ANANKE

Detention is sort of relaxing, honestly. For her, at least. They're stuck skinning shrivelfigs, which is gross, and she understands that two hours (pretty much) alone in a room with Snape is the stuff of Ron and Hermione's nightmares, but it's really not that bad.

Mostly, Snape just leaves them alone, preferring to grade fifth-year homework at his desk, the nib of his quill pressing down so forcefully she's afraid it will snap. Red Ts in cramped handwriting streak across the page.

Hermione has gotten over her detention-induced freakout, and is now peppering Snape with questions about all the skinning techniques she's learned in a book. He answers bitingly, red ink blots falling onto his desk that leave him angrier than ever. He's downright awful. Ananke feels kind of sorry for her, but she does think the atmosphere would be a bit more pleasant if Hermione could shut up for a few minutes.

Ron seems to take the hint far more easily, mouth pressed firmly shut as he slashes through the fruit in a way that makes her wonder how he hasn't lost a finger or three yet. Snape leaves him mostly alone, though he does spare the occasional sarcastic remark about Fred and George.

Book-learning seems to pay off, though, as Hermione's basketful of shrivelfigs are cut in a way that wouldn't be out of place in a master potioneer's dungeon. Hers and Ron's are more misshapen, but at least they haven't killed themselves over it, and what does it really matter anyways? They're not being graded over it.

As they exit the dungeon, Hermione peels off her dragonskin gloves. "How about we go to the library now," she suggests. "I've still got that essay for Binns to finish."

Ron rolls his eyes, because though they are no longer enemies, Ron will never ever share Hermione's love of the library. "You mean the one that he gave us yesterday? Hermione! I expected it to be done by now!"

Hermione says, "Just because you have the work ethic of a teapot, it doesn't mean everyone does." She pauses to go in for the kill. "Maybe if you spent a bit more time in the library, your Swelling Solution wouldn't look like Cerberus dung."

Ron groans loudly. "No," he replies. "No potions. Ever again."

Ananke pats his back mock-consolingly, and decides not to explain why never doing potions again is very impossible. For tact, or something.

"Anyway, I wasn't talking to you," Hermione huffs. "Ananke?"

But she feels too tired for homework, or anything really, so she shakes her head and declines politely (hopefully) and heads up to the common room with Ron instead. 

Harry is at Quidditch practice, or Boy-Who-Lived-ing, or something, so for a while they just sit in awkward silence. They've never really been alone together. At last Ron whips out his chess set and asks, "Fancy a game?"

Ron's a genius tactician, at least in chess, but Ananke's not a total beginner, better than Hermione at least, though that's not saying much. She sees early into the game that she's definitely overmatched, and it's no real surprise.

It doesn't help that all the chess pieces are on Ron's side, even her own. Seriously?

She loses quickly, inevitably. Ananke is ten steps ahead, but Ron is always twenty, and it shows when he destroys her queen, knights and last bishop in six moves before checkmating her in the seventh.

She takes the loss with grace, leaving Ron at curfew with a promise to get better, but she doesn't think she'll ever beat him. There's something about chess that turns the strategies in her mind to mush. Too complicated, too many pieces, she thinks. Life is so much more simple, though she knows anyone else would disagree.

***

As November slugs onward, Ananke crouches down in a circular room in the dungeons. Magick Moste Evile lays on the floor, and a whispered Lumos lights up its text.

She's moved on from body modification, because it's been starting to get a little creepy, even for her, and she's not quite sure she can turn whatever she does next back, and saying that walking around with webbed feet for the rest of her life would be bad is an understatement.

The dark fire spells still make her skin prickle, so she flips over that section again. Petrification sounds like fun until she reads the warnings, and healing spells are actually even more difficult than petrification. She flicks through pages and pages until something catches her eye -

Water curses.

What is a water curse, anyway? She's never heard of one, and that fact is enough to pique her curiosity and flip back over to the double page spread. There's not much about them, just those two pages, because they're apparently really obscure - and that's a surprise how? - and more than that, they're hard to apply correctly.

Whoever wrote the thing (she's not sure, and can't be bothered to decider the spiky handwriting on the book's spine) waffles on about what comes to nothing for a good paragraph - these curses b'rne of flote art mine own moste genius creations, useful to only the wizard with the wickedest mind.

