AUTHOR'S NOTE: here is the latest chapter of 'Memento Mori'.

The outline for the rest of Part 1/Year 1

1.7 - The aftermath of the Troll Incident. First Quidditch Match - Gryffindor vs. Slytherin

1.8 - Invisibility Cloak, Mirror of Erised (Honor is with Hermione)

1.9 - Christmas 1992

1.10 - Final day at Hogwarts as 1st year.

as always: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me

1.6

I wasn't the best student of my year, which wasn't a surprise.

I knew magic.

I performed magic.

I had practiced immensely to strengthen my magical core.

I wanted to prove my admission into Hogwarts wasn't some political statement from the Ministry and my family, that I was actually worthy of having a spot at Hogwarts.

It took me some time to learn the first spell entrusted to me, Wingardium Leviosa (the levitation charm), which was my wand flickering at a lightweight white feather in hopes it would float. Hermione took to it perfectly, having to correct Ronald (call me Ron!) Weasley when it came to how his pronunciation was for the spell. The other spell was a transfiguration spell, to turn a matchstick into a needle.

Mother and Father had no problems with sending books from the family library for me to hand off to Hermione for the time being. Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes as she held the books closely to her chest, mouth opening in shock at how I had stuck with my promise. It wasn't something I was going to tell her I would do for her only for me to not do it for her in the end. I wasn't that type of person, and she was relieved she could trust me entirely when it came to my promises.

She had started a couple magazine subscriptions for the MODERN WITCH, PUREBLOOD CULTURE, and a couple of other magazines in the same type of subject. She would circle spots within the articles or cut out photographs of things which interested her. There were a multitude of hairstyles she had started to try, though she had to have help from me due to her messy maelstrom of hair she had. She was determined though, she wasn't interested in wearing gloves daily, though she understood when it came to wearing them during social dinners and such.

Today though, it was the tenth Samhain since my parents were murdered, and it was the annual familial blood ritual I would have with the rest of my family. I had already gotten the afternoon after classes off and after bidding goodbye to Hermione I headed towards the front gates of Hogwarts. I knew my adoptive parents wouldn't care to enter the premises, they weren't students here, Hogwarts was supposed to be significant for me but not for them.

Leaving the school behind me, I went down to the front gates of the school, noting in the corner of my eye in the distance a hut Hagrid lived in. There was a pumpkin patch that was near his hut, and he had a black dog he called Fang, it was a giant boarhound. A kindhearted student had suggested the name when Hagrid first got the dog as a puppy, and since then it had been used. Fang would never go by any other name, he only listened when it was spoken.

Mother and Father were clustered together, both of their backs straight and their eyes showing relief when they landed on me making my way towards them. My hands were on either side of me, and I had already changed out of my school uniform into one of my simpler cold weather dresses. A warm pink, an almost kind of sweet candy hue. A white ribbon in the shape of a perfect bow kept the top layers of my hair away from my face. I wore my shaded glasses and of course my white gloves I often tried not to fiddle with.

Father had one of his hands resting on the back of my mother's shoulders.

His hair was pulled up in its high bun, the few strands of hair that had fallen from their contained spaces made him almost more whimsical. There were rumors he had Fae blood in him, but I never learnt if I had Creature blood because of him. I didn't even know if Fae even existed, they were such an ancient race not many spoke of. They were spoken more about for the Muggles but even then, they were merely tossed to the side. He wore even elven like robes, with embroidery of flowers and vines–mythical magical flowers that no one knew of their existence except for very few.

Mother wore one of her longer front veils, letting the white fabric rest right around her heart. She had multiple white layered robes over her, over one of her light hued dresses with skirts that pooled around her. There were her typical hairpins from our ancestral women, these ones were moonstones. She didn't have a set she preferred over any others; she loved them all the same. She had been far over the moon when it came to having me as her daughter, so she was glad she could give me our ancestral jewelry meant for heiresses and ladies of Peverell House.

