October 31st, 1991

My body was electric as several older girls cast aguamenti on the younger girls, washing away the dried blood and mud before we re-entered the castle and began celebrating in the common room.

Samhain rites have always made me feel particularly keyed up, and after the volatile month I have been through I was dying to get changed and start drinking my feelings away. Draco and I had a stash of Fleur de Vodka, Firewhiskey, and a couple bottles of Polar Gin that we had snuck out of the Manor. Strictly speaking, Mother did not approve of drinking so young. But what Mother pretends not to know does not hurt me. Thus the occasional sneaking of her good spirits with Draco gave us some rebellion within the Manors walls —and it was a small rebellion, Mother and Father were not the type to be blatantly defied without some sort of plot.

I would, of course, not actually drink into oblivion, I resolved myself. A buzz would be enough and the snakes would never see my drinking habits.

As the rust colored water fell down around me, I cast scourgify on my cloak and resettled it around my shoulders. It was time to go back in.

-

As Pansy charmed my hair once again, I pulled on a billowing white shirt, a thin leather cord wrapped around my waist three times to cinch it, black trousers, and a half robe that hung from my shoulders lightly.

“All right, let’s go,” Pansy nodded at her handiwork.

“Time to show up all the other firsties, Pans,” I wrapped my arm through hers as we walked out to the common room, where most of the house was already out. We each held a bottle —her a firewhiskey and me a fleur de vodka.

“Dea!” I was immediately forced to catch my brother barreling into me, red cheeks showing he’d already brought down his half of the stash. Based on the snow that coated his eyelashes and the tips of his ears it was the Polar Gin.

“Coco,” I cooed, “You should have waited for me. I have the fleur.”

“Come over, then, we’ll all take a shot,” Came a rough voice from a few feet behind Draco where Adrian Pucey was standing with Marcus Flint and Terrence Higgs.

As if on cue, Daphne appeared with several small glasses following behind her like ducklings, “Come on, Priestess of Samhain. Begin the merrymaking!”

“All right, all right,” I unwound my arm from Pansy and Draco as the glasses flitted over to me.

Tapping the edge of the bottle I whispered a small incantation, barely audible above the noise of a hundred snakes filling the dungeon, “Sylva.”

The bottle itself was made of crystal, and the cap consisted of enchanted bronze shaped like entangled vines. At my incantation, the vines unfurled and re circled the base of the bottle, blooming three pale green flowers in the process that deposited themselves into the liquid within. They settled at the bottom.

I filled all seven shot glasses and snatched mine out of the air and used every ounce of Mothers teachings to loftily declare, “May Samhain bless the Coven.”

Wicked grins spread across my friends faces as they responded, “May the Coven bless Samhain in turn.”

“Blessed be!” We all shouted as we hit back the shots.

Instantly I felt the warmth spread across my chest and stomach, and as I looked at Adrian I laughed, “Your flowers are silver.”

Adrian smiled mischievously at me and said lightly, “Better than blue, then.”

At the moment, I didn’t bother to think about how Fleur de Vodka was enchanted to show the eye color of someone you are interested in when the flowers sprout from your hair. It didn’t matter that Adrian’s eyes were a dark blue and not the pale blue my flowers bloomed as. It didn’t matter that my eyes were a darker grey than his silver.

“Actual drinks now?” Came Daphne’s lilting voice.

We both nodded at the cheers from Pansy and Draco, as they hung off each other —her flowers the exact color of steel that shone in his eyes. Draco’s flowers were a curious mix of blue and green.

-

Best laid plans and all that. I had not stopped at two drinks —in fact, I was at six. As were most of the snakes. Freedom from usually obsessive families was a magic all its own.

I found myself laying across one of the couches nearest to the windows looking out into the lake as several other snakes circled around playing truth or dare. It was a mix of lower classmen —it didn’t look as if anyone older than thirteen was allowed into the circle. Based on the dares that was clearly for the best. I saw Daphne pecking several second years already, and Theo had to hex himself. The truths were low stakes, but still interesting enough.

“What is the worst curse cast on you?”

“Easy. Pops made me fight off a flock of bats once —said you never know when they’ll take offense.” We had all laughed at the boy, a Rosseau, not unkindly.

“How many House points have you lost —total.”

“Not this again you prat— McGonagall has no appreciation for hexes —I’m getting to it stop rushing me! Only thirty five!” That came from a third year sitting next to Pansy, who was shifting away from him to get closer to Draco —who was curiously close to Daphne.

“I’ll join!” I snapped up and slid over the edge of the couch, taking an easily offered place next to Terrence and a girl I had only met once or twice in passing —Violeta Hartin, a second year.

“Nope,” Blaise slung his arm around me from behind, and as I turned to snipe at him he grinned, “There is a Gryffindor here to see you.”

“Oi! Zabini, which one?” Draco slurred from across the circle.

Blaise ignored him and pulled me up and whispered into my ear, “He looked rather downcast. Did our snake queen not invite him to Samhain, hmm?”

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I laughed into his cheek and wrapped one of his tightly bound curls around a finger, “It’s not my fault. Daphne and Millie invited him.”

His snort was confirmation enough that I sounded properly scandalized and so I leaned back into him and wrapped my arm around his waist —him doing the same as we did not stagger our way to the dungeon entrance.

As I tapped my wand onto the door frame, Blaise and I ducked to step out —carefully not separating as we exited the dungeon until, of course, we had to turn and release our arms to actually leave. We settled for locking our elbows as we stumbled into the hall, our laughter echoing into the silent, early morning halls. Daybreak was still another few hours off.

“Medea?”

