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Chapter Text

The one thing I did not want to wake up to was the sound of water dripping onto the top of my coffin. The slow drops tapping onto the top of the wood seemed to echo in the small space between the tip of my long nose and the hot pink velvet that lined the top of the coffin. It was as if someone was tapping the top with a fingernail, waiting to pounce on me the second the lid flew open. You might be saying to yourself, egads! A living person stuck inside a coffin, this is absurd!

If you’re saying that to yourself, you’re an uncultured prep who is completely unaware of what life is like for vampires. We’ll discuss that later.

So, I pushed it open and that sickening creak of the hinges came up again. Just when I thought that spell worked too.

The moment I pushed the lid off of my coffin and looked up, that never ending drip landed on my eye.

“AAAGH! WALL JUICE!” I shrieked, clutching my eye with both hands. I felt the sizzle of water on my skin, the feeling of water on a hot skillet magnified to an extreme way. My acrylic nails painted the same color as the stained coffin wood, scratched at my forehead as I tried in vain to wipe the mystery drop off of me. It seeped into my skin with a fiery hiss, popping off the surface of my forehead. The smell of holy water was undeniable. There was a hole in the wall, not big enough to shove a whole fist in, but enough to hide something small.

“Ebony! Ebs, what’s wrong?” the voice of my best friend asked, drunk with sleep.

“THERE’S A DRIP AGAIN, WILLOW! Can you help me fix it? ”

“You woke me up from the best dream I ever had to get me to do something I thought you handled already?” Willow whined. Through squinted eyes, I saw her silk bonnet bobbling on her head as she clambered out of bed, tossing her blankets out of the way. “And on a Saturday no less!”

"IT'S HOLY WATER, I CAN'T FIX THAT!" I dodged another drop, which sunk into the velvet fabric of the coffin. If I stayed here any longer, I'd be dead. Death by slow moving drops of water, that'd be embarrassing.

With a grunt, she fumbled on her bedside table for her glasses and shoved them straight on her nose, and whispered Accio. The wand shot straight into her hand instantaneously. She flicked her wrist and said “Reparo.” The stones on the ceiling seemed to move together around the crack that had formed with a quiet rumble of stone upon stone. In a matter of seconds, it was as if it had never appeared. The damp spot on the ceiling shrunk to nothingness. The smell of holy water had disappeared.

“Thank you Willow, I forgot…”

“It’s a simple charm! We were taught that in the first year, it was on every single test we’ve taken! Surely you’d remember it!” she spat incredulously. Her sheets and blankets pooled onto the floor next to her.

“If I did, would I have failed Charms twice?” I retorted, crossing my arms.

And that’s when I saw the hint of a grin on Willow’s face. That damn smile. The one that had helped us sneak out of classes, into secret corridors and classrooms where we could practice our music, and a free second round of butterbeer two weeks ago at Hogsmeade. The same smile that I would lose in a matter of days. But I hadn’t known that.

“Will, I’m sorry. You can go back to sleep…” I was still sitting up in my coffin, stark white legs were frozen in their place. Stiff legs and sizzling forehead, what a way to start the day off. My toes, painted black to match my fingers, were pointed to the ceiling.

“No, I might as well get ready. Where’s Mariko?” she asked, pulling off her bonnet and letting her hair fall down. It was thick with tight corkscrews and coils, the dark strands illuminated by bright pink dye streaked here and there. It went past her shoulders and bounced at the slightest suggestion.

“Why don’t you just call her Mary? Everyone else does.” And it was to be expected. After Professor McGonagall bungled her name at The Sorting so bad that she had to publicly apologize, Mariko became Mary, then Bloody Mary. Anyone who said otherwise was completely wrong.

“It’s because Mariko is her name, Ebony. And it’s not like she’d be here to complain. She's not listening in through the walls, is she?” I could hear a tub of paste pop open, the one usually on the bedside table. Her hair routine had begun as it always does, with a magical cream that smelled like midnight jasmine that she rubbed between her palms and massaged into her natural hair. It covered up the smell of blood that usually lingered in the dormitory rather nicely.

