Hurtful words, from my enemies of the last five years.
What’s it like to die alone?
How does it feel when tears freeze, when you cry?
The blood in your veins is twenty below.
~.~
“How about Haylee Brown? Do you think she is attractive?”
“Yeah, she’s a bit on the ditzy side, nice legs though.”
“Really? I’m not that interested in tall girls…”
I sighed and turned back to the glass paperweight on my desk, ignoring the Hufflepuff boys’ incessant chatter. They obviously didn’t feel like working, and were using their time to gossip about girls. A part of me sympathised with them...well, about the first part anyway; I wasn’t in the mood for work either. I glanced at the paperweight that I was supposed to be trying to turn it into a Portkey. I tapped it a few times, muttering the incantation under my breath. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened.
With Charms you usually had to have some motivation and I just couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm; it had been a long day.
My Charms class was fairly small; with only six Ravenclaws, four Gryffindors, three Hufflepuffs and me choosing to take it at NEWT level. I was the only Slytherin so, as a rule, everyone else ignored me. I liked it that way; Charms had become a sacred time where I could actually have some time alone to think. I usually sat in the front row with no other company but my thoughts, and today was no exception.
Yet, today was a special day. Today was the day I turned seventeen and was officially of age. Nobody had made a huge deal of it; I had received no birthday cards or presents except for a solitary parcel from the council. Inside the parcel had been a letter and a stunning necklace.
Andromeda,
The council would like to congratulate you on coming of age. You have reached this date with aplomb and dignity. We look forward to hearing your plans for the future at the next council meeting.
Regards,
The Women of the Feminae Putus Cruor
I had stared at the letter for sometime. “We look forward to hearing your plans for the future…” I wondered what would be brought up at the next Council meeting. Despite this line, it was everything I expected; formal, cold and dignified. There were no wishes of love or happiness, or even a mention of the word “birthday.” The necklace was made of gold with a huge ruby pendant set in a ring of diamonds. It was obviously very expensive and old, probably some Black heirloom that had been in the family for centuries.
It wasn’t really something I would wear; I preferred simple things, but I had quickly penned a formal letter back to the council thanking them anyway. The other girls in my dormitory had congratulated me too, sighing over the beauty of the necklace, occasionally shooting jealous looks in my direction when they thought I wasn’t looking.
Out of all the girls in my house, there wasn’t one who I would call my friend. They were all merely acquaintances, people that I barely knew. I didn’t talk to them much above a superficial level and I never saw them outside of school. I would never consider telling them secrets or giving them my trust, exactly what the council expected.
Despite this, though, I was always surrounded by people from Slytherin. Everyone knew I was a pure-blood from a very ancient family. They knew the power and status that came with that and they all wanted a piece for themselves. They considered me aloof and mysterious, perfect Slytherin qualities, and enjoyed being around me regardless of how I acted.
They knew I had no interest in friends, but didn’t care. They had no interest in being true friends with me either. We were all better off that way.
Yet I couldn’t help but remember when Megan Cary, a Ravenclaw girl, turned of age. I had been eating my breakfast early when she had walked into the Great Hall. Normally there would be only a few people there, but the Ravenclaw table had been crowded with people. She seemed shocked, but absurdly pleased to see them all there, not moving until four or five people ran up to her and hugged her.
They then led her over to the table, surprising her with a huge birthday cake and presents. All the Ravenclaws in the hall at the time, and a few Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs too, surrounded her and sang, ‘Happy Birthday’ to her. Her face lit up with a huge smile while they sang and a few joyful tears glistened in her eyes. Once they had finished, Megan hugged each one individually, thanking them for making her day so special.
With a jolt I realised that I was frowning. Carefully returning my face to its proper mask I dismissed the memory. Why on earth would I want a birthday like Megan Cary’s anyway? Friends were a liability, cake would ruin my image and I didn’t want any cheap knick-knacks disguised in wrapping paper. The whole thing had been totally uncivilised and the council would never have approved.
I picked up the smooth paperweight and rolled it around in my hand. Regardless of everything I had, wealth, power and status, I often found myself wondering what it would be like being someone like Megan Cary. She was a half-blood- my family had taught me to look at status first- but she was so sure of herself. I wondered what it would be like to have Happy Birthday sung to you by your friends and allow your emotions to be read straight off your face.
I tired to ignore the empty feeling in my chest. Bellatrix and Narcissa had no problems, so neither would I. I was happy with my life.
My own name snapped me out of my deep thoughts. At first I thought I imagined it, but then I heard it again. I realised it was the Hufflepuff boys sitting behind me and they were continuing their conversation about girls that I had heard previously. It was different though; previously they had been speaking loudly, not caring who heard them.
Now, however, they had dropped their voices as though they were telling secrets. This only made me more interested and I stretched my ears to hear what they were saying. They were talking about me. Sitting perfectly still to stop my self being given away, I began to listen to their conversation.
