September 12th, 1991
It had been a slow-catching fire in my veins. It began with Draco’s idiocy, the gall with which he declared himself replaced. Then added was Granger, picking the wrong day to tell me I was fundamentally a monster and should appreciate muggles. Next came Snape, with his attempts to play a white knight, as if a turncoat who only cared for my brother had a place in his dead heart for a girl he barely knew. These things on their own were not enough to crack my mask. Not entirely. I had maintained the jovial persona of the Slytherin Princess —jovial, of course, in the sense that I was still very Malfoy in my expressions but I did indeed show said expressions to the Slytherins. But the pressure inside me was rising. Unlike the muted irritation I had felt prior —this was more. It was a rage boiled beneath my skin, my very vein bubbling with a fury hardly contained.
Thus, when Draco chose that Thursday morning to skip breakfast for a heart to heart about —well, I was unsure what it was really about. But he had opened with:
“I heard about your chat with Severus.”
That had not been his best move. Especially not with such a soft expression, something akin to worry written with the furrow of his brow.
“Oh, Severus, is it? Wasn’t aware he was letting you call him that at school.”
“He didn’t say I couldn’t.”
“But did he say you could?”
The realization in his eyes that I was redirecting him hit as fast as the irritation that followed. And then, promptly, his eyes softened and he looked like- like- like he was pitying me. Which was horrible. In several ways, not the worst of which was the fact that I felt a dark dread creep up around my throat as I saw him working out what to say.
Something I would rather hex away than hear.
“I know you-“ Don’t. I screamed in my own mind as he spoke. Shut up!
“Aranea Telam.” I hissed before the pity in his eyes could solidify. The silver spider silk wrapped itself around Draco’s mouth and cut him off.
That had not been my best move.
“This will never concern you. Not a year ago—not today.” I snarled at Draco, the match finally catching, the fuse gone, my rage brought to bear, “I hope you choke.”
I let out a jagged breath and flicked my wand, my voice both rhythmic and acidic as I pulled a spell from one of the ancient texts in the Manor, “My heart coated in frost, Now my patience is spent. I found what I had lost, Now I wish to lose it again.”
Limerick casting is hedge witch magic. But it works. It requires an emotional charge, much like a patronus, but is more lax in the emotional fuel. Intent and will and pure spite filled my wand, summoning a pale blue light that spread like a mist.
It’s old magic. Ancient. Out of date. Powerful. Especially when the words ring true in the casters heart.
Thus, the air temperature dropped, the moisture in the air crystallizing as a gust of wind pushed Draco back —sending him sliding across the now slick hallway. There was a heavy crack of metal snapping, not dissimilar to the sound of apparition. Whatever Draco had broken was of no consequence to me as I steadily turned on my heel and worked my way up the castle towards a room I knew I needed. A room that could give me what I needed. Somewhere safe to be me.
Up and up and up I went to the seventh floor corridor.
-
I need somewhere no else can enter, where I can release my frustrations without consequence.
I walked past Barnabas the Barmy once.
I need somewhere no else can enter, where I can release my frustrations without consequence.
I walked past Barnabas the Barmy twice.
I need somewhere no else can enter, where I can release my frustrations without consequence.
I walked past Barnabas the Barmy thrice.
The door did not appear.
The room did not want to grant my need.
The school itself chose not to help.
I felt that same darkness that I had to suppress earlier snake through me once again. The kind that tells me to burn the world. That the only way to live is to destroy it all. Turn the world to ash and reforge it. That ever present knowledge that this world does not deserve a happy ending. There is not a world that does.
Of course the room of requirement would not appear when required. It was with dark amusement I found myself nearly casting a curse at Barnabas’ portrait out of spite. The darkness in my stomach became my blood, the very essence of who I was. Because the room meant to provide chose to deny me. Was I not powerful enough? Warm hearted enough? Pleasant enough? Did the room find me unworthy?
At that thought, I snorted. And then the darkness was gone, and the dullness returned.
The rage, the darkness, whatever resentment I’d had within me simply faded back behind a wall. Because what is the point of such feelings? I had let my mind unravel, let my emotions rule me, and I became lesser for it. Uncontrolled and uncontrollable.
A room at this school would not know a worthy witch better than a fish would know the best way to ride a bike. It had, after all, chosen to help a fanatic, genocidal maniac. So, really, I should have been flattered.
Taking a deep breath, I leaned back against a wall and slid down to the ground.
“You are a die to be cast, Medea.” I whispered into my knees, my voice growing steadier as I repeated Mother’s words, “You are not a dagger, but a snake hidden in the garden. A rose with retracting thorns. You are a Malfoy. You are a true blooded heir. You were lost, once, but now you are found.”
