glittered with calculation. "I have relatives in France – Paris, specifically. Perhaps they know her."
Astraya's hands clenched into fists. Her brain was racing, trying to think of something, a name, or an excuse not to give one. She should have prepared herself for this, should have come up with something. She'd known that Slughorn would ask her about her parents.
But she'd just been so tired. Riddle's vicious threats had left her rattled for all of Saturday, much as she was loathe to admit it. On top of that, she hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks. This morning, she'd woken up so late she'd actually missed breakfast. And for the rest of the day, she'd just wanted to relax, to stop worrying and planning for once. But, obviously, relaxation and peace of mind didn't suit her. As soon as she let her guard down, something like this happened.
The whole table was now staring at her expectantly. Slughorn's eyes were curious, waiting. Riddle's had a satisfied glint in them, and a small smile was playing on his lips as he watched her flounder. She could even feel Cora staring at her from down the table.
Damn it all.
She reached under the table and pinched her thigh. Hard. Enough to make her eyes water. Something was lodged in her throat again, constricting her breathing, choking her voice, and once again she used her genuine panic to give a false impression.
"She's…" Her voice hitched. She swallowed, then tried again, pinching her thigh harder, digging her nails in her skin through the fabric. "She'd dead." She glanced down at her lap as she spoke. Her eyes were watery, and she willed some tears to fall. "She died a few weeks after my father. That's why I came back to Britain. I didn't want to stay in France, there were too many memories there." She dug all five nails of her hand into the meat of her leg and twisted hard. A tear finally escaped, and she brushed it away quickly like she didn't want them to see. "I didn't want anyone to know," she said in an appropriately broken whisper.
"My dear girl," came Slughorn's astonishingly gentle voice after a silence. "Being an orphan is nothing to be ashamed of. Tom right here is an orphan, and you only need to look at him to know how little that matters."
Astraya did just that. When she met his eyes, the restrained anger in them at Slughorn's remark almost made her smile. Riddle himself was smiling and nodding in thanks at him, while she noticed some of the others casting him admiring looks. Realising that the attention on her had lessened, her shoulders finally slumped in relief, and she released the cruel pinch on her thigh. Her flesh throbbed, and she cursed herself, knowing there'd likely be a bruise there. She wouldn't be surprised if her nails had drawn blood.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you straight away when you asked, sir," she said regretfully, swiping a hand under her eyes. "I just…"
He waved a hand at her. His curiosity was sated for now, it appeared. "Don't apologise, m'girl. I can understand why you wouldn't want to announce it to all of us like this. And I say it again, having no parents is nothing you should hide. You should be proud of yourself, as a matter of fact. Look how well you're coping in their absence."
He patted her hand consolingly, and she gave him a thin smile in return. After that, the table resumed its conversation without much incident, Slughorn picking up right where he left off. But all through the remainder of the evening, Riddle's cold, black eyes remained fixed on her, narrowed and piercing, as if he was trying to peel her very skin back to expose all her secrets. Despite the warmth of the room, she shivered.
The girls were asleep when they entered the dormitory. Cora had been apologetic as they left Slughorn's office, expressing how sorry she was about her parents, how hard it must have been for her, all of the useless phrases that were meant to comfort someone, but in reality only annoyed them and inflamed their wounds. Astraya had accepted Cora's sympathies with as much grace as she could muster. Luckily, Cora didn't ask her any more questions, but she felt black eyes staring at her back all the way back to the dungeons, and that alone was enough to discomfit her. She breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her and the still darkness of the sleeping dorm greeted her.
As Cora went to the bathroom to get ready for bed, Astraya lifted her robes to get a look at her thigh. There was indeed a bruise forming there, a mottled purple stain with red half-moons on the edges, crusty where her nails had drawn blood.
"Had a good time?"
Her hands let go of her robes as if she'd been scalded, smoothing them over legs hurriedly before whirling to face Ava, who was watching her sullenly through eyes half-lidded with sleep.
"Sure, it was fun," Astraya said, looking at her curiously. "Did we wake you up?"
