Chapter 37
March 24th, 1944
Hope
“You look like a snowball wrapped in taffeta,” Mary tells me with her lip curled in disgust.
Which makes everyone giggle before Taylor says, “Perhaps try one on with less fabric? I believe you could lose about five layers without showing any skin.”
“Don’t blame me,” I grumble, fisting the skirt that seems as full as the moon. “This is Eithne’s pick, if anyone deserves your ire, it’s her.”
“I think you look lovely in the royal style, you look just like Princess Alexandra of Wales when she married Prince Albert Edward,” Eithne lilts with a dreamy sigh.
One I definitely don’t agree with. Apparently, poofy wedding dresses started before the 1980’s, but even John Hughes wouldn’t like this one. There’s more frill and lace than I know what to do with, and when I look in the mirror, you can barely find my face in the sheer mass of white tulle. With Tom taking care of the majority of our wedding, the dress was one thing that he didn’t want to take the reigns on. It’s a very feminine endeavor, one he refused to take away from my friends.
He claimed it was for fear that the Weasley clan would rise up against him, headed by a ravenous Mary, but I don’t think he’s actually all that worried about my friends. Sure, Anthony, Mary, and Eithne are doing very well in their training, but Tom’s magic still far outways any of theirs. Either way, I decided I might as well share the news with those outside of Ravenclaw. It isn’t like I could find a suitable dress all on my own, and Anthony’s opinion is only so welcome when it comes to clothing. He might be one of my best friends, but he’s still a straight man.
“The dress is very elegant,” Amanda chimes in, sounding unsure of her words. “Likely to make a statement.”
“I think Eithne would look better in it, Hope’s style is just far too different. You don’t look like you in that,” Mary sighs, resting back against the giant, gaudy couch in the show room. It’s big enough for all the girls to lounge comfortably, but resembles a massive tongue more than a piece of furniture.
Eithne hums in agreement from between Mary and Amanda, with Taylor taking the end. She has been nice enough to help me in and out of dresses, offering a hand when it’s time to step onto the podium in front of a bunch of mirrors. Getting into this monstrosity was a chore, but we laughed a lot while struggling with all the frills.
“Ready for the next one?” Taylor asks, huffing as she stands yet again.
Nodding my head, I pick up as much of the skirt as I can hold and tell her, “Please.”
Placing my hand in hers, she helps me down from the miniature stage, and we head back into the changing rooms. Mary and Amanda got us into some fancy, wizarding bridal store in Diagon Alley, thanks to Dumbledore’s special permission to leave Hogwarts. Seeing as he’s the closest thing to a guardian I have, telling him about the marriage was inevitable since the event needs to happen while I’m still sixteen.
If I was worried about his reaction, then it was for nothing because he was all too pleased to learn that his faux-niece is marrying his least favorite student. This likely wasn’t a part of his plans, soul bonding and magic sharing, but still goes along with his wishes. My hero of a soul will bring the worst of Tom’s personality out from the darkest corners, and Dumbledore doesn’t know enough of my family history to understand how corruptible I am. Explaining to a meddlesome wizard that his ward is the daughter of the most terrifying being from my world didn’t seem like a good idea when I first got here. That feeling has only grown.
“Alright, which of these is your pick?” Taylor asks while she starts unbuttoning the one I’m wearing.
With one hand holding the bodice close to myself as it loosens, I use the other to point to one of the hanging dresses in our room. I’ve already tried on Mary and Amanda’s picks, the former insisting I strut out of the changing room donning a sexy mermaid style dress that was mostly sheer lace.
While I agreed that I looked drop dead in it, I couldn’t feasibly wear it without looking like a tomato covered in whipped cream. My embarrassment might even set the entire thing on fire. Amanda’s was gorgeous, completely made of white satin, and made me feel like a classic romance character in a black and white photo. It wasn’t bad, just not the right fit.
“Are you sure you don’t want to see me in yours first?” I ask while stepping out of the tulle nightmare.
Taylor saves me from tripping and putting my head through a wall, both of laughing as we end up on the floor instead. She adjusts her yellow sundress, looking at me with one of her lovely smiles, “While dressing you up like a doll does sound like a marvelous way to spend the day, that is not on the agenda. This is about finding the right dress for you, we are merely here for support. My pick is whichever you pick. Now, let’s get some clothes on you, don’t want Mr. Riddle to think he has anything to worry about.”