A part of me, a small part, had hoped I would see Finlay in one of their arms, but he wasn't there. I had to remind myself he wasn't even six months yet. Chances were Mother and Father weren't going to be having any social balls to introduce him until it was time for his own beautillion. My debutante ball was going to happen in my final year of schooling before I would get married, or shortly after I would eventually be engaged.

Father pulled out a small red orb from his pocket, one of our numerous Portkeys we would use to get to our location. All we would have to do was touch the object and then it would transport us to that said place. I had seen this Portkey used a couple of times at night, when I would sneak down the corridors in our house and watch as my father would pull out this red Portkey. He went to quiet, hidden and sometimes forbidden clubs for families of Necromancy in order to learn more about what he would expect from me. I never saw the family members come into our house, but then again it might be because of a necromancer's distrust in allowing anyone into their personal home.

Putting the orb in front of me and my mother, we all grabbed the orb and focused our attention on our front manor of our house. I closed my eyes and made myself think solemnly on the foyer of the house. I was more than relieved when I opened my eyes and noted how we were already in the foyer of our house. There was no need to worry about having to travel long bouts in order for us to get to the location we really needed to be at.

Mother kept her hand in mine when Father dropped his, heading off in his own direction. She turned and looked at me, reaching one of her hands up and cupping the side of my face. I wasn't wearing the hairpiece she had given me. I didn't feel any real reason in wearing it, especially today, there wasn't anything to celebrate. Perhaps if things would get better, if there was something that really was meant to be celebrated, I would wear it again.

"Come, let's go upstairs. You must take a bath and be prepared for the ritual, my dear," Mother declared, keeping one of her arms wrapped around mine in a deathly manner. She hadn't been a Necromancer, otherwise things would be different. Someone who wasn't a Necromancer was the only person who was allowed to help the current Necromancer.

Entering my bed, I barely paid attention to how everything looked exactly the same. There was not one thing that was out of place. Even books that I had started and meant to continue during Holidays were already put away, although I had wanted to keep them out. They at least had bookmarks in them, so I didn't have to be too upset.

Going through the large white door into the bathroom, I barely paid attention to how the room shared the same light aura fantasy vibe as the bedroom. The large clawfoot bathtub had already been filled, most likely from other House Elves wanting to make sure everything would go by smoothly. Mother ushered me forward and I went over to where the bathtub was before I began to strip myself out of the clothes I had put on. I barely paid attention to my mother behind me, scooping up the clothes and muttering things underneath her breath.

Slipping into the warmth of the bath, I let my pink eyes flicker up towards the ceiling of my bathroom. I wondered how everyone was doing back at Hogwarts. What they would be expecting to do during dinner, if there would be anything which was celebratory, or if they would merely eat their dinner and then head off to do other things. I knew I wouldn't be having any of that, no eating at the Slytherin table and listening to them talk about mindless chatter.

Mother came back into the bathroom not too long, washed my hair and I washed my body, before we rinsed, and she unplugged the tub. She helped me out of the tub and handed me a towel, where I dried myself off, and was handed a white robe with a high turtleneck that rested an inch below my chin. The sleeves went down to my wrists and flared out in the back. My hair fell in a simple manner down my back, there was no jewelry that was nestled throughout my hair. There was no reason why I would even need to have jewelry during a time like this.

Taking my hand, Mother led me out of the bathroom and out of my bedroom before we went towards a set of spiral steps that led upwards. I had never been up there, I had known it was a ritual room for blood magic along with Necromancy in the past, but I had never desired to go into the room. Perhaps once my full potential was unlocked, at least enough for me to have multiple conversations with Death, I would wish to go into the room. Until then an unsettlement washed throughout me, as if I felt out of place to be going up there.

Mother led me up the stairs, simply and without too much expression. A small part of me contemplated yanking my arm away from her. I knew my future, well not exactly all of it obviously (I wasn't a Seer), but I knew it enough that prolonging this wasn't going to be useful. It was going to happen, might as well have some self-respect towards the whole thing.

She opened the door, and I went through, my eyes landing on only the skylight above me.

