Chapter 1
A voice in the dark.
Lareina.
A hissing whisper, borne of the night. Part of the ashen winds that howled around her ankles, their airy tendrils curling around her until the chill seeped into the very marrow of her brittle bones. She shivered.
Lareina.
There it was again. An ancient call. Her blood sung at the address, burning beneath the frail sheet that was her skin and begging for an outlet. Like calls to like, dawn calls to dusk. The snake chases its tail, and the circle continues.
It materialized before her, devouring the shining scales of its own anatomy as it hounded an end that never came. Metallic, reptilian hide clinked out her name, Lareina, as it moved round and round and round and round. She looked skywards and saw the stars winking at her from a dark sky. Stars. The stars were dampening out as she watched, and they were falling like feathers from a raven because he craved the meat of the ancients and they fed him until he was gorged on it, but he was never satisfied: he never would be. He was sin and he was glad of it.
Lareina.
Chaos eddied around her, swirling like dittany in the recesses of a cauldron. She was now behind the black glass of a mirror, staring and staring as the carriage fell from the sky again. Staring as the dragon tore that bespectacled man, George, from the dawn, piercing him with gore-spattered teeth as it ripped through him like a ragdoll. They were all talking at once as she watched, the whispers, the bones of the dead, the raven feathers of the stars and the devouring snake with its vicious grin.
Was she safe? Safe in the embrace of the viewless winds? Or would she be blown with restless violence round about the pendant world, subject to the feathers and the snake?
Lareina.
They told her she was not safe. She never would be. The snake was her, she devoured herself, tore into the bone of her spine. But the raven still searched, dissatisfied. And all around her, the chains clinked sharply – their locks did not fit the keys. Their locks did not fit the other minds, but hers would fit. Their minds were made for forgetting, hers would be made to fit. It had to.
Lareina.
Change had arrived.
⃝
Lareina shot up in her bed, the silken sheets bunching around her heaving form as her breath clawed at her dry throat. A fingernail splintered as she gripped the mahogany headboard tightly.
An extra dart of panic tore through her as she shot a glance at her surroundings. Where on earth was she? Where was Alastair, and why couldn’t she smell his mint from her room…
The blaring emerald of a Slytherin insignia emblazoned on a discarded trunk quickly reminded her of her surroundings; she had arrived at Hogwarts yesterday, she realized. Rubbing her forehead, Lareina allowed herself to collapse onto the pillows behind her as she recalled her entrance to her new school, her chaotic dream forgotten. She could remember the dragon, and then the sentinels in the bank and the goblin. What had his name been? Ah, Ranrok. The one she had seen in another student’s newspaper in the dinner hall. In fact, after seeing the goblin’s leering snarl in the paper, her memory became frustratingly fuzzy. At this point, her brain felt so inadvertently scrambled that it quite frankly hurt to think on it any more.
Stretching her arms above her head, Lareina dragged herself from bed with a reluctant groan. The morning sunlight grinned in at her through the windows adjacent to her section of the dorm. She winched at the brightness as she padded over to her trunk, which she had not yet unpacked, and began assembling her uniform for the day. To be quite honest, she much preferred the Slytherin attire to that of her old school. Green looked so much better on her than dull navy. Sooner rather than later she had dressed herself for the day and looked to her armoire for the accessories she had brought with her; Alistair had gifted her a tourmaline hairclip to pin up the backs of her silvery hair with before she had left the house. Thoughts of her brother seeped into her consciousness as she fiddled with the clip before slipping it into her tresses. It didn’t feel quite right being here without him, especially given how much he had sacrificed to get her to Hogwarts.
Oh well, she thought as she secured her hair, I suppose I’ll just have to make him proud, then.
Turning to her left, she gave herself a once over and nodded in satisfaction, before she pivoted on her heel and nipped towards the door. A heavy slam reverberated through the underground tunnels of the Slytherin common room. Lareina winced slightly at the sound as she streaked through the corridors, tugging on her robes as she neared the common room, from which the sounds of voices and general camaraderie were echoing. As she neared, a pang of nerves raced through her veins as though she had been electrocuted.
What if they didn’t like her? She had never really fitted in at her old school in London, with many of the muggle students mistaking her magic for borderline insanity. Her silver hair had been a particular sore point; if she had a pound for every time she was likened to a withering grandmother then she would be a very rich woman. Anxious all of a sudden, Lareina began stroking an errant lock of hair that had fallen over her shoulder.
It would be fine. It had to be. She hadn’t come all the way to the Scottish Highlands just to chicken out at the last second.
Taking a deep breath, Lareina clung onto her hair and took a few tentative paces through the doorway, pausing as she sucked in a sharp breath. The Slytherin common room was… large.
Daunting, even.
The notion was surely ludicrous, however; one couldn’t be scared of a room.