Her wink makes me laugh again, but she helps me stand in my bra and panties. My choice might seem boring, but I think that it’s beautifully understated. I want to wear the dress, not the other way around, and I’ve always thought this look would be best. A sleeveless, form fitting gown that relaxes just above the knee with a floral lace overlay. The neckline truly is off the shoulders, with the lace creating sleeves that hug my arms until just above my wrists. In the back is a small train, even with the platform shoes I’m wearing underneath, and I quickly throw my hair in a low hanging bun hanging off to the left side. Taking a deep breath, I turn and meet my gaze in the mirror. I look…like a happy bride, like someone sure and in love.
When I turn to see Taylor’s reaction, I find her putting a red dahlila flower in my bun, then resting her hands and chin on my bare shoulders, “You look brilliant, Hope. I believe we’ve found your dress.”
“You think?” I ask, honestly trying to gauge her feelings.
“Of course,” she lightly chides with a smile, pulling away to head towards the others. Holding her hand out to me, “Are you ready? They’re going to rave about it, I’m telling you.”
Taking her verbal and physical encouragement, we walk the short distance back to the group. A shy smile tugs at my lips as I picture myself across from Tom on some dais in front of some wizard-priest person running the magical ceremony. We’ll exchange vows, slowly weaving a magical spell with our words and free will.
Two cuts to our hands followed by their connection, and we’ll be tied together forever. From what I understand, our hands will need to stay touching for a while, as the bond is stitched together, and breaking the link would only lead to painful— if not deadly— repercussions. Our magic will combine, Tom will change into my species as I am now, and everything we are will merge. Apparently that bit is literal, but I’ve already seen everything that my Riddle is.
Stepping up onto the platform, I’m not brave enough to look at my friends through the multiple mirrors offering views of me from every angle. Staring at myself, I turn this way and that, enjoying the small swish of fabric at my feet. Taylor hands me one of the various bouquets the boutique keeps on hand, and then I look practically ready to walk down the aisle. A hand on my arm pulls my attention back to my Gryffindor friend, who gives me an encouraging nod before pointedly glancing at the peanut gallery. With bated breath, I slowly turn to gauge everyone else’s reactions.
“Well?” Taylor asks as she spreads the train out behind me.
“Hope,” Eithne sighs with a wistful expression and a hand resting over her heart. “You look…that dress…”
“Bloody hell, you look great!” Mary whisper shouts, not wanting to offend the workers in the fancy shop.
Amanda stands to come lightly feel the fabric, “This is a beautiful gown, your bust is well covered and supported, the fit is tight yet tasteful. Is the lace bothersome at all? Does it irritate your skin?”
“Oh, no, all the fabric feels soft and light,” I tell her, pleased that my friends seem to like it as much as I do.
“Perhaps we could add a slit up one side, allow for easier movement along with peaks at your legs?” Amanda asks as she kneels to investigate the fit.
Taylor gasps, quickly joining her fellow Gryffindor near my feet, “Would that be too much, though? There’s always the option to play with the neckline.”
“If a slit is added, will I still be able to wear these shoes?” Worrying my bottom lip, I look back and forth between those near me and those still on the couch.
Eithne frowns, but Mary is who responds, “This is your wedding, you can wear anything you like. Including those strange shoes.”
“She’s right, you know,” Taylor tells me through chuckles. “Regardless of the visibility, your comfort is the only important thing.”
“I think I like it as is, I want to look classy and feminine. My curves are already a lot, even without accentuating them even more,” I sigh, smoothing a hand over my hip.
While my family has told me how beautiful they find me, I always felt more like Betty Boop rather than Princess Diana. Especially after Roman pretended to like me, telling me how sexy I am just to lower my guard and kill my family. The Saltzman twins were the closest thing I had to friends growing up, but Lizzie practically started a campaign against me when I started getting boobs before she did.
At school, werewolves were too busy dealing with pack dynamics and their erratic hormones to care much about outside jealousy. Vampires always were old enough to have gone through most of puberty, usually maturing past such petty matters, but witches were a different story entirely. Being the closest to mortals, they were the ones to say something to me, the most likely to envy how quickly my body changed. Having a wedding dress more sexy than elegant isn’t a bad thing, I would just hear the whispers of my past threatening to dilute my happiness in the present.
