Hogsmeade
"If I am not for myself, who is for me? But if I am for my own self [only], what am I?"
- Hillel The Elder
“Hand me my wand will you?” Husna said around the hairpins she held between her teeth. Ixchel complied- being careful not to move her head too much as she reached for the wand, ensuring she didn’t ruin her hard work.
“Hold.” Husna demanded.
She shared a wry smile with Olethea who sat on her own bed, reading a magazine, but did as asked, holding the curl in place by her temple as Husna muttered an Urdu charm.
Inspecting her work, she gave a satisfied nod. “There you go, duck. Merlin himself couldn’t move those curls out of place.”
Ixchel gave an arch shake of her head and laughed lightly when Husna huffed, “Well don’t go tempting fate!”
“Sorry. You’ve done a lovely job! You must teach me that charm.” She said, watching her hair swish back and forth in the mirror. Husna had returned to her own bed, placing the unused pins back into a small lacquer box.
“So your makeup is done and now your hair too. Do you know what you’ll wear?” Juliet gave a sweet smile from one of the plush armchairs in their dormitory. “First dates are so exciting, and with a sixth year!”
Olethea snorted and closed her magazine. “Rhys Warbeck wouldn’t mind if she showed up in Chudley Cannon kit and niffler slippers. That Hufflepuff has been panting after our bonnie Ixchel for months. He’s only just worked up the nerve as she’s in the middle of her lovers’ tiff and has been giving Riddle the cold shoulder.”
Ixchel’s steps didn’t falter as she walked to her wardrobe. “It is not a lover’s tiff,” she corrected primly, picking out the clothing she had prepared, “and I’m not avoiding Tom, we simply have different interests at the moment and are very busy.”
The Scot made a face that clearly expressed how little she believed her. Ixchel stuck out her tongue playfully at the girl before returning to the clothes she had laid out on her bed.
Yes, she was avoiding Tom. She was giving him the opportunity to learn from his mistakes without her intervention, something he had never before experienced the entirety of their time at Hogwarts. Ixchel had decided to let his fate play out without her mothering. He would come find her when he realised she was right, she thought a bit spitefully.
“Less of the cheek, Olethea.” Husna scolded. “It’s none of your business. I know it’s been nice seeing Ixchel more often without her intimidating shadow.”
“Intimidating?” She asked, curious.
“Well he is very serious.”
“And so fit!” Juliet grinned.
‘It has been nice spending more time with the others,’ she thought, smoothing out the collar of a dress. 'Rhys is sweet and handsome, not as intense as Tom and the attention is nice. Lighter. Simple.’
Aloud, Ixchel said, “I have the silk blouse with these wide leg camel trousers, or my pear blossom shirtwaist dress.”
Olethea shrugged, returning to her reading, uninterested in fashion the way the others were.
Juliet perked up. “You have women’s trousers? How wonderfully daring! ” Muggle fashion was seen as an exciting if vaguely scandalous choice amongst the younger Wizarding folk.
“Yes, I stole them from Socorro,” she gave a contemplative frown, “so if I wear them, I’ll have to do my best to avoid her or she’ll try to drown me in the lake if she catches me.”
“You must wear them then!”
“You want me drowned?” Ixchel laughed.
“Oh hush, you must wear them before she takes them back!”
“No, it’s not feminine enough for a date!” Husna argued.
Ixchel allowed the girls to debate the finer points of date etiquette as she dabbed on her perfume and fastened her small stud earrings. In the end they determined that Olethea was right. Rhys Warbeck was so chuffed that Ixchel had agreed in the first place that she could wear the more daring trousers.
When she was dressed, she did a final spin for her Housemates. “Oh, you look like Veronica Lake!” Juliet gushed. Ixchel wasn’t sure to whom her friend was referring, but she smiled all the same in thanks at the obvious compliment.
“Alright, I’m heading off.” She stated unnecessarily, wiping her hands nervously on her thighs. “Meet you all after at The Three Broomsticks?”
“Yes, yes. Have a good time.”
“Good luck!”
“Try to get us tickets to see his Auntie!” Olethea called out before the door closed behind Ixchel.
She walked the path down to Hogsmeade by herself, waving or smiling when she passed friends of hers and her sister. The air was warm and the sun peeked through the thin June clouds, creating sunbeams that dappled the Highlands. The unusually cheery weather put Ixchel in a good mood and she ignored the nerves of her upcoming date and the strange feeling that she was wearing a mask by doing something so mundane.