There were no other windows that were in the large, circular room. There were floating candles everywhere, lit and sending out soft scents such as vanilla. There were incense lights, sending out little trails of scented smoke throughout the room. A large carved symbol was in the room, a Latin symbol of death. Death was welcome here, at least in this room, but anywhere else in the house it was to be away from it. There were protections that were in the room to keep Death contained in here, so I was at least glad about that.

Grabbing my hand, Mother sat me down right onto the carved symbol on the ground.

She grabbed a silver goblet that was on one of the side tables spread throughout the room. She handed it to me, and I took a sip, noting how there was an odd taste to the mixture, as though I was tasting the blood of my ancestors. I was getting their protection on the inside now. Their magic, their blood flowed through me in an unnatural manner now.

It happened slowly, but it happened, nonetheless.

A slight tinge of tiredness, but I didn't think too much about it.

I was tired and would most likely eat dinner with my parents before sleeping and heading back to the school the next day.

It didn't go away; it only grew and grew and grew until I reached one of my hands up to touch my forehead. My other hand, which had gripped the goblet in a heavy manner, loosened up and the goblet fell out of my hand. It thundered against the carved wood, and I fell back, eyes closing, as Mother went over to where one of the multiple tables were. I barely noted her picking up a few herbs before my eyes closed. I fell deep asleep.

I awoke refreshed but with confusion laced throughout me, as my pink eyes landed on similar pink ones in front of me. Mother sat cross legged in front of me, one of her hands reaching out and brushing against the side of her cheek. I turned my head away from her, and studied how the majority of the candles were extinguished though there were some still hanging on.

"M-Mother, did you…?"

I flinched and brought one of my hands up, rubbing my forehead briefly at the oddness radiating through me. I observed her wearily as she stood up and went over to a water basin bowl. She took a silver pitcher and scooped up the water before pouring some into a cup. She sat the pitcher down and came over to me, sitting down in front of me and holding the cup for me to take. She sighed and brought the cup up to her own lips to take a sip, as though to let me know it was alright for me to take a sip. I took the cup from her soon after and took my own sip, whatever was in the water naturally strengthened me and I sighed in relief.

"Apologies, my dear, but Death visited me in my dreams not too long ago. This is the last Samhain in which you will not have enough potential to greet and form an alliance with Death properly. Death came, and he marked you. He cut his thumb and allowed his essence to spill against your forehead, next Summer you shall have your full potential unlocked. You will enter the next stage of puberty, and you will begin your journey as a Necromancer," Mother informed me, making me swallow hard and turn away from her, noting how there were a few mirrors hanging on the walls of the room. They sent little glints of rainbow throughout the room.

"He marked me as something else, didn't he? I feel it," I whispered to her, my fingers reaching up and brushing against my forehead. I gasped and tore my hand away from my forehead, my eyes widening and watering some. It was not pain I had felt, there was this warmth that washed through me. Comforted me and allowed me to know I wasn't going to be alone anymore.

"It is not my place to say what else he marked you with. That is a conversation you will have with him once you meet him properly," Mother stated, her voice calm and composed. She reached her hand out once more to touch my cheekbone only for her to sigh and pull her hand away.

She helped me up and we left the ritual room together, my eyes noting everything around me. I knew I would find this room as my own once I would become naturally inclined towards the blood arts and death magic. I would find comfort in the carved symbol on the ground, in the corners of darkness within the circular room, in the basin and the pitcher and the purifying water that came from it. I would find comfort in all of this, but for now it was just a reminder I was not able to even have one ounce of freedom in my life. It had already been decided for me.

Entering my bedroom, I took off the elegant robe and wordlessly sat it on my bed.

It disappeared immediately; I was certain it was Litzie taking care of my laundry without even having to ask. I smiled, she was like an aunt to me though if I ever said anything of it, she would hide away from me and my parents would question if I knew the dynamics between House Elves and Wixen properly. I would be informed they weren't pleased with my outlook.

Changing into a lightweight white blouse, some black trousers and some black slip-on shoes, I left the bedroom and went down the hallway in the direction of where the stairs were. I would most likely see Father or Mother waiting for me, since it was dinner time. They would have no true expression towards what I would wear, since this was just for one night and we weren't having any guests over for dinner. It was just a familial dinner.

