October 11th, 1991

Perhaps, was I willing admit that the darkness was growing worse, I would have realized the numbness was no longer being managed by a meager two hours of running every day. In fact, the relief is limited now to the experience and anywhere from a brief quarter hour to half hour afterwards. And then the euphoria is stripped from me. Even if I wait to take my potion, the emptiness wastes no time in swelling up within me and consuming whatever progress I was supposed to have made.

So, I simply lean into my mask.

Princess of Slytherin, funny, carefree, entitled to the world, casually cruel to everyone but the inner circle.

And how that has become true.

Hexes, jinxes, and, on two separate occasions, full blown curses. They became easier to cast after that day four weeks ago when a temperamental green eyed menace decided to approach the Slytherin table during breakfast and attempt to shame me.

Unfortunately for Tibble, that poorly planned confrontation only helped me. Perhaps, had several snakes not been exhausted already, it may have led to a different outcome. But as it was, I was backed up by Pansy —whose support is of a more volatile nature than the other girls— and Draco —who would fight a paper bag if he felt wronged by it.

“Malfoy,” Tibble had started with accusation ripe in his voice, his fists clenched.

“Take this, Pans,” I slid a plate of bacon towards her, ignoring the boy who believe a scar entitled him to every secret this school possessed.

“What? Think you’re too good to keep up your end of the deal?” That came from the lanky redhead following after him like a puppy.

“I’ve no clue what any deal’s got to do with you, Weasley,” Pansy barely lowered her voice when she turned to me and scrunched her nose, “I’ve never met a pureblood who could’ve actually used a Governess.”

“I suppose that’s a blood traitor for you.” I remarked still reorganizing the breakfast table, trying not to let the intrusion ruin my quickly disappearing good mood further.

I heard sputtering but chose to ignore it.

“Well, how’s a Weasley supposed to afford that?” Draco sneered, and now my good mood was ruined by the interruption entirely. Pansy and Draco teaming together could only mean trouble. “His potions book is three years out of date —Merlin knows how long it even took to buy.”

“Watch your mouth, Malfoy.” Weasley, when I glanced at him, had a face to match his hair and it was then I turned in my seat.

“To what do I owe the displeasure of The Boy Who Lived and Accrued A Minion’s appearance today? Here to actually get detention?” I gave a saccharine smile before dropping my expression and grabbing a green apple from the table. “Where’s Longbottom, then? The whole group should be present for this train wreck.”

Tibble’s green eyes widened before snapping and narrowing.

“Why? Out to steal something else?”

I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth to hold back my tongue, and tried to at least pretend I cared. The fact is, so long as Tibble kept my brother’s name out of his mouth he was of little consequence.

“What exactly did I steal?” I looked briefly to the Gryff table —where Longbottom was hunched over napping. Idiot, I thought not unkindly. “And before you claim I’ve got the imbecile’s remembrall, you best check with him.”

Between one moment and the next something changed, and I watched as Weasley gripped his wand just a tad tighter. As if in preparation for a hex. On instinct, I flicked my wrist and slid out my wand. Without a thought, I spoke.

“Repercutio-“

“Ms. Malfoy,” came the cold voice of Snape, ending everything before it truly started.

The next week it was a Ravenclaw girl. I used the leg locker curse after she made a snide comment about the ‘snake pit’.

Days after that it was two Hufflepuffs in Herbology. They snickered when Draco overwatered his Austrian Damplily, so I used aquaperpetua to cast the ever flowing stream curse on their slacks and skirts.

It kept going. With every jinx, hexes grew easier. With every hex, I drew closer to a curse. And once I cast calvorio on several Gryff girls for not stepping out of the way, Snape interfered again. But it felt good to watch the shock and horror on their faces as their tidily groomed hair fell around them like rain.

And even as Snape stared across from me, all I could think of was how Daphne and Pansy cackled and watched me as if I hung the moon. Even Theo and Blaise watched me closer. The other snakes were easy —Rousseau hates Claws, all I had to do for him to come to me was hex one in our History of Magic to twitch every time she spoke. Davis and Millie were bribed with invites to the Samhain Masquerade for their family’s —something most of them were getting anyway. Spektor, Pike, and Wensel all had issues with a Puff beating their scores in Defense —so we spent time in the library, and I walked them through the section on vampires and what Quirrell was likely to use for his pop quizzes. The other boys hung around Draco and loved to banter, so I threw small barbs in passing. The last girls were bought with sweets and pink charms and late nights in our dorm talking about robes and makeup and boys. The snakes were emeralds sparkling in the sun. It was glorious.

“You look rather pleased with yourself, Medea,” came the slow, drawling voice of my Godfather. His dark eyes narrowed in disapproval —or disappointment. Likely both.

Still, I knew he was simply attempting to provoke me. He has done it every time we met over the past month and a half. I kept my dry expression.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Professor.”

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“I mean,” he hissed and waved his hand, summoning several pieces of parchment and spreading them out across his desk for me to see, “What are dark charms older than this school doing being cast on your peers?”

“Probably doing whatever they are meant to,” I examined my verdant green manicure as I spoke, “Charms have a specific outcome, if Flitwick is to be believed.”