"...well she did ask to be called Mary. Just call her Mary. Where is she anyway?" I chimed in.

“Where else would she go?” I said with a snort, pulling myself out of the coffin one leg at a time. My feet dangled over the edge, careful to land. The first night I had the coffin, I broke my ankle coming down too fast. But Willow and Mariko took extra time out of their studies to bring it down a couple of inches. Still, old habits die extremely hard. The dark hem of the t-shirt I wore to bed bunched up, then fell, distorting the design on it as my feet found solid ground. “If she’s not here, chances are she’s…”

“...studying to be the next Minister of Magic, yes I know. At least she has an idea of what she wants to do after graduation. I don't know if I can say the same.” Willow’s voice sounded distant as she went into the lavatory.

She had lit a candle or two in there, I could see her shadow flicker through the crevice of the door.

“Lumos.” The bathroom became a whole lot brighter with that one little spell she cast as she fumbled for a lamp bright enough to get ready. The stream of light seeped to the floor at my feet. The floor was messy with outfits smuggled in along with our school robes, shoes of varying sizes and styles dotting the cold stone, textbooks, and library books stacked waist-high. Disarray in a dorm room was to be expected, but this was unusual. It shown on a shattered glass vial of water too, one wrapped in a cheap paper wrapping. The sight of the cross in the center made the hairs on my arm stand on end.

“Will, was it your turn to help clean the room?” Stumbling backwards and away from the offending sight, I stepped on something that crunched underfoot. Cereal. I burned through another box of Count Chocula last night.

“I thought we agreed last month that we’d all do our part in cleaning the room. But if I recall correctly Mariko (er, sorry Mary) was supposed to clean the place up. It’s not that difficult to pick up after yourself,” Will said. “You're a witch, use your magic.”

The last words were punctuated with the door slamming shut behind her and the sound of rushing water. Running water was a luxury in our dormitory, where we were sequestered in the dark and dank dungeons of Hogwarts. The pipes here were prone to breaking and ice-cold water. And then there was the sound of music. Loud and thrashing, guitars and the shrieking vocals of Marilyn Manson crawled out from underneath the door. And then Willow joined in, albeit with a bit of a cough trying to keep up the pace of his shrieks. Another luxury I provided to the dorm room meant to house four girls but only houses three. We will get to the fourth one in due time.

But back on the subject. A couple of years ago I smuggled in a Muggle invention that runs on batteries, a CD player I found on one of my hunts laying on the side of a road for rubbish collection. It was broken, but somehow she and Mary found a way to keep it running without burning through Muggle money as a birthday present.

So, I grabbed my wand and tried Leviosa to lift up my pile of clothes and dumped them into the coffin. It was a mishmash of leather and lace, scrounged up from stealing from Muggle clothing stores and shopping center dumpsters and vampiric swap meets. It wasn’t much, but it was something that spare change and late-night flights could sustain. Some of Willow’s sweaters were locked into the pile, all hand-knit creations from her mother for the bitter cold that Hogwarts had to offer. Works that she tried in vain to copy with her trembling fingers.

One of them, her favorite (and mine as well if I’ll be honest), sat in the middle of the pile. I picked it up, feeling the stitches between my fingers. It smelled like coconut milk and midnight jasmine, the former a common staple of things her mother sent in care packages from home. The sweater was made from something other than wool, not too heavy and not too light. It was black, with a red skull adorning the middle of the sweater. It was soft from constant use. I gently scooped it up and dropped it on her bed.

Even though Willow’s family, the Gladrags of Hogsmeade, lived right next to the school to the point wherein her mom could have easily walked up the path and handed it to someone, she had asked her mom specifically to send them through the post. When I asked her why a while ago, I could see a bright blush shine on her dark cheeks as she struggled to explain why. At least her mother still writes.