Through it all, Ananke manages to glean that yes, water curses are horrific, but not much else until the word anch'r catches her eye.

Anchor. It's a word used commonly in dark texts. A lot of curses and hexes are centred around a specific object, to keep them contained so the curse doesn't escape and spread where it shouldn't. Water curses don't seem to be any different.

She reads the rest of the chapter quickly. The process seems straightforward enough. Direct the incantation at an object, one with no other enchantments, leave it to marinate for a couple days, a bit like seafood, and then activate it with another phrase of the caster's choice.

The book then turns vague on what exactly happens after that, which is probably why no-one really knows what a water curse is.

Ananke probably shouldn't be testing this at Hogwarts but - what the hell - she's never claimed to be clever, exactly.

The incantation is more complicated than any Transfiguration she's ever failed at, and the wand movement involves a lot of unnatural wrist-twisting that'll be hard to memorise. She digs through her bag, pulling out a feather she'd smuggled from Charms just because, and when she actually casts the curse there's something so beautifully wrong about the way it feels, sort of like playing clashing keys on the piano, that makes her sure whatever magic she's done was very dark.

There's no bloodletting involved in the spell, which is nice because she's starting to get sick of it, but she still gets the feeling that something is seeping, settling in the feather, changing it permanently. She watches as the colour turns from white to white-grey, and then darker still.

The colour fades out, leaving the feather white like an empty canvas, but as Ananke closes the door behind her to go, she swears she can hear the sea.

***

Harry's first Quidditch game is against Slytherin, and it's all he can talk about. Hermione is anxious and keen to discuss all the tips and tricks she's read about whenever she can. He tries to rope Ananke into the conversation, but whenever that happens she makes a comment about how the the Chudley Cannons latest season has almost driven Keeper Bletchley to suicide and just lets Ron take over.

The entire school is buzzing about it, and even the people who don't actually like Quidditch are swept into the fray, which she finds bewildering. The news has somehow leaked out about Harry's involvement - the broomstick was delivered right in the middle of the Great Hall, what did they expect? - and now that she's friends(?) with him they keep approaching her to wish him luck. Or to say they hope he falls off his broom.

Though news of her friendship(?) with Harry is practically stamped all over the school, Draco has not gifted her with his unwelcome presence once. It makes her uneasy, because it could either mean that a) Snape has chatted (the word sounds so wrong in context to Snape) with Draco and he is now keeping his head down, or b) Lucius has told her cousin to cut contact. Both mean family dinners will be very awkward from now on.

The day before the match, the four of them are huddled around one of Hermione's conjured Bluebell Flames on the grounds. Harry's panicking about the upcoming match. Ananke wants to ask why he can't panic inside, where it's sort of warm, but that would be insensitive.

Hermione is gesturing rapidly at one of the diagrams in Quidditch Through the Ages, and Harry is just staring down blankly at the page. 

"No, no, no!" Ron snaps at last. "Don't listen to her, Harry. You can't learn Quidditch out of a book. Quidditch is art. This is sacrilege!"

"Er," Harry says. "I think I'll listen to Hermione this time."

"The diagrams aren't that well drawn, you know," Ananke backs up Ron, just for the fun of it. "My grandmother could do better, and she doesn't even have arms. Or a body." She studies the page again, tapping the Quaffle, which looks more like a starfish than any sort of ball. "But really," she adds, in a semi-reassuring tone, "don't worry. You've got natural talent or something, right?"

Harry looks doubtful, but then Snape hobbles over and makes up a rule about library books not being allowed on the grounds, confiscating Quidditch Through the Ages, crappy diagrams and all.

"Did you notice he's limping?" Harry asks, once Snape is far out of earshot.

"I hope it hurts," Ron replies.

All day, Harry is restless. Ananke is rereading her Transfiguration textbook in the common room at lunch, wondering why she keeps setting matches on fire in class when the other three come up to her.

Harry looks very determined. "I'm going to get my book back." Then he barrels on, not waiting for a reply. "He can't stop me. Why should I be afraid of him?"

He sounds kind of like a dictator in the middle of a war, desperate to rally his oppressed troops. She sees a passing resemblance to Mussolini. "That's nice," Ananke blinks, wondering if she's missing something.