“I’m with Hope,” Mary announces, making eye contact with me through the mirrors. “The dress is perfect, and Riddle is going to thank the heavens this hot piece of ass is willing to marry him.”
Eithne nods vigorously with a look of determination, “You said it! Next to you in that dress, no one will understand how someone with his ugly mug was blessed enough to be with you.”
Bursting out into laughter, Taylor and Amanda join me while Mary emphatically agrees. Right, like the most handsome guy at Hogwarts would look any less standing next to me. I might resemble a pin up girl, but I doubt the wizarding world is aware of those. No, this patriarch-heavy society would think I’m good arm candy for someone with a bright future like my fiance.
********
Tom
“You only need a little, just one little sip, and even the worst case scenario can’t take you from me,” Hope instructs from where she stands by a big grouping of candles.
“I remember, my Darling. Once everything is prepared, I will take some,” I say in a soothing voice while I complete the markings.
Brushing his chalky hands against his slacks, Abraxas takes stock of our work, “My side is finished. Do you truly believe this is enough space?”
Wiping my forearm against my forehead, I sit back while dropping my chalk, “The house is charmed to withstand a werewolf of unparalleled strength, surely this won’t topple the structure. We’ve cleared the room of furniture, I believe this should be fine.”
A large circle fills the sitting room with ancient runes outlining the entire thing, which should keep the dangerous magic contained within the boundaries. Both of my Horcruxes are here, and I will have the entire weekend to recover from the strain of absorbing both of them. Hope and I have spent the last weeks getting very far ahead in our school work, neither of us wishing to fall behind with how many plans we have.
Picking up the two, crystal bowls, I’m happy to find one filled with water. This is the only ingredient that needs to be pure, so I made sure to first fill it with the last snow of the year. Now melted, this is the cleanest water available, and the second bowl must be filled before I can take any of Hope’s blood. My essence cannot be mixed with hers during this ritual, not yet. However, once tonight is complete, her and I will be free to bind our souls together. At least, after I have some time to regain my strength— piecing my soul back together will be trying, to say the least.
“Will you hand me the knife?” I ask Hope, holding a hand out for the sharpened tool.
Gently placing the handle in my palm, my lovely fiancee has a brave face covering her fear. The smile I give her is genuine, but I know only the completion of the ritual will set her mind at ease. Making quick work, I slice one of my hands open, and squeeze a fist over the empty bowl. My blood slowly fills it, dripping from me like a faucet barely on. After muttering a quick spell, the bowl fills much more quickly, and within moments everything is ready to begin. Countering the blood flow spell is simple, and it quickly becomes barely a trickle again.
“Here,” Hope says, extending a claw before slicing her wrist open. Shoving her wound towards my face, she continues, “Drink quickly and you’ll heal.”
Watching the cut already stitching back together, I don’t have time to think before I wrap my mouth around the dripping, red liquid. One day, this will probably taste like the most decadent desert I’ve ever had. At this moment, however, her blood reminds me of my own— my tongue detecting copper and salt. Curiosity has me looking at my hand, and within seconds of my first swallow, my wound is already healed.
“Best not to let that secret out, St. Mungo’s might try to use you as a panacea,” Abraxas sighs with a shake of his head.
“I’d like to see them try,” Hope scoffs, flipping her hair over one shoulder with a defiant smile. “Even if they succeeded, I’d just end up with a bunch of accidental sires. This world isn’t prepared to deal with my breed of vampires.”
“Whatever you say. You know, I’ve been meaning to ask, why do you call this place the Shrieking Shack? This may not be as nice as the Manor, however I would hardly call it a shack,” he inquires, looking around the cleared out sitting room curiously.
Rolling my eyes at their tangents, I step into the center of the circle, “Might someone hand me the journal?”
“Right,” Malfoy says, taking the first object in my possession to feature my initials out from his robes. “Here you are, are you positive this is the route you wish to take?”
Meeting his worried gaze, I allow my expression to soften in a way that still feels new to our budding friendship, “I am. This is the life I’ve chosen, and have no intention of backing out now.”
“Then, I’ll do as you’ve asked,” he tells me, gulping nervously.
Turning to Hope, I give her one last reassuring grin before starting. Ancient Greek falls from my tongue, making the chalk all around me glow in the night, and the candles all blow out. Kneeling before the two bowls, dipping first my journal into the blood followed by the water, repeating the actions with my ring. Laying them on the ground before me, I continue chanting, holding my hands out over my Horcruxes.
