Black Widow

NATASHA KNEW THAT SHE WAS DREAMING, BUT FOUND HERSELF NOT BEING ABLE TO WAKE UP. While she could avoid them mostly during the day, they always found themselves making themselves known during her dreams, and… they didn’t disappoint. Once a reality for her, she found it wrong to call this a dream or a nightmare. 

The dream always started the same; the same chilling music playing in the background, a dull expression on the maestro’s face. She knew the dance sequence by heart, her body moving along with the music without her consent. It was cold, goosebumps forming on her skin. 

It didn’t change, the decorated halls of the Red Room, that is. Art was on every wall, with some form of tragedy or violence in each painting. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a pool of blood being cleaned up by one of the guards, a few of the girls watching with blank expressions. She found herself stationed at the top of the staircase, her hands gripping the elegant staircase. 

Lifting up her hands, she slowly made her way down the stairs, her steps silent and deadly. When she was younger, she tried to control her movements – to not move her body, but she stopped after a while. The Maestro played Debussy, something that many people claimed to gain comfort from, however… all Natasha felt when she heard it was horror and dread. 

Eventually, she stopped before the Madame – not a single piece of hair out of place, her lipstick perfect and her clothes ironed to perfection. This was one of the days she remembered perfectly, a never-ending nightmare for her. “You’ll break them…” She remembered saying to the woman, her words barely audible. 

The woman smiled, a sadistic smile on her makeup-clad face. “Only the breakable ones,” The woman had replied, her head tilting up slightly as she watched the girls dance. After reliving this scene many times, she eventually realized that Yelena was also in the room as well, her wild blonde hair pulled into a tight bun. “You’re made of marble.”

Her right eyebrow raised, her face full of curiosity as she asked, “And how is that?”

Of course, she knew. Even if Madame Red said they were made of marble, that was a lie. The same way how Madame Red’s voice was masquerading as Wisdom, how selfishness was posing as education, and how the red room was posing as this wonderful place. But all of that was a lie. 

The Red Room broke you down, made you question your worth as a human being, and recreated you in its image; a weapon with no face. A weapon that wouldn’t question anything, a weapon with brutal efficiency. Something they could throw away because, in the end, there was always more. 

Natasha knew, that no matter how much she tried to deny it, she would always be one thing: a weapon. 

The Madame smiled, looking down at the red-headed girl, who met the woman’s gaze with a neutral look. One of the perks of being the favorite, Natasha was allowed to be seen, just not heard. “Oh, dear Natalia… Only the worthy ones become made of marble…” She could hear the wheels of the gurney being wheeled down the hall, pleas, and screams echoing down the hall as they fought for the last piece of freedom they had; the one thing the red room didn’t have control over. 

Of course, the Red Room didn’t care; they were just objects to them, and for some of the guards, tools of pleasure from some of the older girls. Natasha could still remember that fear, knowing that one day, it could be her. Tom always tried to comfort her, telling her he would protect her, but it didn’t bring her any comfort. He had been saying that for years, and what did he do? Nothing. 

The memory blurred before her, flashes of memories flashing in front of her. In some, she would see the smiling faces of her family, her friends in Ohio, in others… all she saw was pain. Sometimes, she would get flashes of the man with the metal arm, whose saying stuck with her in the way Melina’s did. 

“There will be a future, where you look back and remember, you survived.”

In some ways, she did survive. However, there were some days when she didn’t wanna leave the bed, didn’t want to open her eyes, and realize that she was still there. To realize that she failed; realize she would never be able to look back and realize she survived. 

Blinking slowly, her mouth parted slowly as she stared at the scene in front of her – an invisible third POV she found herself being. A smile graced her face, a bittersweet feeling consuming her as she examined the room in front of her. She heard the door open, and she turned around, locking her eyes on a younger Clint and herself. Clint grinned, an eager look on his face as he gestured to the room. “I’ve always wanted to have a roommate!” He gushed, his skin almost glowing as the sun reflected off of it. “I kinda went crazy at homedeput and TJ max, but I wanted to make it comfortable for you!!” 

Her younger self stepped forward, and Natasha could almost remember what Tom said at the moment, “I’ll admit, while he does annoy me… he’s a remarkable human being.” She found herself murmuring with the memory, her eyes almost as wide as her younger self. 