She quickly reached the little village, the higgledy piggledy thatched houses and shops had flower boxes in nearly all of the windows in celebration of spring and the sight was charming and picturesque. Casting a tempus charm, Ixchel noted she was rather early and meandered along the village streets. Stepping into Tomes and Scrolls, she was met with the comfortingly familiar smell of parchment and the hush of an empty shop. The shop assistant gave her a quick nod before returning to his own book at the desk and Ixchel took her time walking the shelves, tracing her fingers on the canvas and leather spines. At the far corner of the shop by an open window that carried in the scent of hydrangeas growing in the garden behind the building, there was a small section of Muggle literature. Bemused and wholly curious, Ixchel studied the titles on the neglected bookshelves. It appeared to be mostly fiction, which pleased her as it was nice to see that creativity didn’t require magic. A slim volume caught her attention. A book of poetry that had clearly been magicked with a translation spell: 20 Love Poems and a Song of Despair by a Mister Pablo Nerudo. She flit through the pages, turning to the first poem.
Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,
You look like a world, lying in surrender.
My rough peasants’s body digs in you
And makes the son leap from the depth of the earth.
Blushing, she closed the book slowly and took a surreptitious peek to confirm she was still quite alone. Ixchel quickly purchased the book from the disinterested shop assistant and slipped it into the large pocket of her muggle trousers before stepping back out into the mild sunlight. Whilst she was still a bit early, Ixchel made her way to the tea shop where she was meeting Rhys hoping to grab a table, a cup of tea, and to pretend she didn’t have erotic poetry on her person. She shook her head, an amused half smile tugging at her lips and walked the streets crowded with students.
Her steps grew more hesitant when she noticed a group of Slytherin boys in the window of The Three Broomsticks. Seated at the table was Tom, a wry smile on his face at something one of the other boys must have said and seeing his face light up like that made her heart clench.
My rough peasant’s body digs in you
Ixchel frowned, and continued her walk.
She arrived before Rhys as she expected and requested a table for two. She took a seat and ordered herself a pot of Earl Grey, fighting the urge to check her makeup. The bell above the door chimed and Ixchel drew her eyes to the entryway. Rhys stood, scanning the shop and when he saw her he beamed, his smile bright and open.
He was a handsome, easygoing boy. Kind and personable, he was well liked by all the Houses and went out of his way to help others who were struggling with schoolwork or homesickness. He would probably be Head Boy next year.
They had chatted amicably throughout the year, getting to each other as they often had Prefect duty together. It was usually a bore so they spent the time wandering the corridors talking. He asked all the right questions, shared all the right jokes, smiled at all the right times. Ixchel just wished he made her stomach flutter.
“Ixchel! You’ve ruined it; I was supposed to get here before you so I could pull out your chair and dazzle you with how gentlemanly I can be.” He teased her.
“I could always pull out your chair if you’d like.” Ixchel laughed before making a show of moving the chair across from her seat out from under the table. He chuckled and moved the chair from its side of the table to sit closer to her and she gave him a furtive smile.
“You look- well, what a dish!”
“Thank you. Husna will be pleased you’ve noticed her work.”
“No, it’s all you.” He said so earnestly that Ixchel took a sip of her drink just to break eye contact.
Rhys ordered a few small cakes for the table and his own pot of tea and they spoke of safe, familiar topics like their class work and Ixchel’s upcoming O.W.Ls. He gave her pointers for the Transfiguration exam, knowing it was her weakest subject and told her how badly he had lost his head on his Care of Magical Creatures exam. During the practical he had been so nervous that whilst demonstrating the correct way to handle a bowtruckle, his hands shook so much he accidentally threw the poor creature onto the practitioner’s hat.
“Oh no!” Ixchel bemoaned, “Please tell me you at least still passed. You’re not exactly instilling me with confidence.”
“You’ll be fine, don’t listen to me.” He laughed. “I heard about your sister. Being scouted by the Magpies, that’s big news!”
Her smile became less teasing and more sincere. “And the Tarapoto Tree-Skimmers as well as a few teams in France. You’re sworn to secrecy,” she warned with false solemnity, “but I’m very proud of her.”
He mimed zipping his lips and throwing a key, “Your secret is safe with me. That’s very sweet of you though, she’s a wicked chaser. What team do you think she’ll sign with?”
“I think she’s asking the same question. Mum will want her close to home but Socorro likes a challenge and Tarapoto’s offense has been weak.”
“I didn’t know you followed quidditch.”
Ixchel chuckled. “I don’t. An unfortunate side-effect of an obsessed sister.”
They kept talking well past the time that the last of their tea had grown cold and over-steeped. Ixchel kept her surprise to herself when during their conversation he reached down to hold her hand. She analysed how she felt about his warm, large hand on her own, but she only felt vague worry, wondering if her hand was sweaty. After paying the bill, Rhys held the door open for her and they walked hand in hand through Hogsmeade. It was nice spending time with this untroubled, good-natured boy who clasped her hand like she was delicate and looked at her with easy infatuation. She tried to imagine Tom behaving in such a way and couldn’t picture it.