Soon, they begin to float in the air, and that’s when the pain starts. Beginning deep in my chest, small zaps of electrocution at first, yet they gain strength and frequency quickly. Once it becomes searing, as if being struck by continuous lightening, I can’t keep a grunt of agony inside. Especially when it feels like someone’s put a sword through my left shoulder. Staying upright becomes excruciating, but I cannot crumble, no matter how my muscles beg for it.
“Tom!” Hope screams, her voice sounding strained— but stopping is not an option.
Opening my eyes is the best I can do, and I find my tear-stained witch on the ground reaching for me. Abraxas is struggling to physically restrain her, his arms wrapped around her middle as he forces her to stay outside the circle. The scent of burning flesh hits my nose, making bile rise in my throat, yet I push through.
Words continue to flow out, one right after the other, and I glance at my chest. A brilliant red mark glows beneath my white shirt, in the shape of the rune Sowilo. Later I’ll wonder if it’s for health, wholeness, or cleansing— right now all I feel is it branding the skin just below where my collarbone meets my shoulder. Creating each was very painful, having bleed myself nearly dry each time before vanishing the blood. I’m not surprised that this is over thrice as painful, every inch, every molecule within shouts in electrified agony.
Yet, through all this pain, I feel my soul becoming whole again, and my essence dissipates from my belongings. The journal and ring shake in the air just as my muscles begin to completely lock up. Everything around me blurs, a sharp ringing drowning out Hope’s far away cries. My throat hurts, making me wonder if I’m actually screaming, but my vision goes black before I can investigate further.
***
Tom
Sore is not quite the correct adjective for the sensations in my body. Even as my mind stays just below the realm of consciousness, my body can feel the absence of the magic that has been such an integral piece to my comfort. As if my prized state of being, the one I fought so diligently for, has been burned away.
Scorched earth is all that I can find within myself, taking little comfort in the intact forest that makes up the inner most part of myself. The bare branches, charred and missing every leaf or needle they once adorned. Yesterday, sections of my reserve were missing, absent from the greater whole, yet I only felt solace knowing they were gone but hidden. Kept safe in the event that my body failed in the search for power. Why are they back? Why can I feel them again, connected to the rest through pain and destruction?
“Please wake up,” a far away voice begs. “It should have worked, why didn’t it work?”
The familiarity stirs something within me, but the desperation is what truly shines through the darkness. A woman is calling out to me, a mother? No, no I never was able to meet mine, was never afforded the feminine care so many children thrive from. Not as an orphan, and not as a studen— wait. Memories begin flooding back; coming to Hogwarts, fighting every hour of each day to become someone of importance, amassing a following, but the most brilliant image is of the witch that answered all my prayers.
Of course, how could I have forgotten my reason for doing all of this, for mutilating my body in a way I swore I never would. A beauty I would decimate entire cities for, the woman who could restrain me with a simple word or smile. With a mind sharper than even the best of weapons, a vast control over power more immense than anything I could ever dare to dream. My soulmate, my other half, my—
“Hope,” I hear my raspy voice whisper just as my eyes crack open.
Blinding light is the first thing my vision finds, and my fingers clutch fabric as I blink through the brightness. My nose, despite being chilled, only detects the stuffy, stale air that has only ever been present in one building I’m familiar with; Hope’s transformation house. Soon, my gaze clears enough to find the canopy around the four poster bed I charmed weeks ago. Despite the residual pain, my lips twitch as I remember how beautiful my witch looked wrapped in the purple curtains.
“Tom!” I manage to catch a glimpse of my favorite face before she’s crushing me in a tight hug. “You’re awake, you’re finally awake.”
Struggling to breath, I cannot help the chuckle that escapes, even as my arms stutter as I wrap them around her. As if I’m moving through water, my limbs fighting an invisible force as I continue to wake up. Being worried over is not something I have much experience with, usually people fret over what I might do rather than what might happen to me. Searching the room, I find Abraxas sitting on the bench to the piano, letting out a relieved sigh. Once we make eye contact, he offers a small nod and a smile. Which I return, surprised at the warmth that fills me from such a simple exchange.