And without warning, the first pangs of hunger came about. They start in my teeth, the stubs that used to be fangs in a failed attempt to prevent the inevitable. Then they crawl their way down my throat and into my stomach. And then to my legs, turning them into gelatin. I felt my legs hit the floor with a thump loud enough to send the stacks of books tumbling in my wake.

My hands groped around the floor blindly, looking for the tiny glass bottle of human blood that I kept close by the coffin just in case. It was no bigger than a human finger, holding the small amount of human blood I was allotted once a week. To fight the craving and keep the student body safe. After what happened back in my fourth year, there would be no second chances no matter the circumstances. That is my duty. A nail tapped at it and I ripped off the tiny cork and let the drops fall on my tongue and roll down my throat. The taste, metallic on my tongue and cold to the touch, was better than anything I had ever had as a human. Nothing tastes good as fulfilling a craving.

Slowly I felt myself churning awake as if I was doused in cold water. Today is a new day, and I am eager to take it on. The craving is fulfilled and we are all complete, no harm necessary. All is well in the world of Ebony Darkness Dementia Raven Way.

The rush of water and the sound of Marilyn Manson’s screaming voice had died down and the door opened. Willow, wrapped in a robe with her initials embroidered on it, popped open her trunk and tossed clothes onto her bed with casual abandon.

I picked through the pile and pulled out a black leather dress, a piece that I had spent half an hour haggling over at a swap meet a couple of years ago. Grabbing the usual fishnets and black socks for my boots, grabbing the side of the coffin for balance. Scooping up an elastic from the floor, I pulled my hair together and let the long fibers weave their way through my fingers, and morph the strands into a ball at the top of my head.

“Ebs, wanna do our makeup together?” Willow called.

“Of course, do you want me to bring your bag into the bathroom?”

Willow nodded and came into the cramped bathroom with me. There was a toilet, a sink from centuries ago, and a tub. I rarely bathe, the sensation of water on my skin is painful enough to get me to turn away from the subject entirely. And then there was a mirror.

The mirrors, much like most of the things in this boarding school, were from centuries ago. The back of the surface was silver, the kind that erases the faces and bodies of vampires from view. Pain in the ass on most days, when my hands are steady enough to do my makeup properly. But thankfully Willow is more than happy to help, just as long as I help her with her makeup.

The loud sound of stools scraping on tile accompanied the arrival of Willow into the bathroom. Her bag was on the floor next to mine, hers brimming with cosmetics that match her richer complexion. My bag was tiny, with only a few brushes and foundation.

“So, what was your dream about?” I asked, taking a seat on the stool.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true. But it seemed really farfetched anyway,” she said as she rifled through the bags for the eye makeup.

“C’mon, I promise I won’t tell,” I stuck out my bottom lip, giving her a puppy dog stare. She snorted.

“Fine, I had a dream I was in the front row of a Marilyn Manson concert. He saw me in the audience looking all mysterious and sexy.”

“As you do,” I said with a nod. She shoved my arm gently.

“What? Are you saying that you're not always mysterious and sexy?” I followed up with a giggle.

“I was mysterious and sexy in a way that was considered unusual. Anyway, he stopped in the middle of the set and said my name! He knew my name Ebony, can you believe it?”

“Did you use magic or something?” I said, fiddling around my bag to keep my hands busy.

“No, why would I use magic at a Muggle concert? I’d end up like my uncle Jeff in Azkaban if I did. Anyway, he reached his hand out to me and helped me on stage and HE KISSED MY HAND! And he said he wanted to do a duet of one of his songs!” She tried hard not to squeal at those last words. The keyword is tried. Those big green eyes were alight with joy.

“Were his ribs missing? Because didn’t he get those removed so he could suck his dick?” I tried hard to bite back a grin.