She flipped around, meeting blue eyes of Clint, “Why?” She asked, her accent heavy. Tears formed in her green eyes, her long hair breezing from the open window. “Why are you so desperate to redeem me? Why are so desperate to prove that I’m a good person?” Her voice was curious, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

The blonde then sighed, walking over to the open window and leaning up against it. “Because I don’t judge people in their worst mistakes, Nat. When I look at you, I don’t see a killer; I see a young girl used by others to become a weapon.”

Her younger self sighed, seemingly not knowing what to do with that reply. Giving the blonde man a small smile, she thanked him. 

However, before she could continue watching it, her alarm went off. Blinking slowly, she groaned lowly as she turned away from the light, throwing her arm over her face. God, it was too early for her to get all angsty. 

Gliding through the halls of Hogwarts, Natasha dodged and avoided the students, who were rushing to their next classes. She kept her head down, her red hair covering her face as she made her way over to the exit of the school. She had been planning this out for weeks, already having memorized all the exits and hideouts. Once everyone was in the classrooms, Natasha flicked her wands in a specific pattern, a look of concentration. 

She had to be subtle, making sure only to break the wards slightly enough for her to get out. She could feel the magic inside her, growing stronger with each word she whispered. Her hair started to flow gently from the amount of magic she was using, but she didn’t let that stop her. A smirk formed on her face as the last of it fell, giving her just enough time to slip out. Quickly, she placed the wards back up and started making her way off the grounds. 

Daphne and Blaise tried to convince her not to do this idea, but Natasha had already made up her mind. Honestly, she didn’t know why they were so worried – she’s literally a spy, stalking and interrogating people is her job’s description. Plus, Snape knew what she was doing, and was her alibi if people had questions. Glancing down at the map in her hands, she silently thanked every god for introducing her to the Weasley twins. The nice thing about them – was they didn’t ask questions. 

Avoiding the whomping willow, Natasha pushed open the door to the shrieking shack and ducked in, brushing the spider webs out of her face. She grimaced slightly as it stuck to her hand, but she quickly wiped it off of her. It creaked and groaned, its’ age making itself known as she moved throughout the building. Fred and George told her that they never really used this passageway, too afraid of it falling down on them. However, it did lead straight to where she needed to be and it was in a discreet place. 

Glancing around, she looked for the latch door they said she needed to look for. Moving slowly, she made sure to avoid all of the unstable parts, keeping herself light. Glancing down at the map, she watched as her name grew closer and closer to the spot she needed to be. Stopping a few feet away, she looked up and set her eyes on the latch.

Shoving the map in her bag, she quickly shoved off her school robes revealing plain black ones, which looked green when certain lights hit the robe. Folding her school robes carefully, she placed them in her bag and zipped it up, hiding them in corner of the room that wouldn’t be noticed as easily. 

Stretching her neck, she sucked in a deep breath as she broke the latch, which had rusted over the years. Letting out a loud creak as it swung open, Natasha took out her wand. ‘Lumos,’ her mind supplied, a ball of light appearing at the tip of her wand. Lowering herself into the hole, she jumped down, making sure to bend her knees. If her sister was here, she had no doubt that Yelena would tease her for being a ‘poser’.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha stood up and brushed the dust off her robes. She made her way through the small passageway, which got smaller and smaller the more she went. Halfway through her journey, she had to turn sideways and shuffle her way out. But, her journey didn’t go to waste as light filled the end of the tunnel.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she cast the counter spell for Lumos and tucked her wand back into its holster. Ending up at the back of an alleyway, Natasha straightened herself out and walked forward, a look of confidence and purpose in her stance. People glanced her way, but earlier she cast a spell that would make her unrecognizable.

Opening the door of her destination, she resisted the urge to scrunch up her nose from the smell. Nodding at the owner, she received a suspicious look in response but let her seat herself. The old man walked over to her table, a notepad in his hands. He raised an eyebrow at her, her plump lips quirked up in a condescending smile. “What can I get ya?” His voice was rough, his beard long and full of tangles. 

Picking up the menu, she glanced it over before deciding on a gin & tonic. His eyebrows raised higher, suspicious in his voice, “Ya sure you’re old enough for that?” He questioned. Intertwining her fingers together, Natasha leaned back in her seat. “Do you have a problem with that?” Her voice was amused, a knowing look in her eyes, “You don’t seem like the kind of man to give two shits if the person was underaged.”

He huffed, rolling his blue eyes that were eerily familiar. “Whatever, just don’t get caught with whatever you’re doing; I’ve already had two health inspectors in here in the past week.” Turning on his heel, he made his way over to the bar. Smirking, Natasha took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, her ears on high alert. 

