Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
As Astraea entered the familiar dormitory, she studied the wooden beams above. The warped sight that enveloped her before was now replaced with smooth panels, freshly varnished. She supposed they must have stopped that somewhere down the line, for the dark colour opposed the faded brown of her time.
She found that they moulded rather nicely into the exposed stone, complementing the dark glare the Black Lake gave off from its position outside the window. Echoes of her own common room seeped in, save the draping green silk which adorned the otherwise barren windows.
The decor, however, she could confidently say was completely different. The sofas here were made of a soft emerald velvet, furnished with black velvet cushions which were embroidered in silver. On one, she could vaguely make out a border of tiny lions running across the edges; ironic, despite the Slytherin position on Gryffindor. A matching silver rug lined the floor, but instead green snakes moved across the frayed ends, stretching behind both sofas before coming to a halt. In the dim light it shimmered as water might in the moonlight and the reflection of a few small lights, which were hung elegantly from the ceiling, exuded from it.
If she squinted, she noted that the lights themselves had engravings cast into the shiny chrome.
"I see you made it into Slytherin," came a drawling voice from a large armchair by the marble fireplace, which she only realised then was roaring.
Her head moved to the side, eyes locking on Tom at last. He was staring right at her, eyes narrowed in scrutiny as he studied her in challenge. She felt akin to a dormouse trapped in a cage with a viper and she couldn’t help but shiver under his gaze. Fervently, she hoped he hadn’t noticed.
Perhaps killing him would've been easier than this foul game.
She nodded minutely.
If she could just endure a short, sharp conversation, she could get out far quicker.
While fleeing was definitely not beneficial to her task, it was the fastest route to sleeping in a warm bed where she was at least somewhat safe. If she lingered before his state of blatant mistrust any longer, she was sure her tired mind would slip. Her feet led her to the stairs, about to take the first step up the dark marble when the voice called out to her again.
"And where do you think you're going Miss Solstice? We're having a conversation."
She rolled her eyes, turning back to face him. He had a small smirk on his face, perhaps believing he had the upper hand in this interaction. She supposed, for any other, that he would have. But she had been trained for this interaction, just as she had trained for all of their interactions, and she knew far too much about him now to even out the playing field.
Sighing, she looked over at the boy reluctantly.
"I'm going to bed, Riddle. What else would I be up to, as I traipse my lonesome way into the girl's dormitories?" She snapped, her voice stern as she willed him to leave her alone, “and the last I checked, both parties had to be willing to incite a conversation. So far, it’s just you.”
The head boy rolled his eyes in frustration, pent up anger he evidently felt causing him to flex his hands into fists and back again. She wondered how much she’d have to push to dissolve the mock niceties he displayed. He obviously had little restraint over his flaring anger, despite hiding it constantly, if his stiff hands and tense frame was anything to go by.
"How would I know? You're a stranger," he directed back at her, tone a fiery warning, "An outcast. Someone plausibly dangerous, for all we know."
His dark eyes studied her every move, as if he had calculated this. He wanted a reaction. He wanted answers. He wanted to push her until she revealed a small thread of herself that he could pull and unravel. It was a game to him, and he would pull her apart until he knew everything about her, and then piece her back together in a way which suited him. Given anyone else, the provocation may have worked.
But she knew him. Her threads were sharpened into blades, gnarled, and twisted. She was a pawn in this game, yes, but she was wiser than his queen because she had manipulated the rules.
"I'd say that was a very useful observation," she retorted, challenging the boy, her tone satire, "If a harmless fly can end a person's life, consider what a provoked witch might do.”
She grinned lightly, finding taunting him quite amusing as she toyed with her wand. Her gaze fixed on the ever-curious Tom Riddle. He was still suspicious and definitely irate, but he seemed to have withdrawn slightly in caution. His eyes were more guarded, and she thought she could see his hand shift closer to his own wand.
"Sweet dreams, Riddle," she bade, before flouncing up the stairs to her room, leaving him and his psychopathic tendencies behind her.
-:-
The first thought which occurred to her, safe in her own room, was that her dormitory was strange.
In the far-right corner, tucked away, was a small reading nook right by the window, furnished with white faux fur pillows and green fluffy blankets. In view was the black lake, through what seemed to be reinforced glass, which let a greenish hue fill the room. She guessed it was meant as a relaxing addition, but the green glow of the murky water made it more of an eerie one. It served as a constant reminder that danger lurked in every corner to her, but she found she could oddly still imagine curling up there.
Beside that was a large black armoire, not yet filled, and a small writing desk. It too, was black, but had silver accents down its sides. Both were made of metal however, and as Astraea ran her finger across the rough edge of the metal, she could feel it slice into the smooth skin. She glanced over to the right, where a door led to a white and black marble toilet. Similarly, her bed was sat in a small block of marble, built into the ground rather than on top of it. A white, soft rug ran across the floor, perhaps the only comforting aspect.
She wasn’t certain she liked it, but it would have to make do. She sank into emerald silk sheets, sighing blissfully as she lay on the cloud-like mattress. They were bright and gleaming, much akin Draco’s bedding of choice, and she found herself saddened at the thought.
She missed Draco. In reality, she’d likely never been away from him for so long before, given their housing together for the past six months. And she knew he'd have known exactly what to do in her predicament. He’d have calmed her shaky heart far more effectively than she knew how.