He kissed her goodbye when he dropped her off in front of The Three Broomsticks. His fingers brushed the curve of her jaw before he cupped her cheek and pressed his mouth to hers. Rhys’ kiss was surprisingly tentative, lacking the confidence he usually exuded. It was gentle and lingering, and so terribly sweet.
“I’ll see you around?”
She nodded quietly and gave a small smile. Ixchel wriggled her fingers in farewell before stepping into the pub, unaware of the eyes following her.
She was seated between the Shafiq and Peakes girls at the Ravenclaw table, clearly only half listening to the gentle morning conversation around her. Hiding a yawn behind her hand, she then began pouring a cup of tea for herself before offering to top up the others’ cups. Nodding with a subdued smile to whatever one of the other Ravenclaws had said, Ixchel spread lemon curd on her toast and took a delicate bite.
She looked just as she always had, seemingly unaffected by their row those weeks ago; rounded cheeks, full lips, discerning dark eyes. There was no conflicted expression, no worried draw of her brow, no tired frown to indicate she took any time to think back on their confusing argument. Her unchanged affect put him in a foul mood and he felt his grip on his glass of pumpkin juice tighten.
Their conversation had not gone to plan, not that he had expected such a discussion to occur at all! Ixchel had stood there in the Come and Go Room he had never disclosed to her, so haughty and short sighted. She was unwilling to see the wondrous opportunities before him, what it meant that he had this physical proof of his power and sway. He was extraordinary. He was so much more powerful than anyone in the castle, except perhaps Professor Dumbledore he grudgingly admitted, who grew more and more suspicious of Tom. She herself had agreed with him that one needed to be in a position of power to incite change but she was now behaving so prudishly at the realities of acquiring it! What did it matter that Ixchel wouldn’t concede to the politics behind the actions? She was unaware of the truth of what it took to gain power - an unfortunate side effect of her wealth and old name, and it had made her tenderhearted and unwilling to dirty her hands.
If he admitted it to himself - which he did within the quiet of his drawn bed curtains after days without her company - he also wanted to keep Ixchel, keep her in her purely magic world. The girl who crafted magic to her whim rather than perform the rote memorisation of all their classmates, who had seen it in him immediately, well she was meant to be at his side and kept enveloped in the wondrous world she had always known and introduced him to, never having to know the muggle world with its war and destruction, its puritan morality and hollow, warped religion.
After he was effectively thrown out of the Come and Go Room, Tom had immediately returned to the Chamber, angrily hurling curses at the stone walls and columns, watching them crumble into the waters below with grim satisfaction before composing himself to repair the damage he had inflicted. Tom had never been in a better position, but the sweetness of his growing victories was marred by the bitter, ashy aftertaste of his anger at Ixchel’s censure.
He had expected her to come to her senses fairly quickly. In the past their small disagreements and spats - which weren’t often, but still regular enough as they were both proud people - would be swiftly forgotten. Ixchel would amble over to his side with a new spell or theory to discuss and Honeydukes sweets she wished to share and it was as if nothing had occurred between them.
He had waited for days, sitting stiffly in the library, pretending to focus on the scrolls and assignments in front of him, listening for the familiar sound of her footsteps but they had never come. He had watched her from his seat in class or the Great Hall, and when their gazes met she never lingered on him. He had gritted his teeth and told himself he was unaffected by her absence. He had more important things to consider.
“Tom? Tom? Could you pass the butter, mate?”
He was brought out of his musings by Alphard Black who sat across the Slytherin table and Tom took his eyes off Ixchel’s face. Malfoy and a few of the others visibly tensed at Alphard’s lackadaisical request. He did as asked, sliding the butter dish towards the Black with a raised brow at his boldness to ask something of Tom. Alphard didn’t seem to notice, no doubt used to being waited upon, and gave Tom an offhand thanks before returning to his conversation about the new Puddlemere lineup.
Such tedious topics! Such insipid thoughts! He tried to imagine what it was like to live so small. It must be so dreadfully numbing. They went about their day mindlessly- accepting the limitations they were told existed, never trying to push the boundaries, never trying to create or mould anything new. They did nothing special with their magic, using it to throw quaffles in the air or summon their socks. They wandered through life in a path preset.
Except for Ixchel. Who was now no longer speaking to him and he was unsure if this was the end of their easy friendship. Tom had seen her in Hogsmeade, being courted by that bumbling Warbeck git. He had never seen a witch dressed like she had, all casual glamour like the muggle starlets in the films he and Dennis had watched after sneaking into cinemas. She had let him kiss her too.
