Rain whispered against the windows of the huge scarlet engine as it pulled out of King’s Cross. For once, the weather mirrored my mood; it had been three days, and I was no closer to figuring out the meaning of Father and Malfoy’s whispered conversation at the party. Silvanus had been aggravatingly unhelpful, as every time I approached him on the matter he abruptly turned vague and snappish. In fact, his parting words to me had been “don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, Ysabelle.” Despite the fact that I was distantly afraid of my brother, I had retained the intention of doing just that.
Pulling myself back to the present, I gave my dutifully assembled family a half-hearted wave before following Hyperion down to the prefects’ carriage. It had always seemed slightly uncanny to me that both of us had been made Slytherin prefects in our fifth year, but then again, Professor Fortescue had always favoured the influential purebloods. Of course it was trivial, but I secretly had the feeling that the whole world was against my wish for Hyperion and I to remain only friends.
As I submerged myself in my bitter thoughts, another surfaced. I was - and not without reason - desperately anxious about Mother’s wellbeing, though I was sure that Father and Silvanus would do their best to console or at least scare her into her senses. I ground my teeth as I walked; I was well aware that this was only because they didn’t want to have gossip spread about us.
“Er - Ysabelle? Are you even listening to me?”
I looked up, startled, to find that I had caught up with Hyperion outside the prefects’ carriage, and that he was talking to me. I blinked once, pasting a false smile on my face.
“Sorry. I was miles away.”
“Obviously.” Hyperion looked faintly annoyed, but he nevertheless held open the door to the carriage for me and graciously let me pass.
The compartment was an airy, luxurious place with a carpeted floor and large windows, and I automatically wondered what prefects had done to deserve such glamour. However, I was a Slytherin, and I wasn’t exactly going to complain.
I scanned the spacious room for faces that I recognised. It was easy to guess which House each group were in, even in Muggle clothing: in one corner were the Hufflepuffs, talking animatedly among themselves about some obsequious nonsense; close to them were the Gryffindors, who were sprawled arrogantly across their seats, each mirroring the others’ positions. I immediately felt a surge of grief as I took in their swaggering manner. Of course, Evander had never swaggered, but the eager, overconfident looks on their faces reminded me irresistibly of his.
One of them - a boy who I recognised to be in my year but didn’t know the name of - looked up, and I realised that I was staring. I met his eyes almost defiantly, although I felt a blush creep into my cheeks. His lazily mocking smile was irritating, but as I looked away, I couldn’t help noticing how the boy’s icy blue eyes were oddly captivating. I hastily pushed that thought from my mind and went to sit with my fellow Slytherins, who were grouped close to the Ravenclaws. I noticed with some derision that the latter were playing a solemn game of wizard’s chess.
I sat down and crossed one leg neatly over the other, fiddling with a strand of red-blonde hair. Irma had, once again, attempted to style it, but I had put my foot down, insisting that as we were only travelling, who would I want to impress?
“So, Ysabelle,” Hyperion said, trying to drape an arm inconspicuously around my shoulders. Elissa Flint, a lifeless sort of girl who the Headmaster had apparently seen fit to make a prefect this year, glared balefully at me from the seat opposite. “Excited about school?”
“You sound like a professor… or Silvanus,” I remarked acidly, forcefully removing his arm. “I think Elissa is going to start spouting steam from her ears if you carry on like that, by the way,” I added as a cruel afterthought. Elissa flushed, but I was in too much of an ill mood to care very much.
Evidently awkward, Hyperion had a brave stab at starting a conversation.
“So… who’s Head Girl and Head Boy this year?” he asked no one in particular. I shrugged, but another fifth-year prefect - a dark-haired, sharp-featured boy I vaguely recognised from breakfast - spoke up in a bored voice.
“Both Gryffindors, I’m afraid,” he said dolefully, pointing out a honey-haired girl and dark-haired boy, both of whom were staring intensely into the other’s eyes, apparently oblivious to anything but each other. His opinion was clearly one of distaste.
“Don’t be harsh, Gryffindors are all right,” I replied. I knew that there was only really one Gryffindor that I had in mind, as I thought this the memory of the blue-eyed boy resurfaced. Once again, I tried to thrust his face from my mind, but to no avail.
The dark-haired boy snorted, and Hyperion looked at me disbelievingly. Elissa simply examined her nails, pale eyebrows raised slightly.
“Gryffindors, not that bad?” The previously bored boy now appeared positively enthused at the chance to verbally abuse the Gryffindors. “They’re nothing but blood traitors and Mudbloods!” He raised his voice slightly as he said the word ‘Mudblood’. Hyperion shifted uncomfortably beside me as I glowered at the boy, a cutting comeback poised on the tip of my tongue.