“I would’ve noticed if his ribs were missing! And if they were, I doubt he’d suck his cock on stage. Which color do you want for your eyes?” She pulled out her pallet, a variety of colors that for the most part went unused except for the three darkest shades. She held a fistful of brushes, poised to prepare for the day.

“Probably black.” She put down the rest of the brushes, took the slimmest one, and gently swirled the thin hairs through the black powder. "Close your eyes please?" her voice was soft and delicate, making the scant hairs on my arm stand up. I closed my eyes and felt her delicate brushes graze my eyelids, swirling around the small surface. She was careful with a pen and a brush, afraid to puncture paper or skin with the slightest touch.

“But what happened next? Did he suck his own dick then or was that backstage?” I asked.

“The moment I was about to start the song I woke to the sound of my roommate screaming bloody murder over a leaky ceiling. And why are you so obsessed with him sucking his own dick?”

“Put it this way, if I spent all that time and money getting that procedure done I’d do it all the time!”

She started laughing so hard I felt the brush curve down my face in a long line.

“SHIT! SHIT! Sorry Ebony, let me grab my makeup wipes.” The patient blotting of coconut-scented wipes on the skin followed quickly, then hasty dabs of brushes on my lids ensued. I could hear her stifling another laugh at the thought of this bizarre action.

“Let me blend it here...That ought to do it. Now open,” I slowly opened my eyes and saw her patiently wiping her brushes off in the sink. “It’s not much, it's just a bit of light gray but I think it ought to bring out the blue in your eyes.”

“And the darkness of my soul,” I followed up, sticking out my tongue.

“You look amazing. Would you mind doing my eye makeup? My hands are always shaking when I do it by myself,” she asked.

I nodded and she gestured to the iron-gray next to the dwindling black. She took off her glasses and put them to the side.

She closed her eyes and I began the work.

“Speaking of dream boys, I saw you talking to Draco Malfoy yesterday,” she said as I started the first eyelid.

“Yeah, so? He’s not my dream boy. He's just a boy.” I blew on the brush, letting the extra powder fly off of the brush and onto the floor.

“Well, do you like him?” She smiled again, her face creasing as her teeth came into view. Her eyelids crinkled heavily at this gesture.

“Will, I can mess up your eye makeup,” I said with a slight tease. It was a good thing her eyes were closed because I didn’t want her to see me smile. So what if I had a crush on Draco Malfoy?

“Answer the question!” I finished the last bit of the eyelid. I could easily smear the powder on her eyelid. But that would be more suspicious.

“No, I so fucking don’t and you and I both know that. Your eyes are done,”

Her green eyes fluttered open and she rose from her spot, looking at herself in the mirror.

“Not bad, Ebony. I can see you smile,” she said playfully. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I mean, he’s cute?”

“I'M NOT EMBARRASSED!” I spat, a bit too loud for my liking. So much so that she jumped back and accidentally landed in the tub, feet kicked out like a beetle on its back. She yelped and stretched her arm out for me to help her up.

“Satan's testicles Ebony, what's wrong with you? He’s just a guy, what is there to be embarrassed about?” she said, grabbing the rest of her makeup.

I smeared black lipstick on my lips and called it a day. It's just lipstick after all. There was the alabaster foundation in the bag, but it wasn’t something I felt necessary for today’s events.

“There’s a lot to be embarrassed about!” I put the cap back on the lipstick and dropped it into the makeup bag.

“I just wanted to know. When we were hanging out yesterday, his eyes were lingering on you quite a bit. Like… he seems interested. But I thought he was seeing someone?” Willow picked up her glasses and slid them on the bridge of her wide nose.

“Not that I know of. Are you heading out? I need to stop by the Owlery and I could use some company.” I grabbed my bag, full of letters to the people and places I felt necessary to send to. I left the bathroom and entered the dark room we called ours.

“I’m going to get breakfast, but I don’t think I’ll be going to the Owlery. It’s too far off the ground and feathers make me sneeze.” She left the bathroom, shutting the door behind her with her hip. The lights of the candles winked out one by one as the door slowly closed.