The bell rang, the door slamming on itself as heels tapped against the wooden floor. She kept her eyes closed, her legs up on the table. Eventually, the sound stopped and she peaked open her eyes, meeting the blue eyes of Rita Skeeter. The woman’s hair was pined up, only a few curls falling out for aesthetic purposes. Her eyes light up, her smile sharp. Taking in a deep breath, the woman clasped her hands together as she sat across from the redhead. “Ms. Potter, I just want to thank you for inviting me to talk. From what you sent, I was horrified. I just… I want to get this story out and ruin this horrid woman.” Her words were slow, her eyes sharp like a predator’s. Leaning forward, Natasha felt both of her eyebrows raise up as she gave the woman a cunning smile. 

“Of course, Ms. Skeeter…” Trailing off, she kicked her feet off of the table. “You and I have a lot to catch up on.”

Once she was back in the castle, Natasha made her way over to Snape’s office, not even bothering to knock. The man didn’t seem to notice she was there, too consumed in his work. Clearing her throat, the man jumped, a spooked expression on his face. “Natasha…” He let out an irritated sigh from his nose, his lips pursing slightly. “Please, I wish to not have a heart attack at 35…” Throwing his quill down, he locked eyes with the red-head. “How did it go?”

Raising an eyebrow, Natasha commented,  “You know, Uncle Sev, you’re getting a bit rusty at that spy thing – should I give you a crash course again?--”

“---The Meeting.” He gritted out, his forehead furrowed with annoyance, “I don’t have all day for your jokes, Natasha. How did it go with Rita?” Rolling her green eyes, the girl let out an obnoxious sigh as she flopped down on his couch. 

“It went fine; I had it all under control. Little manipulation here, some there, and she was putty in my hands – didn’t even realize she was being manipulated.” Shrugging, she met the almost black eyes of Snape. “Honestly, I don’t think this woman has a life other than gossip.” 

Snape nodded in agreement, breaking out his bottle of whiskey and pouring himself a glass, offering one to Natasha. Grabbing a glass for herself, she poured herself a generous amount and took a small sip out of it, sucking in a deep breath as it went down her throat, a slight burn being the only aftertaste. Remembering the guy who ran the bar, she asked the long-haired man, “Hey, do you know the guy who runs Hogs Head? His face just looked really similar to me.”

He hummed, his long fingers tapping the side of his glass, “Yes,” He acknowledged, “It’s Dumbledore’s brother, Abeforth.” 

“I can definitely see it now…” Gesturing to her face, she let out a small chuckle, “The beard should’ve been a giveaway, but this man looked like he hadn’t brushed his beard in years. At least with Dumbledore, he only gets pudding stuck in it.” Letting out a sigh of annoyance, Snape downed the rest of his drink and poured himself more. “Oh, come on! That was funny!”

He said nothing, only shaking his head in disappointment. She could feel a slight buzz, letting out a small giggle, “Boo! You’re no fun!” Snorting, the teen felt a bit of the drink dribble down her chin, “Oh, shit!” 

Standing up from his seat, he grabbed the drink out of her hands. Pouting, she reached out for it, “Come on, Sev! I’m not a lightweight!--”

“---No,” He interrupted, “But you are going home to Sirius and Remus, and can’t let them know you’re drunk.” Calling out for house-elf, he ordered himself and her a small coffee. A moment later, they appeared and he handed her the steaming cup, “Drink; sober yourself up.”

Pursing her lips, she made no move to argue and brought the cup up to her lips, blowing the steam off. God, she really should’ve ordered herself something to eat when she was at Hogs Head… 

Taking a small sip, she let out a sigh of contentment as the liquid slid down her throat, a warm feeling in her belly. She knew, no matter what people said about Snape, he was a good person secretly. 

WRONGFULLY PLACED IN PRISON DUE TO BEING CREATURES: AN INSIDE TO THE CORRUPT MINISTRY AND ITS’ EMPLOYES 

Readers, I am here with someone of great importance – someone who has decided to come to me and tell me what has been going on. The things I am about to tell you… they are not for the light of heart or stomach. They have asked to remain anonymous, for their privacy and safety. 

Earlier this week, I met with my informant at an anonymous meeting place, where we discussed many things. The first we started off with was the unfair treatment of creatures – something that has been going on since the beginning of time. In our nature, we Humans are afraid of things we do not understand. No matter how much we say we understand them, how we understand their culture and behaviors; we don’t. We judge them for being different than us, and that has followed us in the legal system. 