Luckily for him, just as I opened my mouth to retort, the Head Girl spoke up, having torn herself from her male equivalent.
“Right, listen up, people! We need to sort out a patrol schedule, so gather round…”
I watched the Ravenclaws pack away their chess set before finding a seat nearer to the Head Boy and Girl, and I followed suit. The Hufflepuffs instantly moved up to make space for us; I rolled my eyes, and one of them shot me a faintly dirty look. With a haughty sniff, I settled myself as far from them as possible and half-listened to what the Head Girl was saying.
“So, I thought we’d try something new this year - a bit of inter-House communing… the Headmaster specifically asked it of me.”
This was met with loud groans from every group. I sighed and shifted my position slightly, now grudgingly paying full attention.
“I’ve compiled a list,” the Head Girl continued, unruffled, “of your surnames in alphabetical order. Where two people of the same House have been placed together, I’ve swapped a couple of names around. Are we clear?” Without waiting for an answer, she flicked her wand once and a few sheets of parchment soared through the air and into her lap, forming a meticulous pile.
“Not exactly,” drawled the Gryffindor-hater, his eyes fixed maliciously on his victims. “Are you two” - he glanced briefly at the Head Boy - “patrolling together?”
The Head Girl looked up, confused. “Of course, we’re Head Boy and Girl, aren’t we?”
“Right… patrolling,” the Gryffindor-hating boy said, raising his eyebrows. The Head Girl instantly turned a delicate shade of pink as Hyperion crowed loudly.
“Shut it, Pierce,” the Head Boy spoke up, an expression of perfect calm on his face. “Unless you want detention the first evening back, that is.”
The boy named Pierce lapsed into a sullen silence, muttering something about Mudbloods.
“Anyway,” the Head Girl proceeded with a grateful smile in her compatriot’s direction, “the list. Right. No swapping or complaining unless you have a genuine problem with your patrol partner, understand? Alright: Laurel, you’re with Ingrid…”
I tuned out, waiting for my name to be called. This was an inconvenience, to be sure; inter-House mingling wasn’t preferable for Slytherins, who mainly kept to themselves. The Ravenclaws could be all right, if a little boring, but other than that we were widely disliked.
“Malfoy, you’re with Flavia,” I heard the Head Girl announce - smugly, I thought, and I knew that she was getting back at Hyperion for laughing at Pierce’s snide comment. Flavia was a pretty Hufflepuff girl who looked at least as disgruntled as her new partner did. I choked back a cruel laugh as I imagined the pair patrolling the corridors together.
I noticed, despite myself, that the blue-eyed boy had yet to be acknowledged by the Head Girl. He was drumming a tattoo on his heavily patched trousers with his fingers, occasionally running his other hand through his already tousled mop of burnished blonde hair. I had to admit that he was handsome; rather more so than Hyperion, in fact. Belatedly, I realised what I was thinking and, mildly horrified with myself, banished the incriminating thought from my mind.
“Ysabelle Rosier?” My head snapped up at the sound of my name. “Oh, there you are. You’re with… oh, right, Will Roberts.”
Somehow, I knew that it would be him; the corners of my mouth twitched, betraying me, as his icy eyes met mine. But even as Will Roberts returned my reluctant smile with a quizzical one, I felt, rather than saw, Hyperion leap to his feet next to me. I reached out to catch his arm, but it was too late-
“You’re putting Ysabelle with that Mudblood? You must be joking!”
Almost the entire carriage gasped in unison. It would have almost been comical if I hadn’t known what consequences this would bring.
“Hyperion!” I hissed, tugging more insistently on his sleeve. I met Will’s eyes again and tried to convey an apology in my gaze, but his eyes were fixed on Hyperion, all traces of a grin gone. I noticed that he had gone scarlet.
“Right, Malfoy,” the Head Boy said, his cool exterior only slightly marred. “Detention, tomorrow night, I think. No need for language like that.”
“It’s worth it if I get to protect Ysabelle from that scum,” Hyperion spat, his eyes blazing. Incensed beyond belief, I stood up, cursing my diminutive stature.
“You won’t be protecting anyone, Hyperion,” I said angrily, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks as I noted that every eye in the compartment was on me. Nevertheless, I continued, now looking more at Will than Hyperion. “I’ll patrol with Will- I mean, Roberts. It’s no skin off of my back.”
But instead of the grateful reaction I had expected from the former, his expression remained stony. This struck me as rather rude; I had just defended his honour, hadn’t I? Hyperion, on the other hand, looked thunderstruck. He sank back into his seat, his bewildered gaze trained on me. I thought that I recognised a flicker of hurt in his pale grey eyes.