But was it just a room? Smoothly sanded stones arched overhead, the quality material attesting to the elite masonry that had played its rightful part in sculpting this lower part of Hogwarts as though it were an angel trapped in marble that had begged for freedom. Saturated sunlight waltzed across the glassy, sage-green floor, the silver light exposing the intricate veins that pulsed through the stone of the room, the very lifeblood of the cunning. The only thing that could blot the light streaming through the sparkling sea was the silhouette of the giant squid, its powerful form writhing languidly in the depths of the lake before the agape students. Billowing emerald curtains and candelabras wrought into dark, iron snakes were the quintessential décor that pulled together the whole space as though it was a Bierdstadt piece.
This was the den of the sly.
It was the sly, then, that all turned to observe her as she scuttled into the room. A dozen whispers erupted around her as she made a beeline for the window of the common room, where it seemed to quieten down. Pressing her back to a cool marble pillar, Lareina sunk into the stone as though she could fuse it to her flesh. She desperately wanted to disappear. She missed Alastair, and she missed the smell of the lavender on her windows in the morning. Here, it smelt like darkness and water.
“I really doubt that mermaids find us that interesting.”
Lareine jumped at the sound of a prim voice emanating from her left, her focus flitting from her previous life to the person who was propped up against the pillar on her other side.
“Ah,” the voice paused, before continuing, “Going by all the hushed chatter that started when you entered the common room, I’m guessing you’re the new sixth year. I’m Ominis. Ominis Gaunt.”
Lareina took a frazzled step backwards, allowing herself a full view of Ominis without the shadows obscuring her sight. He looked to be around her age, probably in her year, with neatly styled blonde hair that was slightly darker than her own and ghosted halfway down his neck. The strands kissed his wonderfully high cheekbones as well as the moles speckled around his face like errant stars. He spoke with a kind of gentle assurance, which put Lareina instantly at ease.
“Well, someone had to make a grand entrance eventually,” Lareina proffered hopefully, eager to make a friend despite her earlier nerves.
“Ha! You’re definitely in the right house,” he laughed, “Do let me know if I can be of any help as you navigate your first days here. Though I doubt you’ll need it.”
“That’s very kind of you Ominis,” she replied, smiling back at the only person that had deemed to speak with her thus far, “Did you expect to be sorted into Slytherin?”
“Most certainly. My family on my father’s side are direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of Hogwarts,” he explained, a curiously pained expression flitting across his face before he continued, “Not something I’m especially proud of, mind you. He was obsessed with blood status – a pure-blood maniac.”
“Oh,” Lareina replied, any enthusiastic questions about Salazar dying in her throat, “I’m very sorry to hear that. Family can be… difficult, to say the least.”
“Indeed. I suppose it could be worse; we could be eagerly on the lookout for mermaids that aren’t there,” Ominis muttered with a slightly pained half-smile as he inclined his head towards the oblivious first-years beside them.
“That’s very true,” Lareina giggled, “I should probably introduce myself to the rest of the house, though. It was very nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure is all mine. Don’t be a stranger.”
Lareina nodded warmly, once more grasping a curling lock of silver hair in her hands as she turned to face the rest of the common room. Her arrival’s effect had faded slightly. Students were now milling around various activities and chatting in an insouciant manner, with only the occasional glance in her direction. Taking a deep breath, Lareina turned towards a tall brunette with a frustrated expression and severe hazel eyes. She was glaring at a pair of first-years who were locked in a dawdling match of wizard’s chess.
“You’re not going to move there, are you?” She snapped at the student, who gave her an annoyed look over his shoulder before resolutely placing the piece on the square she had warned him against with a flick of his wrist.
Lareina watched with interest as the student cantankerously commanded his ivory bishop to move diagonally to the left. Like an owl spying a mouse, the other student’s head snapped up and his eyes narrowed with vindictive satisfaction.
The dark haired girl sighed deeply, before rolling her eyes and pushing away from where she was leaning on the edge of his seat, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”. As she pivoted towards Lareina, the ill-fated bishop was decapitated with a single swing by an ireful queen.
“He should’ve listened to me. First years, honestly,” she stated nonchalantly, before narrowing her dark eyes at Lareina, “Hang on, I know you. You’re the new sixth year that barged in with Professor Fig last night. Interesting tactic, taking all the attention from the first-years.”
“I didn’t mean t—,”
“I’m Imelda, by the way. It’s a shame that I wasn’t with you and Professor Fig when that dragon attacked. My skills on a broom are legendary.”
Lareina flinched at the mention of the dragon, her mind momentarily spattered with the blood of Fig’s friend as she swallowed a gasp before replying quietly, “Perhaps George wouldn’t have died, if you and your broom had been there.”
“Precisely,” Imelda enunciated, clearly not receiving Lareina’s attempt at sarcasm, “Maybe one day I can show you a thing or two about flying. Madam Kogawa couldn’t teach you half of what I could. Speaking of which, I’d like to get in some broom practice before class.”