-
Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy knew this was their only chance. It was dangerous, but the war was to be ending soon. And so it was the perfect time for their family to grow. Abraxas and Violeta had been wanting grandchildren for half a decade, saying they weren’t getting any younger —though they were only just now approaching sixty.
It had always been known that Narcissa would have trouble baring more than a single child, due to an injury the Healers had found from Cissy’s Hogwarts days, but Malfoys themselves rarely had more than that. Often, twins were conceived. Yet still. Only one ever made it.
Such was the case today. Narcissa was sat in the parlor being evaluated by a group of Wise Women from Balzega —world renowned healers from a small island nation that specialized in birthing maladies. Months ago, they told her she was with twins. One boy, one girl. Now, they were quiet as they surrounded her.
“I’m sorry, Madam Malfoy,” Kryva spoke quietly, her usually strong voice softened to gentle whatever devastation she could, “The girl is gone.”
Narcissa Malfoy is a woman with superb magical control. Such fine control, in fact, that when she went accidental out of distress she was able to feel every shard of glass fall from the windows.
“What are you talking about?” Narcissa was gripping Lucius’ hand with as much force as she could muster, tears were already beginning to pool when she looked to her husband, “Lucius they are wrong. Tell them they are wrong!”
“They are wrong. They must be.” His calm voice would have been reassuring —if Narcissa could not feel the shaking of his hand as he looked back to Kryva, “Tell us it is a mistake. It cannot be anything but.”
Kryva’s face nearly crumpled as she bowed her head, “I am sorry. The one is lost while the other lives. When the time comes, both with be born but only the boy will breathe.”
-
With forced slow breaths, I pulled out a quill and several pieces of parchment. There was no better way to focus my mind than for me to pen letters to home.
-
Dear Mother,
I am shattered-
-
Mother,
Your son has decided to become a prat-
-
To my beloved Mother,
All is not well. Draco and Snape and this group of insects have decided to-
-
To Whom My Charm Belongs,
Mother, all is well here. I have spoken with the girls and would like you to invite the Bulstrodes, Parkinsons, Greengrasses, and Spektors. I am unsure of the status of the Spektors, as Dorothea Spektor keeps to herself. She appears to be brilliant, though.
However, I have only given the bracelets to Pansy and Daphne —I am still working in Bulstrode and Spektor, but I hope to be calling them Millie and Thea by month end. The girls practically screamed with they saw the jewels. Impeccable taste as always.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Oh, because Draco is likely to forget, please invite the Nott, Zabini, Flint, and Pucey families.
I will include a letter to Father the needy git. Tell him I said that.
With love and venom,
Medea
-
To My Least Favorite Parental Figure,
Have you died? Are you dead? What do you need four letters a week for? What? Has Draco been whinging about-
-
Father,
Whyyyyyyyy you FUCKE-
-
To My Much Loathed Father,
Good to hear you have been keeping your cane in check. Must be quite a feat. Tell me —destroyed any priceless artifacts recently?
Also, to answer the letter before last, yes. I do in fact know what I have taken and will be handling it with care. I’ll tell you how it pans out over summer —I will not be finished with it until then. You can help me plot over winter, if you must.
Tell grandfather I would like two gifts: something supremely magical and rare, and for him to spend spring and summer at the Manor. I can already see your face, Father. Suck it up and play gopher.
I am placing an order at Killian’s this week. I will let you know when the gifts will be ready for pickup.
With a deep desire for home,
Medea
-
Dear Grandfather,
Your son has sent me a letter begging me to intervene. Apparently, you have been hounding him about me? Understandable, as I am your most charming grandchild. But still. Maintain your composure.
I have been sorted Slytherin —as if there was ever a doubt with you teaching me spell craft. Perhaps I have found my future husband. You know how absolutely dashing I find half powered hexes.
Father said you were taking gift requests. I have decided I want a set of Thestrals. Or a blue rose garden. Or an enchanted robe —something supremely stylish that I can show off at the next ball during break. Or a port key to the Americas, it’s been ages since you and I went to California.
I would like for you to stay over the breaks when I am home. I have missed you and Grandmother dearly. Tell her I say hello.
With something like love,
Meddy
-
In a rather irritating turn, this left me rushing to charms with the letters tucked under my arms. I made an appearance for lunch quickly eating before darting to transfiguration to practice shifting a blue ribbon into a butterfly while keeping the fabric pattern on its wings.
There was just enough time for me to send Apollo off from the owlery and dart back to the oversized courtyard for the first of our flying lessons. To be frank, I could do without Tibble getting on the pitch this year. Maybe it would give the snakes a chance at the cup. But even so, whatever fate allows to happen today is unknown. Perhaps nothing at all will occur.
As I approached the lines of brooms, I caught sight of the girls and Blaise and met them halfway. There was a free group of four brooms with some Gryffindors on either side, and we chatted lightly as we made our way to them.
Which suited me swimmingly as Draco would be unable to be nearby.