Mother wasn't at the bottom of the stairs, instead Father was.

He inclined his head towards me when I made my way down the stairs. I hurried to him and pressed myself against him, my face turned towards his side so I could take in all of his masculine, fatherly scent. I knew we were meant to live longer lives, those who were Peverell, but for a fleeting moment I wondered if my mother and father gave up their extended lives so I could learn the proper ways of being a Necromancer by Death.

"I know what is on your mind, daughter, and it is natural for you to think of it as such. I am sorry the adoption had made sure to make you the last Necromancer in our family, but I am also not. I wasn't the one who had a vision from Death, that only happens with those who aren't married into the family. Only those who are natural Peverell's are able to. I do know your Mother would never make a deal with someone without it benefitting all of us. She would make sure to keep you safe, and she knows no one could keep you safer than Death, himself," Father informed me, making my blood run cold for a split second. I hoped they had not made a deal with Death to make me his Necromancer Wife, to be there with him for eternity. I hadn't yet experienced these feelings, had yet to have a crush on someone, and to think I was meant for just one person….and that person really being an ancient deity frightened me more than I cared to admit.

"Please tell me it's not so," I whimpered, only for my father to sigh.

He didn't know what deal it was that Mother had made with Death, all he knew was I was safe.

I would not die from some meaningless execution; I would die when it was the right time for me to die.

I didn't care if it was when I was young, I was more concerned on the whole being betrothed to Death and knew that was going to be one of the first questions I would ask Death when I would meet him officially next summer.

Father wrapped one of his arms around mine and led me into the dining room, which was the same style as the rest of the house: the same black and silver and Peverell Red. The same old furniture that hadn't been moved in centuries but thankfully through House Elf magic stayed in its same state. Brand new in the eyes of everyone except our family, for there were no written or said accounts of what my house looked like from outsiders. Only our family were allowed on the property (well…there was that renter in the cottage, and I didn't believe he was a relative of mine).

Father sat me down in my usual spot before he went over to where his end of the table was.

Mother was on the other end of the table, her fingers clamped around the stem of her wine glass with just enough strength. I was afraid it would break, and the red wine would spill out onto her. She was smarter than that, the wine glasses were most likely charmed to not spill, the last thing my mother needed was to have Litzie order her fellow employees' clean wine from clothing or from furniture.

Sitting in front of me on the long, intimate dining table were Scottish meals, meals that I had grown up on and only ate on Samhain. There were the vegetable roots, and the soups and the hearty meat meals. The Pumpkin Juice that my family stocked up on at the end of summer so we could have some whenever we wanted during autumn and Yule. It was filled with meals I had loved, and there were meals I had questioned, and meals I hated.

I had barely begun to eat my food when there was pecking against one of the windows in the dining room. I frowned and turned my head, noting what looked like a school owl trying to incessantly enter the house. I turned towards Father, who had sat his napkin down and stood up before opening the window and taking the letter from the owl. The owl shot off and went out into the oil black sky, leaving no trace behind other than the letter. Father shut the window behind him and locked it once more, before he opened the letter.

In any other situation I was certain Mother would have been livid at having an owl disrupt our peaceful life here at the manor. She would wonder how they would know the location but there was only the school that had the exact location, the other locations my parents gave out were false leads that would wind up at abandoned houses. I both found it petty and funny.

Father read the letter, his eyes widening, before he went over to where Mother was, handing it to her.

As she was reading it, Father instructed Litzie to give him one of his traveling cloaks. She gave it to him and some of his gloves. He slipped both on and grabbed the red orb Portkey once more, sending a look of annoyance towards Mother about the whole situation before he disappeared. I wished I could have grabbed him by his arm and gone with him, but I would have to wait for him to come back home from wherever he had gone…it was obvious he had been summoned to Hogwarts.

Turning to Mother I noted she scanned her eyes over the letter the school owl had brought her and frowned before she stood up from her spot at the dining table. She smoothed down her robes and went over to the lit fireplace, looking at the fire before she threw the letter into the said fireplace. It was very unsettling how she didn't show any strong emotion towards the whole thing, other than a type of annoyance. She probably felt violated, she was very protective of her home and her family. She didn't want any letters getting onto the property, so she wrote letters and went into the closest town to send them out there instead of using an owl on the property.