She sat up with a yawn, waving a hand at her. "Don't worry about it. I was only just starting to fall asleep. Not like you interrupted a great dream or something."
She snorted quietly, then went to sit next to her. She sat up and curled her legs up to her chest to give Astraya room on the bed.
"I feel bad about snitching, do you know?" she blurted, so fast it startled Astraya a little. Obviously, she'd been waiting to say it to someone. "I mean, I feel sorry for Ophelia, but not for Theo. Bitch deserved it. She set my schoolbag on fire during Charms. Half my textbooks were ruined, and I lost three of the essays due this week."
"That was an accident," Astraya said softly. "Theo didn't mean to."
"Yes, she did." She sniffed. "She hates me."
"You hate her, too."
She let out an aggrieved sigh. "I don't…ugh." She threw her head backward in exasperation. "I don't hate her exactly, it's just…it's because of her father."
That piqued Astraya's curiosity. "Why? What did her father do to you?"
She worried her lip, giving Astraya a searching glance, debating whether to confide in her or not. "He testified against my father in the trial. And got a promotion too in the bargain."
Astraya cocked her head, processing. "I'm guessing Blackwood arranged for that too?"
Ava's resentful glare was telling enough.
Astraya thought carefully about what to say next. She did want to get to the mystery of Professor Blackwood – maybe finding more about him might ease her discomfort in Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. And Ava seemed more open to discussing him now than she had ever seemed before.
She glanced at the bathroom door. The sound of running water filtered through the door clearly. Good. Cora always took her time in the bathroom – Astraya still had several minutes alone with Ava.
"You know," she said quietly, "Blackwood creeps me out."
"He does?" She didn't sound disbelieving, more like pleasantly surprised, almost hopeful.
Astraya nodded. "I don't like the way he looks at me…I swear there's something about him…" The unease in her voice was not entirely fabricated. "What did he accuse your father of, anyway?"
She hesitated.
"You don't have to tell me," she said quickly. "But I have a bad feeling about him. I want to know if I'm right."
She seemed to think this over, then, with a furtive glance around the dorm, as if to check if anyone was awake and listening, she leaned forward. "You really want to know what he framed my father for? He said he was in league with Grindelwald."
The name, so unexpected, made every inch of her skin go cold, frost tingling the back of her neck and the tips of her fingers. She pressed her hands in the folds of her robes to hide their quivering. Ava's next words reached her as if from a great distance, almost completely drowned out by the alarmed ringing echoing in Astraya's ears.
"… funny, because it was actually my father who was going to accuse Blackwood of the same thing!"
The ringing got louder. Then there was an oddly choked voice she recognised as hers. "Blackwood is one of Grindelwald's followers?"
Ava frowned. "I never said he was, just that my father thought so. And let me tell you, Father believed in all kinds of conspiracy theories and radical plots. All of us thought it was just another one of his brief fancies. We never imagined it would be this serious until he actually stated his suspicion publicly – it wasn't well received. Blackwood's reputation was immaculate, there was no evidence whatsoever, but Father kept going until he landed in Azkaban." She flopped backward on her pillows, oblivious to the turmoil she'd caused in Astraya's mind. "Blackwood was offended by Father's ramblings apparently, so he decided to ruin him."
Astraya was silent for a long moment as she tried to calm herself. The ringing in her ears finally dulled to a hum, and the knot in her throat slowly loosened until her breathing steadied. When she had at last got herself under control, she said cautiously, "You don't think your father could be right about Blackwood?"
Ava's frown deepened. She thought for a moment before she answered with, "I don't see how he could be. I told you, he always had flights of fancy, you know, 'this man was conspiring with these men to take down the Minister', things like that. He was incredibly paranoid. And he had no solid evidence. And really, do you think Dippet or Dumbledore would let a wizard potentially working for Grindelwald teach at Hogwarts? Father was obviously –"
The bathroom door clicked open, cutting Ava off mid-sentence. Cora raised her eyebrows when she saw her awake. Ava immediately turned her head away from her, her chin stubbornly set, her displeasure clear.