Gently peeling Hope from my chest, I pull her closer onto the bed so we are still touching when I ask, “How long was I asleep?”
“Nearly three full days,” Abraxas answers as he leans against the closed instrument. “While Madame Smethwyck is unhappy with me, I managed to get you excused from classes.”
My eyebrows kiss my hairline as I let out a slow exhale, returning my attention to the witch shaking in my arms. She isn’t crying, not exactly. Almost as if her body is detoxing the stress that must have plagued her. If our situations had been switched, I likely would not have left her side, deigning to sit and wait for her precious blue eyes to open. Placing a delicate kiss on her forehead, I hold her close, offering her a respite while I continue to search for answers.
“That long? The— the Governors meeting, was it today?”
When he nods his confirmation, I relax slightly, “Yes, the Governors met early this morning.”
“That isn’t important now,” the witch in my arms admonishes, looking up at me with something akin to sorrow.
“You’re correct, my Darling. I believe the ritual was successful, I certainly feel different than I had before,” I tell them both as I rub Hope’s back. She clutches my clothes, which seem to have been swapped out for black pajamas.
My friend sighs, a hand raking through his pale locks, “You are likely correct. Although, despite the preventative measure, it seems the magic has marked you. While unfortunate, the physical representation brings me to the conclusion that you’ve been made whole again.”
Before I can ask, a small hand is placed on the left side of my chest, the skin there feeling odd against the fabric. Moving the sleep shirt, I find the rune that glowed in the same spot during the ritual; Sowilo. Roughly the length and thickness of one of my fiancee’s forefingers, the mark not resembling a burn or scratch.
No, the pink skin that forms the rune is far more than something so simple. If I had to guess, I would say that the magic burned through the layers of my skin, likely reaching down into the muscle. Hope’s blood likely assisted in the healing process, but I am not surprised that soul magic insisted on leaving something behind. With a sigh, I right my clothing, surprisingly unbothered by the change.
“Thank you,” I tell Malfoy, pushing through the discomfort that still comes with vulnerability. “The weekend could not have been easy for you.”
His eyes bounce to the witch in my lap, his lips twitching before he looks at me again. Despite our friendship being new, he was my right hand for years. Based on his expression, Abraxas wants to tell me something without actually speaking. Our gazes lock, and wordless magic has me entering his mind. He doesn’t fight me, instead he has memories prepared for my viewing.
First, my collapsed form within the circle as the glow dissipates, and the difficulty it took to keep Hope outside the barrier until all the light extinguished. Magically hovering my body onto the bed, followed by images throughout the following days. My witch becoming increasingly worried, her frantic words, sporadic tears, and how diligently she cared for me. Malfoy did his best to help, but the more time I spent asleep, the more protective she became.
By this evening, she wouldn’t even let my friend within steps of the bed, growling inhumanely whenever he came too close. No wonder she’s busy rubbing her face against my chest, breathing me in as if I’m the only air in the room. Just before I exit his mind, I leave a further message of thanks, acknowledging his struggle and my appreciation for his actions.
Once I’m back in my body, he gives me a nod while silently laughing. Standing, he makes his exit, but not before Abraxas offers me a bright smile. The meaning is clear, he’s pleased I made it back to myself. Pleased that his friend is still alive.
***********
April 7th, 1944
Hope
“Tonight is going to be like none other!” Anthony shouts, causing the room to erupt in cheers. “They may be our friends, however we will show no mercy!”
“Do you think it’s gone to his head?” Mary whispers in my ear, giggling to herself.
Looking around the Ravenclaw Tower, I find nearly all our housemates as excited as our friend. Over the last week, people have been frothing at the mouth to see the Ravenclaw/Gryffindor Quidditch match. We aren’t rivals, there’s no anger or resentment like with Slytherin, but friendly matches are sometimes even more cut throat.
Anthony Potts and Martin Boot, for example, are great friends with plenty of Gryffindor players. The boys bonding over their shared sport, their strengths or weaknesses, and the strategies of the professional teams. No matter where in the universe, sports seem to both strengthen and test bonds.
“Yeah, but I think we should let him have his fun,” I respond back, smiling at our friend in his immaculate jersey. “If all goes well, he’ll be captain next year. Anthony put a lot of work into tonight.”
“True, I suppose we can allow him to have a big head. At least, for today,” Mary sighs, watching our friend get all the Ravenclaws hyped for the game.