Her mind had slowly begun to unravel since being here. She wasn’t sure how to cope in this strange environment, with people she didn’t know and adults she couldn’t rely on. Trembling hands reached to enclose his last gift to her, and she found peace in the gentle pulsing it projected.
A small tear trekked down her face, gliding across the smooth planes of her skin with a grace she didn’t know she’d perfected.
"Let me go back," she whispered, the words clinging to the air like forbidden fruit she could never truly taste.
She shut her eyes, lids closing as another tear slipped from the dam. It was a dream so tangible she could touch it, arms reaching to envelop a time which had long since disappeared.
"Please."
But in the silence of the night, as the wind rattled against the castle and through the halls, she could feel magic’s cutting reply, the thunderous sound reverberating around her room, staining her life’s hopes black.
-:-
Blonde locks were constrained into a high bun as she entered the great hall that morning, a few strands loosely framing her face in protest against the dreaded ribbons - which according to the latest articles, ‘all the best women wore’. Whatever that meant.
A snort almost tore out of her at the thought, though it was short-lived as hundreds of eyes flickered over her frame. She was surprised how uncomfortable she felt under them, surrounded in a web of spiders, their mouths weaving strings that would entrap her to their truth. The chatter increased as she manoeuvred herself to the Slytherin table. It was mostly empty at this time of morning, but there were still a few dotted around that she knew were in her year from Dumbledore’s list.
Without further thought, she fell into seat beside a brunette girl with blonde highlights. She seemed kind enough, with a soft look settled into her face, her hands moving delicately as she ate.
Astraea’s eyes zigzagged over the array of pastries and fruits aligned in front of her, and she settled for picking at a small croissant. Of course, she also consumed a few pieces of watermelon, which she'd quickly found essential to her ability to function earlier that year.
As she began to grow comfortable in her position, a manicured hand reached over from the right, five painted almond nails filling her eye-line as she turned to the suspect.
"Hi. I'm Ruby Parkinson."
Astraea quirked a brow, wondering how she'd produced the horror of a granddaughter that was Pansy Parkinson. Years of etiquette lessons insisted upon by her mother quickly kicked in and she gently shook the girl's hand. A smile was plastered across her face as she studied the girl. She really was quite pretty. Her hair had more of a natural curl to it and settled on her shoulders as if she'd just come from a photo shoot. Brown eyes were wide and doe-like with a set of thick, upturned eyelashes, while her mouth was full, pink, and revealed a set of pearly whites beneath. Freckles dusted her face, and Astraea realised she resembled Hermione in a way.
"Astraea Solstice."
Ruby grinned as she pulled her hand away.
"I'm sure you'll get a lot of questions today, since people obviously can't mind their own business," Ruby rolled her eyes, spreading strawberry jam across a piece of croissant.
Astraea cracked a smile, finding herself amused by her fellow Slytherin's humour. It was quite alike her own, and she felt herself grow more at ease with the observation.
"So let the first one be a little more fun for you! Are you an owl or a cat person?"
Astraea smiled widely, "a cat person, though owls offer more use when it comes to mail, I must admit."
Ruby grinned.
"Oh, I can just tell I'm going to love you!"
A sharp parallel was drawn in the blonde's mind between Ruby and Pansy. She wondered if the two got along in the future, for she'd never cared enough about the witch in her time to find out. Pansy had been snobbish and rude throughout her entire time at Hogwarts, and she pondered on whether that was due to her mother, or Voldemort's influence. She was saddened that someone so nice had had such an awful child.
Having met Ruby, she knew Ruby was too kind to have raised anyone so horrible, and she wondered whether she’d suffered an early death.
"What lessons do you have first? Or have you not been gifted a glorious Hogwarts timetable yet?" Ruby asked her, as Astraea took a sip of pumpkin juice.
She cringed at the taste but continued to drink anyway. Personally, Astraea had never understood why everyone enjoyed pumpkin juice so much, for it was absolutely revolting, but it had somehow become integral to everyday society. Not drinking your goblet every morning would be absurd to the modern witch or wizard, so Astraea did so to keep up appearances.
Truthfully, she abhorred the stuff. It was thick and potent, and it ruined the taste of her mouth all day.
"I still have that immense pleasure to come I'm afraid," she responded dryly, popping a forkful of fruit into her mouth, "And you?"
"I've got Potions with Professor Lovegood. He's a little eclectic, but I think he's the most fun," she remarked, her tone solely factual, as if she expected she'd get a lot of hatred and was mentally preparing for it.
Instead, Astraea just smiled warmly.
She was glad of the difference between how Luna had been treated and perceived as 'loony', and how this professor was seen. To Ruby, at the very least. Naturally, there would be the odd few who opposed, but the casual support Ruby had for the man filled her with joy. Why couldn't they have such an accepting view on such things in her own time?
"I believe we're going to be fast friends, Ruby," Astraea smiled genuinely, biting into another mouthful of fruit.
A familiar scoff sounded from the other end of the table, and her face hardened.
"For her sake, I sincerely hope not," came the mumbled afterthought and Astraea rolled her eyes.
She knew her anger would get her nowhere however, so she chose to shoot a withering glance in his general direction, before brushing it off. It would do little good to provoke him further if she still wished to achieve her goal, despite how much she longed to.
She simply resumed her breakfast smoothly, chatting amicably with Parkinson about whatever or whoever came to mind, only minutely surprised that he too resumed his isolated breakfast, choosing silence over the usual aggravation he so craved.