Just last week, a young girl who has fairy blood flowing through her was thrown into Azkaban for trying to get an apparition license. However, the fairy blood was not listed in her records and they deemed that enough to throw her into that awful prison. What if that were to happen to us? Our children? If someone with great importance, they would not have this problem! 

Now, I would like to go on to our next topic – Dolores Umbridge. 

Senior Undersecretary, Dolores has worked at the ministry for many years and her crimes just seemed to keep racking up over the years. My informant brought me a list of all the crimes she has committed over the years. 

— Abuse of Power

— Framing/Blackmailing

— Withholding information 

— False Ministry Reports

— Physical and Psychological Abuse

Many have reported these, but they always seemed to get brushed over. What is going on in the ministry? Why are they letting this happen? This woman shouldn’t be allowed to be near anyone, yet she is teaching at Hogwarts! Yes, you read that right – she is teaching at Hogwarts! According to my informant, the ministry felt as if the education system was failing and decided to send her. However, due to all the reports, I’m reading, this has been the worse yet! 

Why is this woman allowed to teach our children? She is failing the future of the wizarding world! Readers, what do you think of this mess? 

This is Rita Skeeter at the Daily Prophet. 

Sirius choked on his coffee, his eyes wide with shock. Remus rubbed his back, a concerned look on his face. Grabbing the paper, Yelena looked it over before breaking out in giggles, a few snorts sneaking their way out. “N-Natasha!” Yelena extolled, her sugary cereal long forgotten, “Did you do this?”

The redhead said nothing, a neutral look on her face as she broke her piece of bacon, shoveling it into her mouth. “What?” She raised an eyebrow, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest, “Why do you always think I have something to do with anything that always ends up exposing someone?” 

They all gave her a look. Rolling her eyes, Natasha picked up her coffee mug, swishing it around gently. “Fine, I did it…” Giving them a sarcastic smile, she could feel her button-up shirt shift as she stretched her back. “Someone had to call her out on her shit.”

“Yeah, but you did it because you have something big up your sleeve,” Yelena commented, a smirk flashing on her face. Scoffing, the redhead picked up her plate from the table and made her way over to the sink, rinsing it off. “Shut up.” The redhead retorted with a look of exasperation on her face. 

Sharing a look, Remus and Sirius let out a sigh of annoyance. 

Tom yawned, his eyes watering slightly as he flipped the page in the book he was reading. He knew, if Natasha was here, she would scold him for being a hermit, and how looking over the same lore books over and over again wouldn’t do anything. The Peacocks chirped, the sun peeking out of the clouds. Running a hand through his hair, his curls fluffing out slightly. 

Glancing over to the clock in his room, he blinked in surprise. It was 6 am? He was sure it was only 2 am only a few minutes ago. His hands shook, his eyes drooping in exhaustion as he closed the book he was reading, hiding it underneath a loose floorboard. He was risking it, having this specific book with him, but he found that he didn’t care anymore.  If his original wanted to kill him, well… he’d just tell him to get in line. 

Often, he felt as if he wasn’t himself — he felt as if he was gradually transforming into someone else, and he wasn’t sure if he liked his new self… it felt like his becoming, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was. He remembered his younger years more, something he hadn’t thought of in years. 

He thought of Mrs. Cole — He thought of the Exorcisms, the suffocating air of the attic, and the grueling pains of hunger. He thought of his many days of not speaking, his throat closing upon him whenever he tried to speak. Mrs. Cole often said that he was the antichrist, but as Tom sat in the church as the priest droned on, he pictured himself as someone superior. 

He thought of himself as God — The Almighty Creator of the Universe. Many times when he was younger, he often found himself thinking of the saying, ‘if you can’t beat God, become him.’ 

Now, all he thought of himself was a pathetic parasite, a thing that couldn’t exist without another. First, he attached himself to Natasha, now he’s attached to his Original Soul. Normally, he would’ve just merged back with the original but… its soul was just too damaged. If another thing happened to it, the soul wouldn’t be able to last any longer. 

He could feel the sweat clinging to his body, the blood underneath his fingernails, the slight stubble beginning to grow on his face, and the cracks between his lips — he felt dirty. Usually, he would never let himself get like this, but he found that he didn’t care. 