“Hullo, Malfoy.” I distinctly did not show my irritation at the tentative greeting as I looked behind me to one Neville Longbottom. He had been huddled talking with some other Gyrffs, with his back to me so I hadn’t noticed he was the next broom over.
“Longbottom,” I nodded and went to back to absolutely anything else.
“Uh-“ I felt my spine straighten as Longbottom kept speaking, “I saw you running a bit this week. How often do you go?”
“Whenever the urge strikes me.”
“Oh. When do you think you’ll run next?”
I turned to face Longbottom in shock and confusion, “Why? Planning to join me?”
It had been meant as sarcasm. Or a mockery. Even a joke if one’s sense of humor was mean spirited —which I cannot deny mine is. I even heard Daphne snort in derision.
Longbottom perked up though, and I immediately realized this was a mistake. I should have simply said no.
“Would that be all right?”
“Longbottom is so terrified of his own House he thinks we’ll want him,” Pansy’s high voice caused the other Gryffs to pay attention, but my eyes were focused on how Longbottom winced at the words, “How you’re anything but a Hufflepuff, I’ll never understand.”
“What? Looking to leech some brains off your betters?”
“Hah! Even if a bit rubbed off he’s more likely to snap his broom than he is to actually fly.”
Longbottom’s face was already turning red when I huffed and made a show of looking him up and down.
“Longbottom, I don’t own the shore,” I stepped forward, plucking some lint off his shirt with a pleasant smile and soft voice, then, as I brushed his shoulders as if cleaning him up I widened my smile into something more feral, “If you’ve got the stones to run with snakes, and you think your stubby little legs will keep up, I’ll be there tomorrow morning.”
It was at that moment that a whistle sounded across the clearing, and a woman with short, gray hair and yellow eyes shouted out.
“Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”
As the other snakes head to my left, I grab Longbottom’s shoulder and spin him so he’s facing his own broom. In a low voice I warned Longbottom, “Pay attention. You’re a right hazard.”
“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch, her hawk like eyes shifty from student to student, “and say ‘Up!’”
“UP!” Everyone shouted in near unison.
To my side, Daphne’s broom jumped halfway to her hand before falling, whereas Blaise’s had settled right below his palm perfectly. Longbottom’s broom hadn’t moved at all. No conviction in that one’s voice yet. My own broom was settled into my palm as well, but Father had always pushed for flying to be second nature. I rather hated it.
Madam Hooch took several minutes to help some of the stragglers —Longbottom included. Until finally she began demonstrating how to mount a broom without sliding off the end. I slid onto it, my legs both on one side as if I was riding dressage while hovering in place. One hand was firmly placed towards the head on the broom while the other was down towards the bristles steadying me.
“Ms. Malfoy, that is not the grip we are learning,” Madam Hooch came straight for me after finishing up directing an auburn haired Gryff, “We are going back to the basics. I’ll not have you falling off your broom on my watch.”
She waited for me to readjust myself and it took sheer force of will to not roll my eyes, but once she was gone I shot Daph a look. And then I heard her tell Draco he’d been using the wrong grip for years. Which is ridiculous. Father taught us to ride our brooms and he was Keeper in his school days. He’d know. This did, unfortunately, lead me to catching just how thrilled Tibble and his weasel looked to be getting it right.
“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —”
But Longbottom, incompetent and hazardous as ever, just as in potions, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch’s lips.
“Come back, boy!” she shouted, but Longbottom was rising straight up as if he was anything but the coward he’d projected. Six feet soon became twelve —then twenty.
I could tell how it would go already. Even with my warning, he wouldn’t able to calm himself enough to stop fate. I looked away when I heard Longbottom gasp, unwilling to watch him fall. Only some part of me knew this was why my wand was already out. It’s why I had read a whole book on broom safety charms over summer. A feeling that could have been guilt but I chose to call instinct had me acting. I flicked my wand to my right and gave a small, “Alula.”
It wasn’t exactly a miracle spell, and I still heard Longbottom fall. But when he landed the WHAM and crack of destiny was simply a thump and groan. If anyone saw me cast it, no one said. Not even Daphne. I did, however, make the mistake of glancing at Draco —who may not have said anything, but the look on his face was certainly displeased.
Above me I heard the broom drift in the breeze, towards the forest, but my attention was brought to Madam Hooch announcing, “Just a sprain, no worries. Come on, boy — it’s all right, up you get.”
She turned to the rest of the class, all softness from when she spoke to Longbottom void, “None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on, dear.”
Longbottom was red in the face, likely from the pain if the tears were any indication, as he followed Madam Hooch closely. As soon as they made it far enough away so as not to be heard, Draco scoffed harshly, “What a wimp. Couldn’t even stand a light fall? What is he —a squib?”