Once the cheers die down, Anthony continues his rallying speech, “We may be the brains of Hogwarts, but believe me when I say our brawn is not to be underestimated. After training all year, we are ready to show those lions that eagles rule the sky!”
The room becomes deafening, and I laugh as Mary covers her ears with a big wince. Meanwhile, our friend hops down from the window seat he stands on, making sure to say hello to all his fans and teammates on his way over to us. While we support him wholeheartedly, saving our energy is necessary tonight. Which is why the two of us are comfortably lounging across the room, watching the excitement unfold. A sea of blue and bronze starts to file out of the room, heading to the pitch or to the Great Hall for something before the game.
“Well, how’d I do?” Potts asks with a goofy grin.
“Great, you really know how to gather a mob. Remind me to never get on your bad side,” I say, extending a hand for him to take. Used to my laziness, he grabs me, and tugs to lift me to my feet.
He snickers at my words, “As if, I’d have a better chance of winning swaying people to your side. I’m not daft enough to turn against you, Mary would castrate me.”
“Got that right,” the redhead says with a scary smirk. “Anyone that dumb cannot be trusted to reproduce.”
That produces some belly-deep laughter from me, but Anthony has only one thing on his mind today, “Thank you both again for helping. I still have to lead the warm up, will you be alright finishing the party set up?”
“Potts, we’ve been through this,” Mary admonishes through chuckles. “You’re still in charge of the food, however Hope and I have the rest taken care of. My stash of booze would impress even Malfoy.”
“I know, I know. Just…being captain would mean everything to me,” he quietly tells us. The sudden vulnerability has my bottom lip peaking out, and I give the big softy a tight hug.
“You’ll be a fantastic captain, the team already looks to you for guidance. I mean, you were smart enough to enlist me as your DJ,” I say, pulling away enough to grin mischievously up at him.
Rolling his eyes, he hugs me back, squeezing me with all his might. A gasp of air escapes my lungs, pushed out by my friend’s growing strength, making him snicker, “I greatly appreciate all the support. But alas, I must be off to the pitch. Perhaps Dopney will offer me a snack before the game, I am her favorite you know.”
“Only because you mercilessly flirt with her,” Mary scoffs, standing to cross her arms and cock her hip out. “You’re lucky Deek and Dopney adore Hope and Taylor, otherwise the old elf would hide bugs in all your food.”
“Deek would never! No, he’s much more likely to turn all his shirts pink in the wash, maybe ensure all his trousers are too short,” I add with a sunny smile.
“Come to think of it, my clothes have been getting tighter,” Anthony muses with a thoughtful expression, looking up at the ceiling while tapping his chin. “I believed it was due to all the working out, Taylor certainly has been enjoying my added musculature.”
Flexing one of his biceps, he waggles his eyebrows at us. Mary and I share a disdain filled look with each other, and I wave my hand, sending a small bit magic his way. Nothing that he’d feel or notice with his mortal senses, but the effect will be beyond obvious.
“Well, you better head down to the kitchens, then. Wouldn’t want you to be late with all that new muscle weighing you down,” Mary scoffs, biting her lip to keep from laughing too hard.
With a sigh and a quick body shake, Mr. Potts gives us a look of pure determination, “You’re right. I’ll be off then, and I’ll give the elves your best!”
Turning on his heel, Anthony lifts a leg to start walking towards the exit, but promptly face plants into the carpet instead. Mary and I fall back on to the couch in a heap of giggles, through my tear-filling eyes I watch her grab her side as a cramp forms.
Meanwhile, our friend glares at us from the floor, trying his best to keep his lips from twitching upwards while untying his shoes. Sure it was juvenile, but tying someone’s shoelaces together never gets old. It must be used sparingly, but is completely worth it.
“You’re both the worst,” Anthony grumbles with a good-natured tone. “I better hear you cheering for me after that. What would have happened if you dented Ravenclaw’s Stud?”
Mary throws a pillow, but he catches it before it can smack him in the face, “Oh my, get out of here before I tell Taylor what you just said!”
All three of us are laughing as he takes his leave. Now, the common room is pretty much empty, and ready for us to decorate. Since this is Anthony’s big day, he wanted to go all out. We’ve been doing various crafts for the last two weeks, even enlisting our Gryffindor and Slytherin friends to get some of the work done.