He pushed his plate aside, no longer hungry and stood up to leave. He received deferential nods from the other Slytherins but he ignored them as he charged out of the Great Hall making sure to not look back at the blue and bronze Ravenclaw table. The Chamber was calling.
That night he took a shaky breath and looked at the body on the tile floor of the girl’s lavatory. He shivered and tried to tell himself it was exhilaration only. It wasn’t intentional, this Ravenclaw girl, dead on the loo floor. In fact when he first caught sight of the dark hair and blue and bronze tie, Tom’s heart seemed to leap into his throat. He had breathed a sigh of relief at seeing it was the spotty mudblood girl too pitiful to fight back against her tormentors.
Her death wasn’t deliberate, his intentions were merely to display his capability to the old families of his House, though he certainly wasn’t going out of his way to prevent such an accident. He stood over her cooling body, examining the paling of her skin and her blank eyes. He nearly reached out to touch her chilled skin before quickly placing his hands back into his pockets.
Tom let his fingers trail along the side of the most recent diary he used to write Ixchel; his name in gold lettering along the spine as it had been a birthday present. It would be a waste, a waste of her life and a waste of the countless hours of research he had done in the heavy stillness of night. ‘This is my chance!’ He thought.
And his soul
split.
Myrtle was dead.
Headmaster Dippet stood before them all in the Great Hall telling them the news and Ixchel felt herself pale and a headache bloom behind her eyes.
She had wanted Tom to learn his lesson but it had come at the cost of an insecure and awkward young girl. Her parents were muggles. Muggles who would grieve their daughter. Would they even be given an explanation?
The Headmaster had informed the students that he could no longer fend off the Board and if the creature was not discovered then Hogwarts would have to be closed until further notice. Her eyes slid to Tom and her gaze met his own. She knew he was aware of exactly what she was thinking. ‘I warned you.’
It was later in the day, nearly evening when she escaped to the lake to decompress after her Potions O.W.L and to feel the breeze against her face. It was a muddy day, and Ixchel meandered pensively through the marshy bank in her poorly transfigured Wellington's. The exam went fine thanks to Juliet’s militant drilling during their study sessions but her mind was far from polyjuice potions and the uses of sneezewort. ‘I warned you, Tom.’ She plucked one of the late blooming daffodils and placed it gently on the surface of the lake, watching it slowly sink out of sight and imagined it becoming part of a bouquet between merpeople sweethearts. She plucked a few more to send off.
When she straightened, brushing the mud from her hands, Tom stood before her, stiff and ever so handsome. He seemed to hesitate before taking a step towards her. “Ixchel…”
She didn’t move or speak, just studied his features in the golden late afternoon light, waiting with mild eyes.
He gave a sigh and with an effortless wave of his wand, they were ensconced in a bubble of magic that kept their conversation private from prying ears. “What happened was...unfortunate.” Tom said abruptly, and Ixchel raised a brow at the understatement but he pushed on. “It was unlucky and unplanned, but Ixchel,” his eyes grew bright and she could see the elation that was swelling within him, “I have done something incredible, utterly incredible and her death was not in vain.”
Her breath audibly hitched and she felt cold dread well within her belly at what he must have done. “You can’t play god, Tom!” A horcrux is so evil because it’s so unbalanced-”
“You knew about horcruxes? You lied to me?” He cut her off, brows furrowed and lips a thin line in his anger at her perceived betrayal.
Ixchel sighed and leant against one of the ancient birch trees lining the bank, crossing her arms as she gazed up at the boy before her. “Yes,” she admitted, face cool and impassive, “the cost is too great.”
Tom took another step towards her, and grasped her elbow in firm but gentle grip. He appeared caught between his anger and earnest supplication for her to understand. “The cost has been paid. It required a sacrifice and a sacrifice was made.”
Ixchel scoffed, giving Tom a dubious look. “Myrtle? That was not your sacrifice. What are you willing to pay?”
“Anything not to die nameless and faceless in a fucking Muggle tunnel!”
She had never heard him curse before and the fear disguised as anger halted her reprimands. “Oh, Tom.” She whispered.
His grip moved from her arm to her fingers, and he held her soft hand in both of his own. “I didn’t mean what happened to your Housemate. But I don’t regret it.”
Ixchel pursed her lips and studied their interlocked hands and the thrill it sent through her. She was silent for a long moment, listening to the rustle of the Highland wind in the leaves and long grass and the water of the Black Lake lap against its shore. “Don’t do it again.”
“I- I’m not sure it’s even possible to do so.” He gave a small smile, amused and frustrated. “I’m sure you wouldn’t tell me either way.”
Later that week a third year Gryffindor who had been keeping dangerous pets was expelled from the school, the acromantula in his possession deemed the monster that had been plaguing Hogwarts.