"Litzie!"

Mother snapped her attention towards me as I called for the Head House Elf, which in return made Litzie appear in a snap. She did her curtsy, head dipped down, before she turned her attention towards me. I immediately sprang into action, "Mother is very stressed right now. I was wondering if you could bring Finlay to her. He'll calm her down."

Litzie let her large, watery eyes flicker towards Mother, but if it was one thing my parents weren't it was abusive.

Other Pureblood families and some Half-Blood families out there had no problems with being abusive towards the creatures. I knew sometimes they could be annoying, but that was only when I wasn't in the best of moods. I never yelled at them, nor berated them. I had merely dismissed Litzie and the rest of her staff whenever they would be around an irritated version of me.

Mother sighed and pinched her nose before waving her hand, her manicured fingers were a brilliant crimson and weren't too thick on the acrylic nor were too pointy. She had claimed I wasn't allowed to wear nail polish until after I would get married or betrothed, it had something to do with keeping our nails clean meant another symbolism towards purity. I never cared enough about painting my nails or putting on makeup, I knew eventually I would get to the stage of my life. Besides I was eleven, I wasn't anywhere near being fifteen.

"Fine, fine. Bring me my son, please," Mother commanded, before Litzie disappeared in a swirl of her own creature magic.

Mother reached forward and picked up her wine glass before swallowing some of the wine that had been picked out for the night. I was at least glad she was classy enough not to pick up the entire wine bottle and down it.

I wouldn't put it past some of my year mates having mothers who did that exactly.

Alcoholism was quite commonly found in the sacred families.

Mothers who didn't want to be mothers, mothers who had been forced to have more than one child or at least forced to try to have more than one child and didn't succeed, they often were found cradling the stems of their wine glasses tightly enough sometimes the stems would break. They would wear dark colored robes and dresses in case they would spill their drinks, the stains wouldn't be too prominent. They could blame it on their clumsy husbands or on the waitstaff.

Husbands would hide away in the men's parlor room, holding glasses of Firewhisky in one of their hands and cigars in the others. Complaining about the women they had married, about how society was going underground (or Hell if they preferred to use the Muggle term for their religion). They would talk about how their only reprieve would be from their mistresses (and their paramours if they chose to have male lovers as well), but even then, it would be quite limited because they would end up complaining about them also.

Litzie appeared a moment later with Finlay in her arms, the now five-month-old wore his sleeping gown made for him.

I believed it had been worn by male ancestors–a few great uncles.

The sleeping gown had been enchanted to never tear or break or stain, it would always retain its perfect condition.

It had been crocheted by some aunt of mine who had multiple miscarriages until she had finally had a living son.

Some said she had gone to one of the temples of Morgana and had it blessed by some of her priestesses, but I didn't want to think too much about that. I just knew I would have worn the sleeping gown if I weren't already a little over a year old by the time I had been blood adopted by them. Otherwise, there would be paintings of me as an infant in the golden dressing gown.

Litzie brought Finlay over to Mother and placed her in her arms.

Mother gripped him softly in her arms, as though he was a fragile piece of bone China. She ran her fingers lovingly against his thickening dark hair, smiling some as she peered down at her. She loved him fiercely and although she tried not to show it, I knew she loved him differently than she loved me. I had become hers through a blood adoption, I wasn't conceived from her and Father. I hadn't developed in her womb for nine months.

I wasn't jealous when it came to things such as this.

Mother still loved me, and Father loved me.

I had been lonely so long when it came to not having siblings.

I only was able to talk to my parents, and the House Elves before, and not to mention Grandfather Ignotus and the rest of the family ghosts (but even then, some of them never appeared unless I would do a proper ritual for them). I was more than relieved when Mother had told me she had gotten pregnant. There would be another living being in this house, one less ghost I would have to communicate with.

I was more than thrilled when Finlay had finally been born, and I was able to hold him in my arms.