“Whatever,” I said.

And at that moment, the dormitory door was kicked open with such force. It was Mary carrying with a fat stack of books to read and her equally fat cat Crookshanks trailing behind her.

“Bloody Mary! Where were you?” I asked.

“You know where. Could you clear a path?” Mary asked. Willow and I parted to the sides of the room, making way for the stack of books with legs. Her bushy black hair bristled like fur on her scalp. She slept in her school robes again.

“I hope I didn’t wake you two up, I was practicing a spell and it caused the room to go into quite a bit of disarray.” She dropped the books down onto the floor near her bedside table with a satisfying thump. Crookshanks let out a loud meow. She brushed her skirt with both her hands and hastily tucked in her shirt.

“Did the spell backfire?” Willow asked, toeing a fallen book. The smashed bottle of holy water was untouched, but no one seemed to notice. Was I imagining things?

“It didn’t! The spell was to make it appear as if everything was in fact in disarray!” She beamed, showing her unusually large front teeth. Willow had offered to fix her teeth months ago, but she had refused.

“Good job, could you please reorganize the place then?” I asked.

She then raised her wand and said something that sounded like Reparo but with an additional spell or two tacked on. In moments, the floor was clear of the mess and various items rose into the air like balloons. Textbooks heavy enough to break skulls lazily floated overhead, making a gentle beeline to Mary’s bedside and meager shelves and shuffled into a neat little stack next to the new arrivals from the library. The few clothes she had found hangers in the wardrobe and hung as if they’d been there all along. My clothes hovered out of the coffin, folded into neat piles, and put into the trunk space I had left. Quills, bottles of ink, parchment, CDs all shot to desks and drawers across the room.

The squeak of the hinges in the coffin quickly was muffled, the lid shut and the clothes folded on top of the wood. The beds were made and the floor was finally free of the crunchy bits of hidden cereal. End tables were polished, desks were cleared and organized, the floor seemed to have been cleared with an invisible vacuum and mop and shined like new.

And then the light began to work its way into each corner of the room, showing the dark stone walls covered in moving posters and pictures, stirring as if they were little windows into the past. Some of the lights settled in the pitiful lamps we were given when we moved in, other bits settled into the cobwebs and corners we could not reach with our fingertips. There was a stunned silence, interrupted by a long, low whistle from Willow.

“Mariko, you’re incredible. Could you please send me some stuff when you eventually become Minister of Magic?” Willow asked, beaming with pride.

“It’s Mary, not Mariko if you please. I’ll send you something like a bag of toffees or a nice pen if I get the job.” Her eyes were puffy and red. She’d been crying in the library again.

“Mary, is everything alright?” She kept her head down, looking at her penny loafers as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

The bottle of holy water made a little tapping sound on the stone. I looked up and saw it floating towards where the drip once was. Willow didn't notice, but Mary did. With a hop (she was much smaller than Willow and I) she grabbed it and tossed it in the rubbish bin by her desk. Nothing was said. At least for now.

Crookshanks jumped up on Mariko’s bed and began to knead the covers, purring. Mariko sat down next to him, squishing his fat orange cheeks with her delicate hands. I didn’t need a calendar to know what today was for Mariko. The anniversary.

“I’ll see you two later, I need a bit of time to myself,” she said, voice thick with tears she struggled to contain. 

We closed the door on what was a neat little room, a hidden gem in the Slytherin house, and went into the school proper.

If I had known what would happen in an hour, I would have stayed behind in the dormitory and talked to her about why she was crying. I should have talked to her. I would have hugged Willow goodbye. I would have even hugged Crookshanks, even though he was rather fond of sharpening his claws on the wood of the coffin when I wasn’t in the room.

I would have done a lot of things. But that’s when he came into my life, and almost ended it all the same.