"And I was wondering if you'd come… with me," he finishes hesitantly, which destroys the image of Italy's fascist leader pasted over his body.

She must take too long to reply. "Because, you know, Snape likes you."

No, he doesn't. "No, he doesn't."

"Well," says Ron. "He's a bit less - terrible - when he talks to you, so…"

Ananke doesn't think they will patiently sit as she explains their Professor's relatively short but complicated history with the Black family, and it's none of their business, anyway, so she - simplifies it.

She does that a lot, doesn't she? It's not quite lying.

"He - um - knows my father, but we don't really talk when he comes over. He's - less terrible to me, but only when he forgets I'm a Gryffindor."

("Your dad is friends with Snape?" Harry hisses.

"No!")

This seems to make sense, but somehow she still ends up trudging after Harry to the staff room.

Long story short, Snape's missing a third of his leg, the Cerberus is responsible, and Harry does not get his book back. Ananke doesn't go into the room, so she doesn't think he sees her, which is the only good thing that's happened all day. This, of course, sparks another round of conspiracy theories.

Harry's certain Snape's the one who let the troll in as a diversion, so he could steal whatever the dog's guarding under the trapdoor. Ron's more doubtful, but he's eventually convinced it's true. Hermione isn't, but only really because she's still enamoured with the concept of authority.

Ananke doesn't think Snape let the troll in. Not because she thinks he's a saint or whatever, but thievery just doesn't seem his style. If Snape wanted something, he'd be more likely to make it himself than go all supervillain.

Besides, she finds it weird that Quirrell said the troll was in the dungeons when it very clearly was not, and then wonders why he was even missing the Feast in the first place. She keeps a curious eye on him in class that day, but there's nothing about him that screams child-killer, unless she counts his lecture on the evils of basilisk rearing, which has a real possibility of boring her to death.

The day of the match dawns, and the weather is nice-ish, which'll be good for Harry. Problem is, it's also good for Slytherin's Seeker, the seventh-year twice Harry's size and with years more practice. So Ananke's not really holding out much hope for Gryffindor's chances.

The Slytherin team come onto the pitch decked out in robes of green and silver, and Ananke tunes back in to catch the tail end of - "and Higgs!"

Lee Jordan announces the Gryffindor team next, with considerably more enthusiasm. Among the Weasley twins' sturdy forms, Harry looks like a twig in the air.

Hagrid's there too. He looks at Ananke with black beetle eyes, a bit like Harry's but at the same time completely different. "Black, eh? I was there y'know, the night yer Uncle -"

She doesn't know if he's going to finish the sentence with betrayed the Potters, killed Peter Pettigrew, or puked his guts out at graduation, but she doesn't want to find out. There are better places to discuss PRIVATE FAMILY BUSINESS than the Quidditch stands.

Before she can interrupt, Draco comes to her rescue by starting a fight. Ron punches him in the face, but then he makes vassal #1 full-on tackle the read-headed boy. Ananke tells them to knock it off with a few well-placed Stinging Hexes, and watches Draco slink back to the mass of green and silver on the other end of the pitch. She should talk to him one of these days.

"Thank you," says Hermione. "I thought he would never leave."

The words are not-quite-careless. The word, Ananke thinks, is insouciant. It's like it's a given that Ananke would help Ron. Because they're friends.

Are they? She thinks about it. The four of them fit well together. Not at all similar, but maybe they are bound stronger because of it.

Harry's broom starts acting up because of course it does, and then Snape starts being incredibly suspicious. And then it's suddenly okay to set Professors on fire, apparently. Hermione does it well. In and out. Ananke respects that, but warns Ron to keep their friend away from his brothers all the same.

She'd say Hermione is like a ruler. Sharp edges and straight lines and so very precise in everything she does. Ron is trickier. She would say fire, but that's such a cliche, and it doesn't quite fit, exactly. No, Ron's water. Fluid. Laid-back. More open to change. Harry's the fire. Chaotic and unpredictable and all over the place.

Then there's Ananke, slipping through shadows like the ghost you don't know is there, until you do.

Harry ends up falling fifty feet and catching the Snitch in his mouth, because of course he does.