Lareina nodded, taking that as a signal to take her first-year-attention-stealing antics with her and bugger off. She made some meagre goodbyes, before ambling back to an abandoned pillar and scouring the room for some more prospective acquaintances. Quite frankly, meeting two new people was enough social interaction to last her for the next ten years. That, and no-one seemed particularly interesting. She was just about to go and hide in her dorm again, when she locked eyes with another student across the common room. He had a book in his freckled hand and shot her a lopsided grin that pulled her feet towards him instantaneously.
More precise facial features became obvious the closer she drew. Inquisitive, chocolatey eyes that looked as though they could flit between honed witticisms and mellow stares scanned her as she approached, whilst the freckles that adorned his hands travelled up to his face and neck, where they were artfully strewn across his warm ivory skin like star clusters across a foreign sky. His hair was tousled in a way that suggested he wanted to come off as intimidatingly well put-together, but just made him look, well, adorable.
She took her third deep breath of the morning, before stepping forwards to make her introductions.
⃝
Sebastian Sallow had been put in Slytherin for a reason.
For as long as he could remember, he had a penchant for attaining his goals as a product of ruthless ambition, which left him invulnerable to distractions. It was why he was currently reading a century-old healer’s manual instead of socialising. He simply couldn’t afford to be disrupted in his quest for Anne’s cure. So when he spied the Mary-Janes edging closer to him over the top of his book, he nearly cast confringo in frustration. Didn’t he look like he was busy? Did reading a book create an invitation for interruption?
He looked up, perfectly ready to berate whoever dared to approach him, when he saw who it was that was doing the interrupting. That new sixth year. In all honesty, he hadn’t caught her name at the Sorting Ceremony, but as she raised her hand in a little wave, he kicked himself for missing it.
A shy, yet radiant smile graced her pretty features as she mumbled an awkward Hello, one of her pale hands remaining on the lock of silver hair that she was playing with. Now that she was closer, he could see that her hair wasn’t just a few shades lighter than Ominis’, but a pure, moonlike silver that brought out the emerald in her sage eyes. He wondered what kind of genetics would result in such a breathtaking combination.
All of a sudden, he realised that he had just been blankly standing there whilst she introduced herself. Snapping his book shut, he took a step towards her, trying to ignore the way she blinked up at him, shorter by a good head.
“You’re the new sixth year, right? I’m Sebastian Sallow. Welcome to Hogwarts.”
“I wish everyone would stop calling me that,” she huffed, “I have a name.”
“What would that name be, then?”
“Lareina. Lareina Seabright. You know, you’re the first person to ask me that.”
“Only because you forced me to.”
“I did not force you. I made a suggestion for you to rectify your introduction. There’s a succinct difference, Mr. Sallow,” Lareina sniffed, narrowing those jade eyes slightly as she glanced off to the side of them, where the fire was roaring heartily.
“ ‘Succinct suggestions’ aside, not many people get a Ministry escort to school, Miss. Seabright,” he shot back, watching as her hand left her hair to rest on her hip as she sized him up.
“He was one of Professor Fig’s friends that joined us for the ride. Why?”
“It’s impressive, is all,” he replied, now anxious he had come off as far too hostile. He’d only been aiming for charmingly irksome as he continued, “Dreadful way to go, poor fellow. Glad you and Fig are all right. That’s what really matters, isn’t it?”
Sebastian watched as a faint pink permeated her pale cheeks, on which he now noticed she had a beauty spot beneath her left eye, and knew he had hit the mark with his words.
“Thank you. It-I was— It was a most harrowing experience that I hope never to relive,” she answered, grasping that lock of hair once more.
“I’m sorry. How did you and Fig manage to escape?”
He watched her take a sharp intake of breath as her eyes became slightly more green. That blush all but vanished from her cheeks as her nails pressed into that single silver curl.
“It’s a blur, in all honesty,” she spat out, her shoulders recoiling inwards slightly.
“Didn’t mean to press,” he replied as gently as he could, “You get yourself settled, and I’ll find you later. We can talk more then.”
“That sounds great. I think we have Charms later, so I’ll see you there,” Lareina smiled, giving him a quick goodbye wave as she turned and headed for the stairs. She was up them in minutes, slightly delayed by a messenger informing her that she had a meeting with Mrs. Weasley.
Sighing deeply, Sebastian turned back to his book, scooping it from the dark recesses of the sofa and balancing the thick spine on his hand again. He desperately tried to keep his head from swivelling towards where she had left, but failed absolutely dismally and ended up scanning the stairs for any signs of her return. The dry pages of his book jolted him back to reality, however, and within seconds he was admonishing himself for paying so much attention to some certainly irrelevant new sixth-year. Because that’s what she was: irrelevant. Even if she did have hair like spun starlight, and—
Gripping the book with so much force he feared he’d break it, Sebastian took another deep, grounding breath. It was fine. It was highly unlikely they’d speak again – she seemed the shy type – and he wouldn’t have to worry about any unnecessary distractions whilst he searched for Anne’s cure. Which he would find, and then she could return to school, and be with him and Ominis again.
No matter what price he had to pay.