Cora rolled her eyes at Astraya. "What, are you not going to talk to me now, Ava?" she mocked, squeezing excess moisture from her short brown hair before casting a drying spell on it. "I feel like I'm babysitting my little brother when I'm with you, sometimes, you know? He gives me the same sullen silence when I don't give him sweets. He's six," she added to Astraya, making her smile. "You need to grow up. Just because you're miserable half the time doesn't mean we have to be. And for Merlin's sake, it's not our fault that Blackwood is teaching at the school!"
She flung her towel at Ava's head with that last remark, forcefully enough that she sprang upright with a loud "Hey!" and yanked the towel from her head. Cora dodged with a laugh as it came flying at her. Astraya found herself giggling. She'd never witnessed this kind of squabbling before, and she found it strangely charming. It made a dull ache blossom in her chest.
"What's going on?" Ophelia's voice came from behind her curtains, slurred and sleepy. Theo hadn't woken up yet, thank Merlin.
"Nothing! Go back to sleep," Cora shot at her, still grinning. There was a groan, and then a soft snore as Ophelia promptly fell back asleep. The grin slowly fell away from her face to be replaced by a serious expression. "Have you apologised to them?"
"I apologised to Ophelia," Ava snapped, her hackles raised immediately. "But no way in hell am I apologising to Theo."
Cora was about to snap back at her when Astraya stepped in. "You don't need to apologise to her."
"She doesn't?" Cora exclaimed.
"No, she doesn't. At least, not now." She gave Cora a warning glance. Not to condone Ava's rash actions, but she was starting to sympathise with the girl. "If she gets anywhere near Theo right now, she'll probably tear poor Ava's throat out before she could even say a word." She rose from the bed. "Just let them cool down for a few days."
"Yes, Cora," Ava said in a snide tone. "Back off. You're not our mother. Merlin's beard, even my mother doesn't nag me as much as you do! It's like you turned into an old biddy when you got your prefect badge." Her voice rose towards the end.
Cora's face flushed a dark red. There was some fumbling from Ophelia's bed again, then her face poked out from between the curtains, her eyes squinting as she rubbed at them. "Are you fighting?"
"No," Cora said balefully, eyes sparking. She glared at Ava before whirling around and stalking to her bed. "We were just going to sleep."
Ava sullenly turned away from them and drew the covers to her chin, Cora mirroring her movements from her own bed. As Ophelia stared between the two with doleful confused eyes, Astraya found herself rethinking her earlier opinion that this bickering was charming.
Astraya had known her fair share of conflicts, and mostly, they had been the sort to be resolved by duels and violence and spells and no small amount of Dark Magic. Sometimes, these solutions went as far as death. She had plenty of experience in both these conflicts and their resolutions.
But she had little experience in how to deal with this kind of quarrel. The kind which didn't require any physical action – but rather clever words, gentle prompting and endless patience.
Five days later, a stony silence still existed between Ava and Cora. Ava usually bickered nearly as much with her as she did with Theo – although their bickering was more verbal and less violent – mainly because Cora, for all her playfulness, was sensible and practical at heart, whereas Ava was temperamental and rash. As annoying as their squabbling could get, their silent treatment of each other annoyed Astraya more, and drove poor Ophelia close to tears because she thought it was her fault they weren't speaking to each other.
Sitting across from each other, their eyes steadfastly refused to meet. Ava wore a bored, listless expression as she played with her lunch, lazily moving boiled carrots and bits of mashed potato around her plate without eating. Cora's face, on the other hand, was set in a scowl, her brows drawn together in a deep V as she stabbed at her food with a fork.
At least we got them to sit at the same spot, Astraya thought dryly. They'd been sitting at the opposite ends of the Slytherin table all week. It was only after a lot of cajoling (on Astraya's part) and begging (on Ophelia's part) that they had agreed to sit together, and even now they were acting like sullen children. Cora may not have been wrong when she compared Ava to her six-year-old brother, except it seemed that she had decided to emulate his behaviour as well.