They go down to Hagrid's hut afterwards, and they are all properly introduced. He seems to have forgotten his previous line of thought, which is fine by her.

"- but I just don't get why Professor Snape would do such a thing!" Hermione is saying, pink spots of colour high in her cheeks.

Hagrid pushes over a plate of cakes. Ananke bites down on one and almost breaks her jaw, deciding that no thank you, she would not like to lose any teeth today. She sets it down.

"Rubbish!" Hagrid tells them. "Professor Snape would never do somethin' like that."

"But I saw him, Hagrid! He was casting a jinx. I've read all about them -"

"And that's a surprise, why?" mutters Ron.

"- and he was doing everything the book said. You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking, not even once!"

Hagrid sets down his cup of tea and shakes his head. "But why -"

"He's trying to get past the three-headed dog -"

("Cerberus. It's a Cerberus, Harry.")

"- on the third floor," Harry interrupts. "I - I saw him. His leg was all mangled and he was talking about it. 'That blasted dog,' he said."

Hagrid goes pale. " How - how did you find out about Fluffy?"

"Its name is Fluffy?" says Harry.

"The door was practically unlocked. It's not like it was hard, or anything," says Ananke. "For them, that is. I only know this secondhand."

She is ignored. "Yeah, Fluffy," Hagrid says. "Got him off a Greek chap I met in the pub las' year and - you are not supposed to know about him!"

"Why?" Harry asks, and his eyes don't look remotely innocent. He's almost hungry for the information, and Ananke feels uneasy about giving it to him.

"It's top secret, that's why!" Hagrid hisses. "Now listen ter me. Yer meddlin' in things that are none of yer concern. You forget abou' Fluffy an' what he's guardin', that between Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel -"

"Aha!" Harry says triumphantly. "There's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved in all this!"

Flamel, Ananke thinks. She knows that name.

***

Yule - or Christmas - nears, and Ananke is now mildly anxious. She hates the holiday. There's so much stress, mainly surrounding Draco. He always gets her extravagant, thousand-galleon gifts that have been steadily getting more bejewelled each year. Her gift always seems lacking in return. Narcissa and Lucius sneer down at her and make underhanded remarks for the rest of the year, until Christmas, at which point the cycle starts all over again.

And this year, she has three more people to get gifts for. But she can't think about that right now.

The feather in the dungeon is ready. She can feel it, and every second she spends away from it is like wasps under her skin.

She begs off her pre-Astronomy nap in favour of scurrying down to the dungeons Wednesday afternoon, and picks up the feather. The first time the curse is used sets the passphrase for all future uses - and did she mention that? Water curses can be used more than once. The exact number of times depends on the strength of the spell. Ananke's thinking she can probably get two out of this feather, not including this time.

She's still not entirely sure what water curses actually do. The Hogwarts library falls through for the first time; she can't even find a whisper, a mention of the concept, which only goes to show how very obscure they are. Magick Moste Evile says results will vary, whatever that means.

She should probably not be holding the feather when the curse is activated, so she sets it down. She probably shouldn't even be in the room, but whatever.

Ananke hasn't given much thought to what the passphrase should be. It just seems pointless to make a big production out of naming something she'll probably keep for less than a month.

She scoots back a few metres, makes the wand motions and says, "Walburga," because her grandmother is a type of curse just like this one.

Violet light hits the feather. For a moment nothing happens, but then she hears water.

Water, trickling into the room. From where? The feather? No. She spins around, but she can't see it.

Then her bag sort of explodes into water, spraying the liquid everywhere. There's nothing left of it, nothing except for a puddle on the ground. In the centre of the room, the feather just lays on the ground, innocent as ever.

"Wicked," she says to the walls, and she really means it.

There's some water on her shoes, and she waits for it to turn into acid and eat through her feet, but it really seems to just be water. Still though.

She wonders if it works on people, too.

Ananke picks up the feather, tucking it gently as she can into the pocket of her robe. She counts the galleons she brought with her to school, and wonders how much a next-day owl delivery will cost.

She needs a new bag.

***

On Friday, McGonagall comes around with a sign-up sheet that students can write their names on if they want to stay at school over Christmas. Harry and Ron add their names, mostly to continue the search for Nicolas Flamel. Ananke does too.