“Yeah she is pretty stunning, but, unfortunately, her personality would be a death sentence,” one was saying.
“Really?” asked another in hushed tones. “I’ve always considered her rather mysterious, sort of as though there is something more inside her that is being repressed for some reason?”
“Nope, that’s never occurred to me,” whispered the first voice in genuine surprise.
“Most people act the way they feel,” added another boy, “I bet she is as bitchy on the inside as she is on the outside.”
Straining my ears, I could tell their voices apart. They were Ian McMillan, George Topher and Ted Tonks.
“A blood traitor, a half-breed and a Mudblood,” a voice whispered in my head, “That should have been your first thought. Who cares about their names or what they think of you?”
However, against my better judgement, I kept listening. The boys continued their argument.
“Haven’t you ever heard of not judging a book by its cover?” asked Ted.
“Yeah, but she is not a book. Books can be complicated and hard to read,” George said, “Think of her more like an icicle. Hard and cold on the outside, hard and cold on the inside and completely transparent.”
“Plus sharp enough to stab you through the heart.” added Ian with a laugh.
“Maybe she is more than you think. Icicles melt all the time, right?” reasoned Ted.
“Perhaps with a little warmth and kindness, she will become softer? Maybe she wouldn’t stab someone who showed her a little kindness for once?”
I wondered why he was sticking up for me when I would never, could never talk to him? I wondered why it made me feel a little bit warmer inside. I didn’t care, I shouldn’t care…
“Touché,” Ian said, “but you’re being a little optimistic. Plus, who’s going to do that for her? She’s probably promised to some pure-blood five years older then her. You know what their families are like,” he paused, perhaps to look at one of his companions, “well not you Ted because you didn’t grow up with the stories, but you do, George. Anyway, a year or so after graduation they always marry some pureblood, just as cold and emotionless as them. Then, they’ll produce a crop of perfect little purebloods exactly the same and the cycle just repeats. Their whole family is cold-blooded. There is no room for your little icicle-melting theory. So I guess we’ll never know.”
“It’s a shame,” murmured Ted, “It must be horrible, trying to live with no emotion. I wish there was someone to help her.”
“Merlin, Ted, you sound like the heroine of a bad Muggle romance novel my girlfriend is always reading.” George said sarcastically. “So, regardless of the danger of sounding like the grumpy hero, I’ll tell you this; not everyone has good inside of them…”
It was at that point I stopped listening. I tried to tell myself that I didn’t care, that they were only a Mudblood, a half-blood and a blood traitor. What did their opinions matter?
A year after graduation they always marry some pure blood, just as cold and emotionless as them…
It was the truth of the words that hit the hardest. But why did it matter, when that’s the way it had been for centuries? Just last year Bellatrix had married Rodolphus Lestrange, one of the pure-boods put forward by the council, and she seemed happy enough.
I realised this was what the council was probably talking about in the letter, it had been obvious but I had been too blind to see it. Yet, this was the obvious next step in my life. The council had even been alluding to it at meetings, telling me I should keep my eyes open for a suitable partner.
So what if most “acceptable” Purebloods were cold and emotionless. Being emotionless was preferable to being emotional. I personally had always cut of my emotions at the bud; it made my life much easier.
Then why did I long to scream? Why did I want to turn around and yell at this Ian, to tell him and his friend that I had thoughts and feelings? Why did I want to shake him until he agreed that I was more than a transparent piece of ice? Why did I want to break down into tears and cry about the future I was destined to have?
Always keep your control.
I took in a deep breath, shutting my eyes and clenching my fists. I felt better, all the confusion and pain left me, leaving me once again safe behind my mask. Well, almost all the pain left me. My right hand had began throbbing painfully.
A quick glance made the pain double. In my attempt to control myself, I had been unaware of the glass paperweight in my right hand and in clenching my fist I had crushed it, forcing glass to shatter and press into my palm. It looked awful and red blood begun to flow all over the desk. What on earth had I done?
Always keep your control .
“Excuse me sir,” I said, calmly raising my left hand, “may I please go to the Hospital Wing?”
Professor Deverell caught sight of the blood all over the desk and my mangled hand. His face paled slightly and he looked worried at my too calm demeanour. The class began to whisper behind my back.
“Yes of course, but I think somebody should take you as that looks pretty nasty. Can I have a volunteer?”
I sighed as the class remained silent. Why couldn’t he just let me go on my own? I took off my scarf and wrapped it around my hand to slow the bleeding; knowing that this decision could take awhile. No one in this class would ever willingly offer to…
To my amazement only a few seconds passed before a voice behind me spoke, “I’ll take her, Professor.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tonks.” Ted Tonks, the only boy in the conversation I had eavesdropped on that believed I could actually be a person, got up and stood in front of my desk.
I didn’t move.
He stared at me for a brief second before gesturing with his hands towards the door.
“Are we going or what?”