So, Mary and I spend a couple hours hanging twinkling stars from the ceiling, adding streamers throughout the room. Organizing a beverage table, offering a few standard options before making the specialty drinks we created. This was the thing Tom and Abraxas were most excited to help make, one is a bronze mixture of apple wine and firewiskey with an eagle feather garnish. While the other is a Blue Hawaiian from my world, in a great punch bowl, just with a lot more blue curaçao than pineapple juice.
Assuming tonight is like the other after parties, most everyone will be too busy drinking and dancing for much else. But, it is still good party planning to have multiple options. So, around the all the widow seats, I summon as many pillows as possible. With ample seating, a dance floor, and enough decorations to make me wonder if this is a little boy’s birthday party, I pour myself a glass of the Blue Ravenclaw, at least that’s what we’re calling the punch.
“Grab me one of those as well,” Mary sighs, cracking her back as she stretches.
Doing as she asked, I bring both cups over to the seats closest to her. Plopping down and her the drink, “I think that’s everything.”
“Only took two whole hours, he better stop complaining about helping me study so much,” she grumbles, but it’s clear she doesn’t actually begrudge Anthony.
Rolling my eyes, I say, “You both use complaining as a love language. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were actually siblings instead of best friends.”
“We practically are at this rate,” Mary snorts, shaking her head while she looks off into the distance. “The Potts may not be in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but they’re still a prominent family. Being the only Ravenclaw in a sea of Gryffindors, I had to make friends outside my relatives in order for meaningful, academic conversations. When possible, Anthony and Amanda were my saving graces, Taylor too once we started at Hogwarts. However, Anthony has always been more like family to me than some of my cousins. Just how it’s always been.”
The fond familiarity in her expression warms my chest, and I drain the rest of my drink before saying, “Well, then let’s go cheer on your would-be-brother. The game already started, might as well enjoy the rest before coming back here.”
“Yes, then we can eat all the goodies we can,” she tells me with a hungry glint in her eyes. Taking my hand, I pull her up to her feet, ignoring the loud groan she emits on the way up.
Ensuring we’re wearing plenty of Ravenclaw clad clothes, we walk out of the common room and through the castle with our arms interlocked. Chatting and laughing about nothing and everything, enjoying the budding warmth that comes with Spring. Life has been nice since Tom woke up from his ritual, peaceful even. Occasionally, I still panic, and Tom will talk me down from whatever ledge I find myself on. Keeping the Gaunt ring on him helps, knowing that the Resurrection stone is never far.
But, overall, I’ve been enjoying being a regular student with friends and a team to root for. I even apologized to Abraxas for how poorly I reacted to Tom’s long sleep. The animal within became increasingly agitated when he wouldn’t wake up, and I refused to leave his side, even for classes. Still, I shouldn’t have growled at or threatened him, no matter how understanding he’s been. If anything, he said that it was good practice for when Tom is more like me. Malfoy says that over the couple days, he got a lot more comfortable with my werewolf-ness, and can clearly see the difference between my breed and the one from this world.
Once we reach the pitch, we climb our way up one of the viewing platforms. People on brooms race to and fro, with the score far too close to guess who might win. It seems all the stands are packed, with most of Slytherin cheering for our team while Hufflepuff seems to favor our opponents. Either way, the crowd seems lively while the players conduct various impressive feats in the air. Grabbing the only two open spots, Mary and I smile at each other before turning towards the action.
“I wonder why Anthony isn’t playing,” I hear a voice whisper behind us.
Nearly snapping my neck, I search for the owner of those words. Only, Ravenclaw scoring sends everyone to their feet, shouting their happiness into the air. Frowning, I continue scanning our platform. Mary nudges me, but I shove her off, too focused on expanding my senses.
Once everything dies down, I hear a different voice speaking on the same topic, “I heard he’s in charge of the after party, hopefully he shows up for that, at least.”
“I know!” the original voice says, at the same time I spot the two fifth years that always follow my friend around. “Potts in Quidditch gear is enough to send me into heat, he better be there.”
The two girls start giggling together, but the blood drains from my face. Finally looking at Mary, all I find is concerned confusion on her face. Grabbing her hand, I yank her out of her seat and towards the stairs. Her mortal ears likely didn’t pick up that conversation, the wind up in the stands too much for human hearing. Me, on the other hand, the night before a full moon, can hear nearly any conversation up there if I concentrate hard enough. When we reach the ground level, my friend finally tears her hand from my grip, crossing her arms defiantly.