"I would have thought you'd want to go home," Hermione says when McGonagall leaves. "You talk about missing your father all the time."

"He thinks I should make friends," she says, slightly sourly. "Said I should socialise more, because I'm sort of a recluse, and people think I'm a weirdo."

"He really said that?" Hermione asks, eyebrows high.

"Well, no. It was implied."

Ron cuts in, "I think he's got a point, An. I used to think you were really creepy. Especially when you just stared at me."

Harry nods. "We called it the vulture eyes."

"Vulture eyes," she considers. "Father will be amused."

Ron snorts.

"And don't call me An," she tells him. "I don't like it. Anyway, why are you two staying?"

"Well," starts Ron, "Percy's got his OWLs soon, so we figure we better support him. Plus, Bill and Charlie are already going home, so Mum won't get, I dunno, separation anxiety."

Harry just says, "If I go back to Privet Drive, I think my aunt might actually kill me."

He says things like that a lot, Ananke has noticed, and so have Hermione and Ron, judging by the looks they exchange. Things about his aunt and uncle and cousin. If I ate this much at Privet Drive, my aunt wouldn't feed me for a week - I've been looking after the garden since I was six - don't worry about my birthday, my aunt and uncle will probably burn anything you send me.

You know, concerning stuff, like that.

Christmas gets closer, and she, Harry and Ron spend every minute they can in the library, looking up Nicolas Flamel. They set up camp at their usual table at the back of the library in a determined sort of way that makes her feel like a soldier about to march into battle, and only go out to eat and sleep. 

Ananke knows of Nicolas Flamel. She even knows he is a famous alchemist. But she can't quite recall what it is he is famous for.

She does not tell the boys what she knows and she does not ask her father for information for two reasons. The first is because she's not sure they should be looking into this. After all, there are far more qualified, adult mages to go around stopping thieves - you know, like Dumbledore, the one who's actually supposed to be keeping Flamel's property safe. 

(He's not doing a very good job of it, if you ask her. After all, it's only been three months, and four first years know far more than they should.)

The second is because she's sort of enjoying all this unsupervised time in the library. She's learning loads about the Salem witch trials.

On Christmas Day, they exchange presents in the boys dormitory. Ananke has ended up scrapping her twelve-step plan to get everyone basilisk eggs - it was a bit too complicated and also unfeasible - and got everyone books. She sent Ron the rulebook for the annual International Wizard Chess tournament, Hermione some advanced Herbology texts, and Harry a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, because the boy knew next to nothing about the Wizarding World, and he wasn't very good at asking follow-up questions either. He hadn't even known his father played Chaser until Ananke had told him.

She ended up sending a lovely set of rings to Draco, each with a more unique curse attached. She did not, obviously, send them via owl, where they could be intercepted, instead having Kreacher deliver them directly to Malfoy Manor.

Draco doesn't get her anything plated in gold, but that's okay, because a week before, she had sent him a letter with GET ME SOMETHING SMALL on it, with the word small underlined twice. She knows he understands when he sends a surprisingly thoughtful biting book - not to Hogwarts, obviously - to Grimmauld Place.

(She and Father don't celebrate Yule or Christmas. It's become a bit depressing in recent years, the two of them and Kreacher sitting awkwardly on a too-large sofa in a too-empty parlour in a too-dark house. So she's surprised when he sends - not a gift - but a note. I'll have your present for you by Easter. She is intrigued.)

Everything she sends and gets pales in comparison to Harry's final present, a silky Invisibility Cloak with a mysterious message.

"Who do you think sent it?" Harry asks, eyes delighted.

Probably Dumbledore, Ananke thinks, but then catches herself, because if she did, she'd have to explain her thought process, and she's still not sure what she'd say.

But if the cloak had belonged to James Potter, it does at least explain all the mischief Father said the man and Sirius had gotten up to at school.

They spend the rest of the day holed up in the boys dormitory instead of the library, obsessing over the cloak and plotting ways to get Draco expelled.

Ananke just listens to the boys' plans, but then they start expecting her input, and then she has to think about it.

"Alright," she says, not quite sighing. "Just give me ten minutes."

Harry takes one look at her, makes a face, and says, "Er - you know what, never mind. Seriously. It's okay."