“Couldn’t fly if Pomfrey gave him wings,” I heard Crabbe and Goyle laughing at.
I felt a stress headache coming on. This was remarkably similar to elsewhere, so far —despite lessening Longbottom’s injury.
“Shut up, Malfoy,” shouted a dark skinned Indian girl, who must be Parvati Patil.
“You’re going to have to be more specific, Patil. There’s two of us,” I drawled.
“A right tragedy, that is,” Patil hissed.
“Never thought you’d like fat little crybabies, Parvati.” I heard Pans cackling from the other side of Blaise. I nearly flinched at the line.
As Draco crossed the gap in broom lines towards me, I spotted the crimson remembrall and scooped it up gingerly before my brother could. Like bloody hell he was going to be allowed to give the Gryffs a record breaking seeker.
“Well, looks like Longbottom forgot his wits —again.”
Perhaps, if I’d made an effort to be kind, this would not have happened. I would have been able to alter destiny. But I am not someone willing to show weakness to my enemies —and by all means Tibble and his posse are my enemies . If not now, then when they damn my family in the public eye. If I was a better person, I would have changed my family and befriended them. I am not a better person.
“Give that here, Malfoy,” and the yard hushed as Tibble met my eyes. His voice was pitched lower than before and his algae eyes were disgustingly darkened in an attempt to intimidate.
Instead, I hummed and tossed the ball into the air lightly before catching it.
“Mmm, no, I don’t think I will.”
“Give it here!” Tibble went for a full yell and I laughed, unmoving.
“Fancy yourself a prefect, Potter?” I heard Daphne hiss as I called up my broom to lean on.
“Longbirdroom,” I smiled a tad wider than normal, “wanted to run together. I figure a prize will motivate him, yeah?”
Tibble grabbed his broom, as if I would make an attempt to fly off with the ball. I had no such intention but it didn’t stop Granger from panicking.
“No!” she shouted. “Madam Hooch told us not to move — you’ll get us all into trouble.”
“What, Potter? Gonna come after me?” I slipped the remembrall into my robe and lightly kicked off the ground, hovering a few feet high with the same relaxed pose Madam Hooch had said ‘would see my neck broken if you used it in flight.’ Which is ridiculous. Witches have flown this way for centuries.
Tibble himself looked furious and it was only a split second before his broom launched towards me, and I had to incline my own broom higher into the air. Up and up and up, left to make space, and then hover. The wind was stronger off the ground, whipping my hair back, but the braided crown kept most flyaways from my face while the half down bits flowed and nicked my neck violently. I could see on Tibble’s face that this was it —the moment he found flying truly exhilarating.
The gasps below were washed away with the wind and I heard what must have been a Gryff carrying on in encouragement. Tibble jolted mid air to face me again, and I let my voice take a lilting edge.
“Oh—the Boy Who Lived has tricks, then? Shocking.” To be honest, I just needed him out of earshot of Draco, the git would probably shout to throw the remembrall and, in order to side with Draco, I’d be forced to help him get on that damned team.
“Give it here, Malfoy,” Tibble shouted, “I won’t stand for it!
“Obviously, you’re on a broom.” I let loose a feral grin, hoping this was it —this was the moment to prove if changes could stick. If it wasn’t all pre-destined. If fate was merely a suggestion, “How about we settle it with a Wizard’s duel?”
“A duel?” His face was struck with confusion and I raised my hand in pause.
“All wand —no contact. I’m not keen on knocking you off your broom and getting expelled. Well, not for you. Scared, Potter?”
I stole my brothers words, yes. But they were fighting words and, without the ginger, I needed fighting words. I could tell, then, that had been the right thing to say because his face flushed in anger and the adrenaline of being in the air for the first time got to him when he spat, “Not of you. When and where, Malfoy?”
“Midnight, trophy room. Bring a second —your pet pureblood weasel should know the difference. You win I’ll not only give Longbottom the remembrall back but I’ll apologize to him. I win and you keep your taint away from my House.”
Then I abruptly dropped my broom down until I was landed safely on the ground. Tibble had said something in response but I wasn’t interested. It was in the background though, so should I care I would be able to pull it up. A brief flash of memory came up at the thought and I was forced to see glimpses of the War again —simply flashes of a crucio, the red glow of expelliarmus, a scream. Then they were gone and I was back distinctly not thinking about pushing down memories.
“Harry! You could have died —or been expelled!” Came the shrill scream of Granger as Tibble landed across the yard.
“Shame you didn’t put him in his place.” Daphne sighed.
I snorted, “All the better. Hey —want to be my imaginary second to a duel I’ll not be attending?”
This time is was Daphne who had a feral grin, only on her it was more arrogant and less chilling, “Why, of course. Now, what would you need my services for?”
“We’ll have to leave Filch a note, of course.”
We can’t lose all the plot, after all.