Chapter Text

The Slytherin common room has a certain charm when it’s a cold day like today. The fireplace seemed to work double-time trying to keep this barren room warm and comfortable on this chilly Saturday morning. The clock that hung to dear life on the common room wall said it was just 8 a.m. The only signs of life in the common room were a couple of boys debating over sports. There was a game later today. I never went to them.

Willow let out a loud yawn, a signal to the boys that they weren’t alone. They looked slightly perturbed at the sight of two girls clad in unusual clothes and quickly darted their eyes away from us. One of them wouldn’t stop gawking, eyes lingering far too long on my chest.

They were scrawny and had eyes that were too big for their heads. For a moment, the sight of their eyes popping out of their skulls and dashing onto the common room floor danced in my head. The thought of teaching them a lesson, of crushing them to dust and fragments onto the cold stone. Splattering their blood like paint on the cold gray canvas.

“What are you wearing?” One of them squeaked. No doubt about it, they were barely in their second year. His voice crackled like feedback from a microphone.

“Whatever she damn well pleases,” Willow called out.

Willow tugged at my arm, nudging me to move away from these two children. But my legs were leaden, eyes fastened to the eyes of the one who had asked that question. The stumps that were once fangs felt heavy.

“She looks like a…” the boy squeaked. I knew what he was going to say. My legs finally had feeling in them and I started to move forward to reach this little imp. But the tug came again, more frantic this time.

“Eat shit, you little owl fucking baby prep. You’re a fucking fetus with no taste in fashion!” I shouted, brandishing my middle finger at them. The other boy gawked, jaw agape.

“It’s the weekend. I can wear whatever I damn well please. Now fuck off.” I let the last words fly into the air like a fastball, letting them whip into their faces. Willow let go of my arm and hissed “Impedimenta!” and the boys seemed to slow down in their spots, glued to their seats and moving as if they were going frame by frame.

I pulled my wand out with a snarl and performed the Confusion Hex, seeing their eyes fixed upwards to the ceiling.

And for good measure, Willow and I performed Expelliarmus, letting their pitiful wands fly up in the air before they had the chance to reach them.

These two boys were in suspended animation, confused as babes out of the womb, and wandless.

“Do you think we went a bit overboard?” I asked with a bit of a grin.

“In your defense, they were morons. Now let’s get out of here before the prefects get here.”

She grabbed my hand (and I caught a bit of a blush on her face that she could not readily explain away) and we ran out of the room together, bags swinging wildly as we dashed for the exit.

I saw the boys still frozen and confused. One was trying to get out of his chair, his little hands frozen to the table and his knees awkwardly jutting to a position that could be described as one trying to rise from a once comfortable chair.

Once we were out of earshot of them, I opened my mouth to speak but Willow shook her head.

“They’re probably first years. They can barely handle the thought of being here, let alone two girls who dress like us,” she said as I pulled the door open for her.

“But they insulted us! They need to be taught a lesson! Remember when you were made fun of because of your glasses in the first year and I got my first detention?”

“Because you punched a Gryffindor in the face. You can’t solve all your problems by punching people in the face Ebony.”

“Well, I have yet to find a problem that can’t be solved with senseless violence. Is today delivery day or is it tomorrow?”

“It’s today. C’mon then!” The owlery was on the other side of the school. It would take half a day battling manic staircases and confusing directions to get there. To the Great Hall, I went with Willow.

The way to the Great Hall was paved by annoying suits of armor and paintings that snored loud enough to wake the dead.

“Willow, you can let go of my hand. I know where to go.” She looked embarrassed and let my hand fall out of her grasp.

“Right, sorry. Listen, do you think we can get something for Mariko? I know what today means for her. We could get her something sweet from the breakfast table?” she suggested as we continued walking side by side down the empty halls.

“That can work. But why do you think Draco Malfoy has a crush on me?” I asked.

“Well, he was goggling at you yesterday.” She shrugged. Willow was no expert.