Just before the Feast that evening, something shifts and changes. Five minutes later, her shoulder blades start to prickle. There are probably less than a dozen students at Hogwarts, most of them Weasleys, but she notices her Potions partner, Theo Nott, is there too and decides to sort of subtly shuffle Harry and Ron to his end of the table so Ananke can sit to his left without much fuss. He looks about as comfortable as she does, and she thinks they'd both welcome some like-minded company.

Dumbledore dresses up in saffron robes that clash horribly with the pink party hat perched on his head, and Hagrid gets more red-faced with each gulp of wine. Throughout it all, the tingling in her shoulders spreads to her head, where something settles and clicks. When they're dismissed, Theo still looks uncomfortable, but then again he would, wouldn't he?

She tries to ignore it, but the revelation keeps her awake for two nights straight, and she can't ignore how Harry also seems to be getting no sleep.

At two in the morning on the 27th of December, she gets up. There's no-one in the girls' dorm, so she slips out easily, slithering through the portrait and into the tower, where she descends into the school.

She doesn't exactly know where she's going, but keeps moving, footsteps soundless. The feeling in her head guides her - it's not unpleasant or anything, just there, present, getting stronger with every step.

Somewhere on the sixth floor, she opens a door. It looks like a disused classroom, and Harry is kneeling, Cloak at his feet, in the centre of it.

There's a mirror in front of him. It's definitely the dark artefact she's been sensing since Christmas. She knows it, knew it, from the moment it crossed the castle wards. Theo felt it too, but he didn't know what he was feeling; few families are as attuned to dark magic as the Black family.

She clears her throat. The sound sounds harsh in the empty classroom. "Harry."

He turns, slowly, sluggishly, and she sees the mirror has its hooks in him. "Ananke." Then he blinks and looks almost excited. "You have to see this mirror! I can see my parents in it, my whole family!"

"No thank you -" she says, but he's already dragging her beside him. She squeezes her eyes shut.

"I never knew there were so many," he breathes. Annake just knows he's about to touch the thing, so she smacks his hands away.

"Don't."

"What -" He stops. "Why are your eyes closed? It's not dangerous. I've been here for days and nothing's happened. Look!"

"Harry," she starts, then stops. "Does Ron know about this mirror?" Perhaps his best friend will have a better idea of how to make him forget about the mirror, because all she's come up with is hitting him with a Stunning Hex and dragging him bodily away.

"Yeah," Harry says. "He thinks there's something wrong with it, but that's rubbish, you know."

Well done, Ron. Really good job at not getting your friend's soul possibly devoured by a dark artefact.

She scoots away so the mirror's glass surface is not in her line of sight. She opens her eyes. Harry's pale face stares back at her. "And what did he see in the mirror?" she asks because maybe if she knows what the mirror does, she'll know how to get Harry away from it.

Using Harry's aversion to all things Dark is a possibility, but then she'd have to explain how she knows it's Dark and - yeah, no.

It becomes clear to her that the mirror shows your deepest desire, though she finds it sort of sad that Harry's is to see dead people he's never even met. At least Ananke actually knows the dead people she wants to see. Ron's desire is more typical: success. A lot of people want to be successful.

The mirror sounds bit like the Mirror of Mirages or - Morgana forbid - the Forget-Me Mirror, but then Harry reads out the nonsensical inscription on its frame.

The Mirror of Erised. That's…actually not that bad. It's one of the tamer Dark mirrors that could've been sitting in a (presumably) unlocked, abandoned classroom in the middle of the school.

What she really needs, she thinks as she tries to coax Harry away, is a person of authority (not Snape) to come in and point out to Harry that he's being a naive little idiot. Sadly, no-one does, but she manages to get Harry to leave by ruthlessly pointing out that he's wasting away in front of a cursed mirror like a naive little idiot.

He's too far gone to react to the insult. "It's not cursed," he protests.

"You haven't eaten in two days," she tells him. "Of course it's cursed."

She doesn't look at the mirror, not once, not because she's afraid she won't be able to break it's thrall, but because she already knows what she'll see. 

They throw the Cloak over their heads and make to leave. As she reaches behind him to shut the door as they leave, the back of her neck prickles.

She knows there's no-one in the room, she knows that. But still…

She wonders if it's possible to cast a perfect Disillusionment Charm.