“Mary— we have to find Tom,” I tell her, staring intently into her eyes. “Those girls, they said that Anthony isn’t out there. He isn’t playing in the game.”
Complete befuddlement overtakes her, then she turns to scan the players in the air. I sincerely doubt she can actually see them, but she knows what position Anthony plays. She knows where to look for him. Allowing her only a minute to get her barrings and to come to the same nerve-wracking conclusion, I clutch her arm again, but this time she follows me without resistance.
Breaking out into a full run, I race up the steps to the box Tom and Abraxas always sit in. Ignoring the surprised and rather rude comments from certain snakes, my eyes search the sea for one of two faces. My presence has drawn attention to me, and before long, I have two Slytherins racing towards me.
“What happened?” Eithne asks, having barreled her way through the crowd to get to me.
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly, my heart nearly beating out of my chest. “Anthony should be out there, but he isn’t.”
Then, Tom is next to me, ushering me to the stairs. I let out an irritated growl, but I do as directed. Taking the stairs two at a time, I only stop and turn on my heel once I’m next to Mary. She reaches for my hand, and I hold hers, squeezing her gently when I feel my friend shaking. Tom isn’t far behind me, and Eithne immediately goes to Mary’s other side.
“What’s wrong,’’ Tom asks, but it sounds more like a demand. He’s searching my eyes, and I just know that my expression must be scaring him.
“We have to find Anthony,” Mary answers before I can, her gaze bouncing between us and those passing by. “He— this game is supposed to decide if he’s captain next year, but he’s not up there! Something must be wrong, he wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
The sharp frown that over takes his features is troubling, “Where did you last see him?”
“In the common room, he said he was going to make sure Deek and Dopney have the food ready for tonight,” I respond breathlessly.
This cannot be happening. It’s Anthony Potts for crying out loud, a family not even mentioned in the Harry Potter series. Who would want to hurt him? His family isn’t as well off as one like the Malfoy’s, so it isn’t like he’s a prime candidate for a ransom or a forced marriage.
Quidditch is everything to that boy, so only something dire could have prevented him from playing in this game, the kind of thing that seems to happen to those close to me. My breathing becomes erratic, and Tom smoothes his hands up and down my arms while he collects more information from Mary.
Shaking off the growing panic, I square my shoulders, and am more than ready to start moving when Tom declares, “Then we start at the kitchens.”
Completely foregoing decorum, I lead the run back up to the castle. My speed has me far ahead of my companions, but time is of the essence. If we are going to retrace his steps, then we need to do so now. Students jump out of my way, shock written on most faces, but I don’t care. Sliding around corners, I do my best not to slow or fall, and abandon the stairs in favor of jumping down to the landings.
In no time, I’m in front of the correct painting, tickling the pear in a great hurry. I only spare a moment to listen for my friends, but I can’t hear them yet. With a sigh, I pull the door open, not even bothering to close it as I immediately search the room for either Deek or Dopney. The Father is who I find first, and I throw myself at his feet.
“Deek!” I shout, my breathing haggard while the elf looks at me with fear and surprise. “Did you see Anthony earlier? Did anything happen?”
“Oh, Miss, yes I sees Mr. Anthonys earlier,” he says while wringing the bottom of his washcloth clothes.
Trying to have some patience, I ask again, “Did anything happen? Did he leave, and was anyone else with him?”
“Mr. Anthonys is okay, Deek can takes you to him if Miss wishes,” his voice is too quiet and bleak for what should be a good thing.
“I don’t understand,” I tell him, confusion distorting my features. “Where is he? Please bring me to him.”
Then, ropes encircle me, trapping my arms to my sides and my legs together. I scream in pain, the ropes burning me where it touches my skin. One breath in, I know exactly why— wolfsbane. My nose and throat hurt from inhaling, the fumes making even my eyes water. Deek cowers where he stands, shielding his eyes with his large ears as he shakes. All I want is to comfort him, but then I’m lifted off the ground into someone’s arms.
With a blank expression, Abraxas looks at me with almost no recognition as he says, “I’ll gladly take you to him. Now.”
“Abraxas, why—” I start to ask, but my question is cut off by Deek apparating us away.