𝕄𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝔻𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕

Sekhmet sauntered into the Slug Club party, dragging her heel-clad feet and picking at her freshly painted nails. Pandora had painted them for her whenever she mentioned being invited to the exclusive party. Sekhmet had insisted it wasn't necessary but Pandora, never one to give up, had continuously worn her down until Sekhmet forced herself to give in. She had sat in her dorm, hair getting manhandled by Dorcas and nails getting harassed by Pandora. As they did so, Sekhmet daydreamed.

Regulus was going to be there, as was Barty. Regulus had amazing grades, yes, but Sekhmet would bet her whole inheritance that the real reason Slughorn invited him was because of his family name. The same thing went for Barty, being the son of Bartemius Crouch Sr., a large presence in the Ministry who was widely believed to become the next Minister of Magic. Slughorn loved “collecting” well-known students. He loved to show them off to the important people he invited to the parties. And he absolutely loved to use these introductions to make connections so he’d be more known. 

So, as Sekhmet walked into the party, her blue dress swayed with each step. The thin dark blue fine silk sat atop her shoulders, clipped in the front by a golden rope design that trailed down the edges of the fabric. The gold glinted in the candlelight of the hall as she continued walking. The rest of her dress was a lighter blue than her shawl but was a darker shade of royal blue. The long sleeves peeked out beneath the silk atop them, and the flower designs at the bottom of her dress contrasted greatly in color with the blue. The whole dress swayed with every movement she made. The dress was probably one of the finest pieces of clothing she had worn in a long while. The blue silk hugged her like an old friend, her nails the same color to match. Dorcas had done her hair in a curly ponytail style, though no hair ties were showing. Sekhmet’s usually straight hair was wavy, some spare strands wrapping around where the ponytail showed to make the look seem more uniform. She looked stunning all things considered.

The scent of a thousand burning candles, strong enough to make her nose burn, filled her senses as she waltzed into the entrance. Her jaw clenched in disdain at the party. She dreaded these events. She never liked being presented like a show pony to every paying audience member lucky enough to get a glimpse. Not to mention the fact that Sekhmet was only ever recognized by her father’s last name. Considering how she despised the man this wasn't a good circumstance to be in.

Her eyes wandered around the room, bustling with a dozen different people whom Sekhmet didn't recognize. She had always been under the assumption that most old white men looked the same; creepy, entitled, and arrogant to a T. She sighed when one of them approached her, barely concealing the roll of her eyes.

“Miss Arafa, I presume?” The man asked, and without giving her time to answer spoke again, “You may know me. You see I worked with your father for a trade deal back in Switzerland. You were probably in 2nd or 3rd year, so I’m sure the details are hazy!” He laughed, his large stomach bouncing with him.

“My how you've grown. All of you that is…” His eyes trailed her body creepily, his lips smacking when his gaze reached her chest.

“I’m afraid I haven't the slightest clue who you are, Sir. Now if you'll excuse me I really must be going-” Sekhmet smiled politely, though it looked more like a snarl.

Just as she started moving the man grabbed her arm, his clammy grip tight. She whipped her head around, her head raised defiantly and her gaze set in a glare. The man gave her a macabre smile, his eyes twitching in excitement at her perceived fear.

“Oh! But you must! I have been counting down the days until you'd be of age. If I’m right then you must be getting prepared for a betrothal. I’m sure you have dozens of suitors vying for your hand– your beautiful untouched body…” He whispered the last bit, his hot breath coming closer to her ear.

Sekhmet tried her best not to flinch away, but she’d guess by his triumphant smile that she had failed. Her blood grew hot in pure rage, the magic in her veins prickling at her skin. 

“Let. Me. Go,” Sekhmet ordered, her wand coming into the grip of her hands wordlessly.

The man’s lip turned up in glee, his disgusting teeth sending another wave of revulsion through Sekhmet. Just as his grip tightened even more, nearly crushing her arm, someone else interrupted them.

“Miss Arafa! The best duelist in my class! What a pleasure it is to see you here tonight. Oh, I’m sorry, was I interrupting something?” Professor Alixtrow Hemlock chimed in, and despite his cheerful voice his eyes were anything but as he locked gazes with the old man.