I was glad Mother wouldn't be stuck at the manor for the majority of the year with basically just Litzie and the rest of the House Elves. She would be able to take care of Finlay, and she would know what it was like to experience motherhood all over again (though straight from the beginning and not at a later date like with me).

I sighed as I sat down at the dining table once more, peering at the wine glass filled with pumpkin juice. I was tempted to swirl the wine glass and watch as the orange liquid swirled around in a mini storm within its glass captivity. I only tore my attention away from the said glass when Father appeared in the dining room. Finlay was making cooing sounds from across the dining table and Mother was muttering in some dead language I wasn't too interested in decoding at the moment.

I observed as Father came into the room and sat the Portkey onto the dining table surface, making me stiffen some as Mother tightened her lips. She let her eyes study Father, making sure he hadn't brought home anyone with him. Not that it would be possible, he wasn't blood bound to the property. He was marital bound to the Peverell grounds, which meant the house would answer to Mother and even me before it would listen to Father.

If Mother had demanded for him to disappear because he had brought someone home, then I was certain he would disappear in the blink of an eye. They weren't Ligare's to each other, if Mother severed the marriage with Father the Peverell magic would make sure to Obliviate him so he could have no memories of his marriage to her. He would have some memories, the most basic ones, memories of me and the happy times but if someone asked him to explain the house or the scenery around him, he would instead describe a generic two floored house any other normal Scottish family would have.

"Professor Dumbledore is allowing Honor to stay home both tonight and tomorrow. She'll have to return on Monday for classes, but she'll be able to stay the weekend."

Father turned his head towards me, making me frown and narrow my pink eyes at him.

Mother cleared her throat to gain my attention and once my pink irises landed on hers, she gave me a warning glare. I ducked my head to allow her to know I wasn't going to pester Father with too many questions and too much staring. He would tell me more in his own time, without having me demand his attention even if I were still technically a child and it wouldn't be too weird if I acted childish about the whole thing. I wasn't a normal child, I was not a Muggle child, so I was not able to even think about throwing a tantrum on him. He was withholding the whole story, and I couldn't complain about it, he'd probably eat more of our supper before explaining more.

We got through the majority of dinner, with me eating the tender meat of lamb and goat and chicken.

I sipped on the stews meant for tonight, not really paying attention to the taste to be honest. I knew it tasted like liquid autumn, as that was the point.

I also noticed there were plates that were sitting at the dining table with food to be offerings for our deceased family members, but neither of my parents knew it was just a waste of food sitting there. Ghosts couldn't eat or drink, they just did what they did best…haunt. They didn't want to sit at a table and watch their living descendants and friends eat and drink. They were fine with haunting the grounds of wherever they fancied (or sometimes didn't fancy) but sitting there and having to watch living people stuff their faces wasn't something they wished to experience.

I briefly thought of Grandfather Ignotus and if he would wish he could be in the dining room right now. He would try to brighten up the whole situation, but it would be a useless endeavor. Neither of my parents would be thrilled with my ancestor appearing in the dining room despite the plates full of food basically being a sign for the deceased to come and sit with us. The sign was not working, and if it were any other time I knew my parents would feel disappointed, but we were all thankful our deceased stayed within the family cemetery.

Father drained his glass of elegant wine and then took a sip of water to keep his mouth from drying too quickly. His hazel eyes peered down at the bundle of Finlay in his wife's arms before they went away from Mother and landed on me. I immediately straightened up, though my posture was still quite impeccable to begin with. I had to show the short time of me being in Hogwarts wasn't going to destroy my posture completely, and the last thing I needed was to have myself tied to my chair to correct my posture during the times I would be here.

"Honor, I would like to apologize for delaying the rest of our supper earlier. It turns out there was an incident that happened at Hogwarts. A troll got into the school and attacked a student in the girls' loo. Heir Longbottom and Mr. Ronald Weasley was able to save their fellow Housemate. The girl is fine, just shaken," Father informed me, making my heart race some when he said it was a fellow Housemate of theirs. Another Gryffindor, and quite possibly it could be Hermione…there was no way she could have been the one who had been attacked by the troll.