“Yes, yes, no one uses your name,” He tapped one of the papers —a write up of the piss-pants charm I used on the Puffs and I gave a brief half smirk, “But they are uniquely cruel. I believe Neighbaum has been rebranded as Peebaum.”

“So?”

“There are nine cases of unusual jinxes, hexes, and curses that have been brought to Pomfrey. In four weeks.”

“That number seems low.” I noted blandly.

It should be thirteen. I counted. Though not all of them would really require the infirmary.

“Are you unable to use standard spells to wreak havoc?” He sighed, “Did you have to use glacius manus? That invocation is two thousand years old. It’s only ever found in ancient Grimoires of dark witches.”

“Didn’t they use it to snap off fingers without losing the life blood?” I mused aloud, only to be answered with Snape slamming his palm down on the desk.

“My point, Medea.” He ground out, “There are too many.”

I snorted.

“Are you saying you are going to give me a detention? Take House points? Lock me in the dungeon?” I said mockingly, “Do it.”

I watched him grind his teeth before snapping his finger, “Oh no, child. I will do worse.”

“Oh? What? Are you going to write my father that I've been hexing muggleborns and blood traitors? He would likely send me a new spell book as a reward.”

A viciously pleased expression came across his face and I had a horrid feeling sink into me.

“No, no, none of that. I will write them about the Gryffindor you have befriended,” He barely held back his shudder as I glowered at him. Longbottom simply shows up to run. It’s not my fault. But then, the real threat, “And I know you’ve run out of potions. I will be sure to mention it to Lucius and Narcissa.”

My eye twitched, “You’re bluffing. You already agreed to make me more.”

“It is the letter —or you spend three nights a week cleaning the Potions classroom.”

“For how long?”

“Until the end of Samhain.”

“You are a terrible Godfather. I am disinheriting you.”

“That is not how it works.”

“I stand by what I said.”

“So?”

“Fine.”

“You know, what would you do if I disinherited you?”

“Rejoice.” I sneered as he jotted down the days I had to clean —Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays.

-

“You only look like a half drowned rat. Congratulations.” I shot as Longbottom approached. Millie and I were leaning against each other on the ground as we caught our breath.

Millie had, once again, joined me for an evening run —as had Longbottom. They were the only two who joined at night. Millie still refuses to speak to Longbottom, which gets more hilarious the longer she goes because she is deeply competitive and loves to know just how far we all ran.

“Procul. Tempus.” She practically hummed, “6.7 miles in an hour.”

I nodded and pulled on her braid, “You know, that’s 23 seconds off in a month. Per mile. That’s not terrible.”

Millie huffed and looked at Longbottom expectantly. She simply stared until Longbottom shuffled in his seat and cast the spells as well.

“3.5 miles in the same time,” Longbottom sighed, while Millie twitched. She knew. And I had to choke on my laugh when Longbottom looked at her darkening face and blinked.

If only he did the math. He should have lied.

“That’s a little over seventeen a mile, are you human, Longbottom? Not a sloth?” I sighed as I leaned further into Millie. Apparently, even at Hogwarts she hadn’t stopped the strength training her father had her work on over summer so she really was much less soft than I’d imagined. It was still quite nice, “Millie you are a superb pillow. How many galleons for it to become your profession?”

“Three thousand nine hundred and twenty four.”

“That is ungodly.” I groaned as I felt a creak in my knee.

-

“When do you eat?” Daphne hissed at me as Millie and I got back to the common room. It appeared her and Draco had come to mother hen. Again.

“I keep snacks in my bag,” Defensive? Undoubtedly, but if I let them peck at me for ages I feel insanity sink in and nearly hex them.

“You cannot live off of apples and potions, Dea.” Ah. Draco is going for ‘sulking and worried about you.’ Horrendous. If he keeps his brows furrowed like that much longer I will make it permanent.

“I ate breakfast and lunch in the hall!”

“She didn’t take a potion today.” Came Millie’s rough voice.

I snapped to look at her, betrayal in my bones, “Millie!”

Upon seeing Draco’s furious expression and Daphne’s confusion, I simply bolted back out the door. There was another hour until curfew anyway. I could do with exploring the castle some more.

Often, Daphne and I would take a single staircase the full route of its movement for an hour when we wanted time together —the week prior we had taken the very staircase I now found myself standing upon. It, of course, took a different route today. This one seemed to take me near to the library. There were several disused classrooms —unneeded after the war killed many who would be the age to have school children currently. As I passed an innocuous classroom, much like the others, I felt a tug inside me. It urged me to stop and open the door. And, as a rather powerful —if not humble— witch, I decided such an urge was a call of magic.

As my hand wrapped around the doorknob, I steeled myself. This could be a boggart, or a prattle, or even simply an ancient curse drawn to purebloods. Calls of magic were rarely benign but often fateful. Drawing my wand, I pulled the door open.

Only to see a classroom in disarray. All the desks were pushed to one side —across from an oversized mirror with clawed feet with an inscription across the frame. A strikingly familiar inscription.

“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.” I whispered, horror and intrigue dragging my feet forward, “I show not your face but your heart’s desire.”

And though I knew. I knew what I would see —I am not a fool. It still shook me to my core. To know the depths of my heart is one thing. To be shown it is another.