It wasn't just at lunch. Even when they were all sitting in the dorm together, there were always snide remarks and innuendos, which they clearly meant for each other, though they never said it face-to-face. No, they always said it to her or poor Ophelia, in a manner that suggested they didn't want the other to hear, yet at a volume loud enough for her to hear perfectly. Apart from that, they avoided interacting with each other. Astraya was only thankful that Theo had been making herself scarce since Sunday, otherwise things would have got truly messy.
She was at her wits' end with those two. Really, her war with Riddle was enough. Her dorm had been the one place where she could relax, enjoy the cosy atmosphere the girls created, join in some friendly banter. Now, the tension was so thick in the air she thought it might suffocate her.
Their quarrel perplexed her. Maybe it was normal between friends and family to fight like and not talk to each for days and weeks on end, but this was her first time witnessing an argument that did not involve magical fighting. As much as she was experienced with conflict, as much as she liked the challenge it presented, she certainly didn't like it now. And she had no idea how to resolve it without resorting to magical means.
To make matters worse, what she had heard from Ava on Sunday night about Professor Blackwood had unsettled her more than any of Riddle's threats. The vague unease she used to feel in his presence had magnified into blind panic. She emerged from Defence Against the Dark Arts breathing hard, palms clammy, heart racing like she'd run a marathon. Her notes were clumsy due to her inability to pay attention, and her practical performance had diminished. It was still better than any other student's performance, but it was nowhere as good as hers used to be. When she'd been partnered with Rosier in today's lesson, he'd nearly disarmed her. She had seen his keen eyes take note of that and was aware of Riddle's evaluating stare for the rest of lesson. She knew he'd probably noticed how off she was in Defence lessons. At least Cora was preoccupied with her feud with Ava, or she would have noticed too.
Astraya gave a small jump as a metallic clang rang out, her thoughts scattering. Cora threw down her napkin in the same manner she'd put down her fork, then pushed away from the table without another word, striding away glumly.
She heaved a sigh, and glared at Ava, who continued playing with her food without looking up.
"Won't you drop it?" she hissed at her.
"If she wants us to talk again, she can just apologise. One word. It's not that hard."
"What is she supposed to apologise for? Looking out for you?"
"No, for being a self-righteous bitch," Ava snapped, finally raising her head. Her glare was withering. "And you're every bit as annoying as her. You're even starting to nag like her now. Merlin, you've only been with us for a couple of months. Think that makes you entitled to mother us now?"
Astraya reared back, stricken, the words slowly sinking in her mind. Ava was right, she realised. They'd known each other for more than four years, and maybe even before that, through whatever way their families knew each other, while she had only met them two months ago. Who's to say they'd never had a hundred tiffs like this one – worse than this one – before, and had resolved it all on their own? She'd never had any friends in her entire life, rarely even met other girls her age. What made her think she could tell them how to treat each other and how to resolve their quarrels?
Someone slid gracefully on the bench beside her where Cora had been sitting. She twisted her head to find Lucretia Black, perched there as if she owned the table, her wild hair tamed into an elegant bun with curls delicately framing her face.
Before Astraya could comprehend her baffling presence, she drawled, "I heard Greengrass is not talking to you, Selwyn. I wondered, see, how long it would take you to get under everyone's skin when you keep being such a grumpy hag." She rested her cheek on one hand as she watched Ava. "Your brother's not doing so well, either. No-one in our year's talking to him, the way he keeps acting like some mad dog. Both of you should be locked up with your father, away from the rest of us civilised people."
Ava threw down her fork so violently the clang drew the looks of people nearby. "Go to hell, Black," she snarled. She slung her bag over her shoulder and ran from the Great Hall, her head lowered. Astraya watched her go, then turned slowly to face Lucretia.
She smiled coyly. "If you're planning to win back your family's position in Britain after so many years of absence, fraternising with Selwyn is not the way to go about it."
Astraya's lips tightened. She felt hot anger coiling inside her, but her voice was thankfully cool as she replied, "Good thing I'm not planning to, then. Last thing I want is to rub elbows with people like you."