Why should he care? At the end of the day, it was his fault he ended up like this. Nobody did this to him; he did this to himself. The clock ticked in the room, sun shining through the sheer curtains. Faintly, he could hear the annoying chirps of the Peacocks, (he remembered the argument he had with Abraxas — word for word — on why getting Peacocks was a bad idea. Obviously, he lost that agreement.) 

He made his way over to his bed, crawling underneath the covers and dragging them up to his chin. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath and tried to calm his breathing. However, before he felt himself drift into the sweet release of sleep, he felt the side of his bed drip with weight. Rolling over on his side, he could faintly feel the person’s breathing fan his face. 

Opening his eyes, he met the green eyes of Natasha. His eyes widened, his lips parting in shock. He sat up, feeling more awake and aware than he had in months. “…Natasha?” He breathed out, his stomach rolling with nerves. Faintly, in the back of his mind, he reminded himself that he wasn’t alone in the manor, but he was too happy to care. 

A smile formed on his face, happy tears forming in his eyes. “Hey, Tom…” The redhead greeted, a small smirk on her face, “Long time, no see…” 

He let out a watery laugh, pulling the girl into a hug. Her arms wrapped around him, his chin propped up on her head. He took in a deep breath, taking in her scent and planting it into his memory — the bitter smell of coffee and amaryllises. Faintly, he could smell an unfamiliar smell; he figured it was Yelena’s smell. 

His body shook, and he tightened her grip on the female, who simply stayed quiet and let the man cry out his frustrations. After a few moments, he pulled back and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, which was shorter than the last time he saw her. “Nice hair.” God, he felt like an awkward teen boy. 

She chuckled, her nose scrunching up with her joy. “Thanks…” Trailing off, the girl hopped off the bed and made her way around the room, her steps as light as a cat’s. “Like what you’ve done with the place, it’s really giving ‘kidnapped-individual-but-with-class.’ But, I guess that’s what you can expect when you’re being held at the Malfoy’s.” 

Some part of him, the part that still had a hint of his sanity and paranoia, wondered how she even knew where he was at but he didn’t question it. Following her with his eyes, he threw the covers off of him and slid off the bed. “So, how’s working with Voldy?” He stopped, his heart dropping to his stomach. “I’m right, yeah? He’s the sire, you’re bound… You have to do whatever he says, right?”

Tom immediately felt on guard, his throat threatening to close up with his anxiety, but he forced himself to speak, “...And how do you know that?” Natasha stepped forward, her head tilted to the side with an amused smirk on her face. Tom stepped back, his eyes sharp. “Cause the same thing happened to us… You couldn’t resist my orders even if they weren’t orders… You’re pathetic… You don’t even have what it takes to resist…” Shaking her head in amusement, Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. 

He kept his head high, keeping his eyes locked with Natasha, but doing that didn’t stop the thoughts that nudged his way into his head, and his throat closed up from the anxiety of the confrontation. Eventually, he settled on a sneer on his face, his eyes narrowed into a glare. Natasha continued to stalk forward, and Tom continued to put distance between himself and the girl. “It’s funny how easily your buttons are pushed now; how you can’t even control your emotions.” Mentally, Tom wondered if this was a dream, but it felt too real to him. Of course, he shouldn’t really take his words for granted; he felt as if he didn’t even know what was real and what wasn’t anymore. “How the Dark Lord has fallen…”

Stopping in front of him, Tom pressed his back up against the wall. “Who am I kidding? You’re not even the real, dark lord – you’re just a cheap knockoff, who can’t even function like a real human… Honestly, Tom, did you really think you could just run from all your traumas – acting like they never happened? If you really think you’re running, you’re doing a pretty shitty job of it.”

Letting out a huff of disbelief, Natasha watched as a tear ran down his face, “This is why you can’t do anything right; how can you expect to save people if you can’t even save yourself…” Shaking her head, she brought both of her hands up to the side of his head and leaned forward, “You know, when I was younger, I saw you as my saving grace and hope, but… I finally realized the truth. And you wanna know what that is? It’s that I can only hate the things I love.” Without warning, Tom could feel his neck snap. 

Bolting up from his bed, Tom gasped wildly as he glanced around the room, his heart going a mile a minute. “What?...” His voice was hoarse, his covers flung around in the room. “It was a dream…”

What was wrong with him? Why has his mind turned against him? Faintly, he could hear the sound of an elf popping in the room, but he didn’t care. 

He really was pathetic.