"Was it Hermione? Please tell me it wasn't Hermione," I breathed, my heart racing once more.

Father kept his face stoic, and he peered at me as if I should know better than to inquire more about the whole incident. He didn't want to be talking about an actual break-in at the school. He pushed pieces of his hair away from his face, since some of his stray hairs had fallen from their pinned-up position on his scalp.

"Lachlan, none of that. I won't have my daughter needing a Healer because she had a panic attack. I will not accept any more drama tonight," Mother said calmly, before she added, "go to your study. I shall stay with her. I know you will want to write some letters to The Board of School Governors, so off you go."

Father slowly sat his wine glass down onto the clothed dining table and stood, making sure he cleaned up any remnants of food that could have stayed upon his lips and around them, before he left the room. He was quiet and after Mother commanded for Litzie to take Finlay back to the nursery, Mother turned her attention towards me. She stood up once Finlay was gone and motioned for me to follow her, which I ended up doing a moment longer than she wished for. A little bit of a rebellion from me, to show how I was displeased with how dinner and the subject of the troll incident at Hogwarts had gone.

We left the dining room, and she placed her hand onto my arm, her eyes studying me a moment longer than she normally did. She led me into an adjoining parlor room not too far from the dining room, and a good distance away from where Father's office was. The last thing I wanted was to be around him, even if it was in the same corridor. She probably felt the same as I did about this whole thing, we hadn't expected the night to turn towards this, sour and stressed out.

Sitting down on the loveseat Mother nodded her head before remarking, "yes, my darling, the girl who was attacked in the loo happened to be Hermione Granger. If it weren't for Heir Longbottom and Mr. Weasley, I don't want to think what would have happened. She's okay, a little shaken up but nothing irreversible happened to her. I'm not letting you go see her, you'll see her on Monday. You're staying here for the rest of the weekend."

"Will Father have me pulled out of Hogwarts? I'm not surprised if he'd call the United Kingdom Ministry Wixen Board of Governesses to have one come here," I confessed, ducking my head down and twisting the corner of my mouth in an unpleasant frown. I noted how Mother was pulling at one of her rings that adorned her right hand, just another family heirloom passed down throughout the centuries. I would probably end up with it or the next new blood bride in the family.

"Oh no. As long as nothing happens the rest of the school year, if Merlin is willing, then I don't see him having me contact the United Kingdom Ministry Wixen Board of Governesses. It would be a dreadful process having to go through," Mother assured me and frowned at the end of her assurance, probably thinking of all the interviews she would have to conduct for a new governess for me. There would be no male governor for me, governors were for boys while the girls would have the governesses.

A flicker of anger came over me, and I wished I could have Skadi in my arms so I could run my fingers through her fur.

Skadi…

I stood up and turned to Mother, not even thinking before demanding for her to have Father go back to Hogwarts and get my cat. I thought it was a proper demand, if I were to be here for tonight and all of tomorrow then I would have my cat. I might not be able to be with Hermione and assure her nothing like the troll was going to happen again, but I would make sure that I would have my cat so I could calm down properly.

Mother shooed me upstairs to my bedroom, claiming she would go to Father to see about getting Skadi. I kept my fingers tightened in their fist positions, knowing I would only let my fingers loosen up and go back to normal once I would feel Skadi's fur upon them. I didn't pay attention to the few enchanted portraits of past family members on the wall where the stairs led up to the first floor. Gossip wasn't something that I wanted to deal with, and thankfully these portraits knew it was smart to be on the better side of the current family Necromancer.

The last thing these oil painting depictions needed was for me to find their physical remains and have a serious conversation with them. They would find themselves put into the basement of the manor, or in one of the multiple family mausoleums so the only people they could talk to would be their dead selves and other dead family members. There would be no smug and intimate, warm environment of the manor corridor anymore. It would be the cramped and cold, questionable environment of the manor basement or the mausoleums. I wouldn't lose any sleep over it either.

Not even thirty minutes later one would find me in my bedroom, already changed into my sleeping clothes, and Skadi in my arms.

Sleep would evade me.