She rose and left her without another word, anger at Lucretia and frustration at herself twisting her insides. That outburst wasn't smart. For all the animosity between her and Riddle, there was no-one who knew about it apart from his friends, and she'd been careful to befriend everyone else, especially Slytherins. And now, she'd insulted Lucretia, and with her all of the Blacks. And a lot of Slytherins, who would definitely fall under the category of 'people like you'.
She took quick, short steps up the stairs, thinking of spending the rest of lunch at the library before their afternoon Herbology lesson. There was no point in trying to track either Cora or Ava. As she approached the library doors, someone came out and obstructed her path.
She looked up to find Riddle watching her with a gleam in his eyes that made her skin prickle. Most of the school was still at lunch, and they were alone in the corridor.
"Sader," he drawled. He was cool and self-possessed as he stood there, one hand tucked casually in his pocket, that cruel smirk hovering on his lips. He was miles away from the unhinged boy who'd threatened to kill her. "It looks like you're not feeling better yet?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Feeling better from what?"
Malicious amusement danced in his eyes. "You seemed out of sorts in Defence this morning. Rosier even said he nearly beat you. Were you so distracted because you're scared or because you're going soft?"
She felt white-hot anger rise, every muscle in her body tensing. She'd been so on edge the whole week that the prospect of lashing out at him with no regard to the consequences was much more tempting than it should have been.
"Scared of what?" she sneered. "You?"
His smirk widened. "No, not me, even though you should be. You're scared of Blackwood."
Alarm jolted through her, her expression falling for half a moment before she could control herself, but it was enough for Riddle to see it.
"What has Blackwood done to you?" His gaze moved eagerly over her face. "Maybe I should ask him for a few pointers."
She'd never hit someone physically before. She'd always resorted to magical means. But the sound of her fist crashing into the side of Riddle's face gave her more satisfaction than a hundred curses.
He cursed as his head whipped to the side, his hand flying to his reddening cheek. There would be a large bruise on his face. She'd hit him harder than she'd thought she could, and despite her throbbing knuckles, despite how stupid and reckless it had been, she couldn't bring herself to regret it.
When he raised his face up to hers, wrath had transformed it into a dangerous mask. Black eyes swirling, he dropped his hand, and said dangerously, "You're going to regret that soon, Sader." His mouth twisted into a hideous smile that didn't suit his fine features. "Very soon."
And with that, he strode past her, his left cheek a furious red. She saw him take out his wand and wave it at his face as he descended the stairs, leaving her standing there, lost in a tumult of emotion as that brief burst of adrenaline wore off. She placed her shaking hand on a nearby wall, leaning her head on her arm. She drew long pulls of air into her lungs, trying to tamp down all the anger and fear panic swelling in her chest and threatening to choke her.
When her emotions were finally reined in, she pushed off the wall and took shaky steps down the corridor to the Entrance Hall. She had no taste for the library anymore. She needed fresh air.
But no sooner had she reached the great oaken doors than Ophelia came flying down towards her, her face white as chalk, her lips trembling.
"Astraya," she breathed, panting, as if she'd gone for a run, and took her hands in a death grip. "Oh, thank Merlin, I thought they'd got you, too."
"What are you talking about?" Astraya asked, her forehead furrowing in confusion. She glanced past Ophelia to find a small crowd of Slytherins near the doors of the Great Hall, whispering furiously to each other. Some faces were anxious, some looked bored, but others looked rapt.
Ophelia's answer was choked. "I-it's Cora a-and Ava." She sniffled. "Someone's attacked them – some kind of Dark curse. Oh, they looked terrible. Cora was twitching randomly, and Ava was thrashing like she had epilepsy. They're in the hospital wing right now and Madam Rosebridge says…"
The rest of her words faded into a dull hum in Astraya's brain as her eyes met another set, black and cruel, staring at her over Ophelia's shoulder, his smug smile taunting her. The hum rose to become a great roar that drowned out the world around her. The only thing that seemed to make it through the storm in her mind was Riddle's earlier warning.
You're going to regret that soon, Sader.