As I sat back down promptly, an awkward silence settled in the compartment. The Head Girl, her face flushed, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shuffled her sheaf of parchment.
“So… er, Isis, you’re with Eleanor. And… well, that concludes our first meeting of the year.” She attempted a bracing smile that looked more like a grimace. “Laurel, Ingrid - I want you to patrol the train corridors first, please.”
With that, the Head Girl handed out the timetables that she had constructed beforehand as fast as she could and swept from the room, closely followed by the Head Boy. A low hum of chatter started up. I noticed that many of the other students, Gryffindors especially, were shooting Hyperion decidedly menacing looks. The boy named Pierce, however, was smirking at him with an expression that was a mixture of admiration and pity. Elissa was once again staring at her fingernails, but there was now a tiny crease in her forehead.
Unable to take the tension between Hyperion and me, I stood up abruptly, motioning for him to follow. He did so, but grudgingly; I heard his small sigh as he followed me out into the corridor.
“Hyperion,” I began stiffly, once we were out of earshot of the compartment, but he cut me off.
“Ysabelle… I know you don’t exactly… share my… feelings,” he said slowly, his voice resigned. I tensed immediately. Part of me - one that I was slightly ashamed of - was glad that he had picked up on this, but another part was worried; had I been so obvious that I had hurt him inadvertently? I relaxed, however, when a grin unfurled across Hyperion’s face, even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I can win you over. In fact, I will.”
I sighed at this, but couldn’t help smiling slightly at his doggedness. “Hyperion, if you haven’t managed it after five years-”
“You’ll see,” he cut across me once again, earning himself a scowl. “I’ll bet you that by the end of this year, you’ll be mine.” He grinned again, this time with more conviction. I, however, was annoyed.
“I’ll be yours? What am I, a possession?”
“Er…” Hyperion looked uncomfortable again, and hastily changed the subject. “Anyway, I can get you out of patrol duty with that Mudblood Roberts. Fortescue owes my father a favour.”
I frowned. “Don’t call him that.”
“Who?”
“Roberts,” I replied, careful to use his surname only. “Don’t call him a Mudblood.”
Hyperion’s expression changed in an instant, flickering from confusion to understanding to… anger?
“Well, Ysabelle,” he said finally, his voice now cold. “I never had you down for a Mudblood lover, but I suppose that looks can be deceiving.”
It took a moment for me to take in his harsh words.
“I don’t like Roberts, if that’s what you mean,” I said, hurt.
“Then why did you defend him? Why are you defending him now?”
“Because - well - you shouldn’t go around calling people Mudbloods, Hyperion!”
“That’s what they are!” Hyperion cried, exasperation clear on his face. “You never used to mind the term!”
“Muggle-borns are wizards too,” I replied quietly, breathing heavily and struggling to keep calm. My fingers twitched, itching to withdraw my wand from the pocket of my jacket.
“You’ve changed, Ysabelle,” said Hyperion after a pause, a curt edge to his voice. “Ever since Evander died… I don’t know what’s got into you.”
This stung. Wasn’t I allowed to mourn?
“It’s been almost two months now,” Hyperion said more gently, as if he had read my mind. “He’s not coming back.”
I felt angry tears well up in my eyes, and my hand hastened towards my wand. Hyperion looked positively alarmed as I pointed it directly at his throat.
“I know that,” I hissed, so venomously that Hyperion took an involuntary step backwards. “Do you really think that I’m naïve enough to think that he’s somehow going to come back from the dead?” He shook his head mutely, still looking startled. I scowled at him one last time before lowering my wand, but not loosening my grip on it.
“And that’s why I’m avenging him,” I muttered quietly.
Nevertheless, Hyperion’s unusually sharp ears seemed to pick this up, at least judging by the blankly shocked expression on his pale face.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“Not nothing - it was something about avenging him…”
Hyperion looked at me wonderingly. “But Evander died in an accident… didn’t he?”
I gave a non-committal grimace, and hastily stowed my wand back in my pocket to avoid meeting his gaze.
“Unless…” Hyperion frowned. He was guessing too much for my liking.
“We should go and put our robes on, you know.” I bustled past him and marched back into the prefects’ carriage, leaving him to his puzzlement. Even as I closed the compartment door with a subtle snap, I could feel Hyperion’s questioning gaze fixed on the back of my head, boring into my darkest secrets.
Dark Blood by fruitandextranutcase
Chapter Notes: Chapter three, in which Ysabelle and Hyperion return to Hogwarts with some unsettling consequences. YES, another awful chapter title, I know.
Chapter Endnotes: Dun-dun-dun! Pleeeeease review! Pretty please?