His large hand rested on Sekhmet’s shoulder protectively, and despite her previous hesitancy toward the man she couldn't help but lean into his hold, if only to get away from the grip of another. 

The two men stared at each other, but Sekhmet knew who would win. She knew the power that a simple Russian stare could hold. As if the person looking into the eyes were in the cold, desolate land of Yakutsk, Siberia. It’s how her mother had always won stare-offs with her father. The man was abusive, controlling, and at times cruel but he had never been able to stand against her mother in battle of wits. Her мамушка must have gotten that trait from her дедушка if Sekhmet had to guess.

The large man let go of Sekhmet's forearm, his thumping steps wary as he disengaged from a battle he knew he would lose. The pair of intimidating Russians threw him off, and he turned his tail as soon as he was far enough away. Sekhmet moved her gaze to Professor Hemlock, her gaze much more friendly compared to the one she had given Mr. Presumptuous. 

“Thank you, Professor,” Sekhmet said cordially and moved to take her leave.

“It is no problem Miss Morozov– I mean Miss Arafa,” He stumbled over his words and Sekhmet froze.

“...What?” Sekhmet asked, puzzled as she had never been recognized in correlation to her mother before.

“It was a mistake, Miss Arafa. It's just- you look so much like her. Addette that is,” Professor Hemlock explained, his handsome face scrunching some at the awkwardness of the encounter.

It was the most expressive she had ever seen the otherwise dark and stoic man. So, he knew her mother? Did that mean he knew anything else about her family? Or was he perhaps a follower of Grindelwalds teachings? Sekhmet knew it was less common of a possibility now, but she wouldn't completely abandon the probability. Especially if what she had suspected about Via Rosier’s allegiances were true. 

“You knew my mother?” Sekhmet asked him, her brows furrowing in a look that was not quite that of confusion. 

Her heartbeat was so fast that she was sure her ribs were going to crack from the sheer force of it. Just as Hemlock opened his mouth Regulus Black came sauntering over to her, his scent of sea breeze, salt, citrus, and driftwood being how she had first identified him. His hand quickly intertwined with hers and she saw Hemlock’s scrutinizing gaze lock onto the action. Regulus’ silver eyes met with Sekhmet’s green ones and it was only at that moment that Sekhmet was able to fully calm down from the events that had taken place over the last 20 minutes. 

With only his eyes Regulus had been able to ask if she was okay. He was able to convey his unbridled care for her well-being. Sekhmet took a shaky breath noticeable to no one but Regulus, and minutely nodded her head to his silent question. Regulus focused his attention back on Hemlock.

“Well, I believe I must escort Sekhmet to where her presence is more sorely needed,” Regulus said in his eloquent version of ‘alright then weirdo, we're leaving’. 

Sekhmet could hardly contain a giggle at his antics, completely erasing the previous conversation she’d been having with the strange Professor from her mind.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Sekhmet knew Barty was a few drinks deep whenever he started giggling his arse off over a stupid joke Slughorn had said to some foreign dignitary from Slovakia. Barty had always been a fun drunk. At least until he remembered what was actually going on with the world. Between his shit father, their corrupt government, and the fact that the Dark Lord was on the rise to completely throw everything they’d worked for to the ground in his dictatorship, Barty didn't have a lot to be happy for in his life. That wasn't even mentioning his situationship with Evan which could very much get him killed if anyone from their house found out.  Sekhmet looked to Regulus and nodded over Slughorn in an attempt to distract him so that both Barty and her could go somewhere more quiet. Regulus nodded dutifully and moved to engage in a rather enthusiastic conversation about his family's shareholdings when she and Barty snuck out the side. Sekhmet waved goodbye to everyone, politely bowing her head at every Lord she saw in the room, and excused herself and Barty, saying that she wasn't feeling well and he was to escort her back to her dorm. 

That of course wasn't where they were really headed. No, instead Sekhmet led Barty to the Astronomy Tower. They both needed a break, that she knew. She also knew that it had been far too long since the two of them had a proper chat. The walk up the stairs was shorter than expected and before Sekhmet knew it they were at the top of the tower opening the door to the outside. It was a weekend and far too late for anyone but them to be there, so Sekhmet wasn't worried whenever she walked out into the chilled night air and pulled out a cigarette from her charmed bag. The bag had acted as her purse for tonight's events, as she had cast a charm to make it look more formal. 