At the tentative voice I narrowed my eyes at the blonde haired, blue eyed boy in front of me. He was noticeably not as chubby as when we had first met at that social months ago.

“Longbottom?” I could hear the slight stumble of my letters, but it was the best I could do, “What are you doing here? You rejected Samhain, yeah?”

He shuffled on his feet as he looked from my face to Blaise and then settled on our arms interlocked. A blush crept across his face and I snapped my free hand, “Longbottom the Cowardly Lion. It sounds about right, yeah? What are you doing here?”

I unwrapped my arm from Blaise’s and waved for him to leave —which he blessedly did without questioning.

“Well, I’m, I—“ I clicked my tongue at the way his eyes refocused on the ground while he stammered.

“Non. Rien de cela.” I huffed, “I’m not interested in a stammering fool, Longbottom. Full. Sentences. Only.”

Whether it was the words or the tone, Longbottom looked taken aback.

“I, well— you know, with Harry and Ron and— well, Greengrass is just so—“ he sighed, and I held up my hand —stumbling at the change in my stance. I quickly righted myself while Longbottom simply blinked.

“Take a breath. Think. Then speak. Every thought you have doesn’t need to come out at once.”

And he did. Longbottom, who had called me Medea —and I was not quite sober enough to decide how I felt about that, though drunk me wasn’t exactly radiating displeasure— had taken a breath. And then another. And he thought.

When he spoke then, it was measured and with what I could only call resolve.

“I wanted to join. I did. But when I came back, Harry and Ron had asked me where I was —and I realized they hadn’t known I was running every morning. It was…” This pause was not a stutter, or a stammer, it was bracing, “It was hard. They always treat me as their friend. But it made me think maybe that’s not the full truth. And then I tried to sneak out. And they caught me and insisted on coming with.”

And that was when frustration entered his tone, “But Greengrass and Bulstrode had gone out of their way to call Grandmother traditional —and it was Greengrass who had actually invited me, which meant whatever the rite was it couldn’t be anything Ron would like. So I had to lie, but they weren’t buying it. So… we had to go somewhere else. And by the time I was free—“

“Ah.” I blinked.

And then I re-ran his words through my head.

I cleared my throat.

“You were going to come?”

“Yeah.” His voice was small, but I felt it resonate in my heart. The flowers from earlier had yet to wither, but one did fall from my hair as I shook my head.

“All right, Neville.” I said softly, picking up the soft blue flower from my sleeve and stepping towards him, “That’s all right.”

I placed the flower in his blonde curls and smiled. It matched his pale blue eyes well.

“Would you like an invite to Yule? There is another rite then. And it’s less jarring —though there is a lot of fire and there’s a tiny sacrifice.”

“I would.” A flush crossed his cheeks again as he nodded, nearly loosening the flower until he’d brought his hand up to steady it, “I would like that.”

-

Two hours of sleep was all I caught before I had to get up and get to breakfast. My head was killing me and frankly I was lucky I wasn’t still half-drunk.

I was consoled by the knowledge that I wouldn’t actually have to do any more merrymaking at night —no, the troll would take care of that. Joyous Samhain.

“I’m not running today, I feel like death.” Millie proclaimed as we were getting dressed.

“Millie, stop talking,” Daphne groaned as she washed her face.

I sighed as I pulled on my school robes, “You don’t have to convince me. I’m knackered.”

Thus, we all went to breakfast half dead —and then Herbology and Defense.

It had never been a genuine concern that there was a parasite clinging to Quirrell, as even the fully powered man had never read my mind successfully —and though I tried not to think about it, his red eyes and black hair haunt my early memories from the war. Had Father not been the Dark Lord’s right hand, perhaps he never would have come across me, or perhaps that was the price of this world. Nevertheless, his curious attempts to open the mind of a child left him confused —though not bleeding or even eliciting a wince. To my understanding, there is simply too much to sift through. Thus, whether the parasite could practice legilimancy in such a state or not was irrelevant to me —and I saw no benefit in interfering. So I didn’t. And I went about Samhain as the little paper told me to —flitting between classes and lunch and friends.

Soon enough I was sat back in the Great Hall for the feast. There were gourds and squash and pumpkins littering the tables with deep green vines snaked between them as garnishment. Above our heads were floating candles and a dark night sky, the occasional ghost flitting through like a shooting star. A thousand bats swooped around the edges of the hall and perched on new straw covered outcroppings. It was all ever so similar to how it was described in elsewhere. How horrifying.

I ate a quick bite, noting the trio of imbeciles was the intended duo, and chatted briefly with Draco before we were interrupted.

Quirrell sprinted into the hall, his turban askew and something akin to horror plastered on his face —a truly impressive display for a man who had released said Troll. As the whole of the hall stared at him, he reached the headmasters chair, slumped against the table, uttered “Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know.”

Then he fainted with all the dramatics of his Lord and there was an uproar.

After several purple firecrackers exploded from the end of Dumbledore’s wand, there was silence.

“Prefects,” he addressed the elder students, “lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

I always did find it rather hilarious that Slytherin was sent back to the dungeons. Nevertheless, I found the fifth year girl who had doused me with an aguamenti that very morning. She looked as exhausted as the rest of the House as she led us not to our dormitory, but up towards a tower I had never been to before.

I took in the distinctive Slytherin style of the tower —from the luxurious green brocade drapes adorning every window to the silver vases and candelabras that sat up different tables, while awaiting judgement.

Would it all be the same once again? Or has something changed? Will Granger make it out alive this time? I found it was rather hard to care either way when I noticed that the painting of Salazar Slytherin had a peculiar set of hinges at the left edge.