She casually passed the cigarette to Barty once he came up beside her, resting his forearms on the railing and looking out upon the sleepy, peaceful grounds of Hogwarts. He took it silently between his fingers, bringing his wand up to silently light the tip. He took a long drag and blew the smoke out into the night, the cold air making the cloud even bigger than usual. Their silence stretched on but was far from uncomfortable. It was just a matter of who would break first. 

“I see it. The way you look at him,” came the voice of Barty, staring straight ahead.

If it weren't for the fact that his cigarette was away from his lips and it had previously been so silent she could hear a pin drop Sekhmet was certain she wouldn't have heard it. Despite this, she paid no mind to the comment, neither confirming nor denying his claims. 

“I could say the same. Unfortunately for both of us, neither can get what they desire,” Sekhmet replied, her eyes roaming over Barty’s relaxed form for only a moment before taking the cigarette from his grasp and taking a drag herself.

Barty chuckled lightly in response, though his tone was somber whenever he next spoke.

“My father would fucking kill me if he knew what I was getting into with Evan. His only heir, a fag. It wouldn't be the Dark Lord I’d have to worry about,” Barty sighed, his form slumping and his eyes falling to look at the railing in silence.

Sekhmet broke it.

“I'm engaged,” She blurted, then explained quickly once Barty's head shot up from its spot, “I already told Reg. My father said he’d have me sold off by this year, but if I knew who it was going to be I would have pitched myself off the Pyramids back home when I had the chance…”

She took another drag, looking forlorn and exhausted. Her chest felt lighter, she supposed. As though sharing one of her biggest issues made the burden of them less pressing. She was still Sisyphus, rolling the metaphorical boulder of her father's expectations up a hill, racing to get to the top– to be good enough– and failing every damn time. 

“Sekh…” Barty said in sympathy, his face sad but not full of pity.

Barty had never been one to pity Sekhmet. Knew she hated to be looked down upon like she was less than whenever she finally felt safe enough to share her issues. He raised his hand, as if to rub her back in condolence, but stopped short and blew a cloud of smoke from his cigarette while looking out back at the grounds. 

“Who is it? The fucking git who will end up being damned with your presence for eternity”

She chuckled at his attempts to lighten the otherwise somber situation. Sekhmet hesitated but spoke anyway. If she was going to die for the sin of marrying the devil himself then it was bound to happen sooner than later. 

“I’m not completely sure yet,” Sekhmet sighed, “My father planned it for me. Didn't bother to tell me who he was. I told Regulus about him last night. He took it well I suppose. But he's Reg. He’ll act like everything is fine even if the world stops orbiting on its axis.”

Barty left out an airy chuckle, though the situation was anything but funny.

“You know, between you and me we’re like one big Greek tragedy. You and Reg are like Orpheus and Eurydice, while Evan and I are as damned as Eros and Psyche.” 

She and Barty laughed at their misery, the darkness somehow feeling even more vast the longer they stayed up on the tower. She took a deep breath and looked back up at him, desperate. She knew she would be sold off like a broodmare the moment she came of age. Her father had been insistent in telling her that it was all she was good for. But saying it all out loud? That felt like she'd just signed her name on her death warrant, condemning her to hell for the rest of eternity. Barty softened and pulled her in for a hug, throwing his cigarette to the ground. 

“It'll be okay Sekh. For both of us,” He reassured, though they both knew there was no guarantee in his words.

Sekhmet sniffled. She would miss her chance to be with Regulus, would be forced to marry a man who wanted her solely for power, and would be forced to watch her friends live the rest of their lives in misery away from the ones they truly loved. She was not going to let that happen. If she could get enough dirt on Dumbledore and use her close position with the Dark Lord to weaken him, then she could surely take the two of them down. Sekhmet promised herself that for as long as it was within her power she would do anything she could to fulfill this mission. Her face set, her decision made. The tears stopped flowing from her eyes and she hugged Barty tighter before looking up at him.

“Yes, it will. We'll all make it out of this. I promise.”

Sekhmet Arafa was never one to break promises.