“Loads of people goggle at me all the time. What about him makes him special?”

“He was goggling with intent.” I raised an eyebrow at this.

“Goggling with intent? So he thinks I’m interesting, what of it?”

“Well, do you like Draco?”

With a sigh and a good deal of annoyance, I responded with my usual fuck no. And that was when I made my fatal error.

The steps to the Great Hall are small and insignificant. A rumor around the castle was that they were made specifically to catch students off guard by the founders. Others say it was the work of Peeves the Poltergeist to mess with the caretaker Mr. Filch. But those steps were the ones I took and the ones I would later claim started my tumultuous relationship with one Draco Malfoy.

In an instant, the heel of my combat boots missed the top of the steps. My bag, laden with those letters of importance had hit a suit of armor straight in its nonexistent nuts with a smack as my arms flailed to keep balance. But I was flying in the air and I had landed in the arms of a boy who clearly was not used to catching flying vampire chicks without warning.

He had drawn me close to his chest, his finely tailored clothes smelling of cologne worth more than any of the clothes I had on my back. My hands were on his shoulders, his hands on my waist. And then he fell down with a yelp and I was on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

The moment I saw his silvery blond hair and his smug smirk, I knew who it was.

I could hear Willow murmur, “Yeah right.”

There were a lot of great options I could have chosen to be the first real words I said to him. But, it’s always good to go back to basics.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” he replied, helping me up to my feet.

“Those stairs huh?” I sheepishly grinned, eyes catching the suit of armor bent double in pain. Willow was grabbing the bag and the letters, apologizing profusely to the suit for what happened.

“Yeah.” He said, eyes intense on mine. He was significantly taller than I was, even with the boots I was wearing.

“Listen, I wanted to ask you about something. There’s this concert in Hogsmeade tonight and I have two tickets.”

“What’s the band?”

“It’s a cover band for this Muggle group called Good Charlotte, you’ve heard of ‘em?”

I couldn’t help but shriek.

“Oh my fucking God really? They’re my second favorite band, I have all their albums and posters and I once---”

He raised his hand as if to tell me to calm down.

“I have a second ticket. My usual guy couldn’t come, would you want to go with me?”

I gasped. Words failed me. A guy who I found reasonably attractive wants to go to see a band that I liked with me. So I nodded and Willow waved him goodbye and helped push me to the Great Hall. I couldn’t help but notice he was still smiling as I was essentially being carted away to get breakfast.

Chapter Text

Throwing up in the middle of the Great Hall after landing in a guy’s arms was not the ideal way to begin a Saturday morning.

Once we were sure that Draco was out of earshot, Willow’s strong hands yanked me to the side at the sight of a stampede of second years barreling down the hall.

“You did it! I can’t believe you did it!” She pushed her glasses to the bridge of her nose, freeing my arm from her grasp. She was giddy, but something shifted behind her eyes that suggested a much different sentiment.

“Did what? I kinda blacked out for a moment there.” That was partially true, but we’ll get to that in a second.

“You proved how much of a big fuckin’ liar you are! All that huffing and puffing about,” and here she puffed out her chest, tossing her thick curls over her shoulder with flair.

"I'm Ebony Darkness Dementia Raven Way! Ew, Draco Malfoy is gross! Ew! I don't like him! Ew, if I had an operation to remove my ribs to suck my dick I would actually suck my dick!" The nasalness of her voice accentuated the goofy pose she was doing. She pouted her lips and crossed her arms tight across her chest, shaking her head no at every Ew. 

"I don't sound like that! And I wouldn't suck my own dick!" I spat. Willow loosened up a bit and was about to say something.

"Don't knock it until you try it!" one of the paintings said. It was of a contortionist wizard troupe. At that moment, Willow and I broke down in peals of laughter. She fell to the ground, slamming her fist on the floor. I had grabbed my stomach and held it tightly, spewing "oh my gods" every few seconds when I gasped for breath. 

"Will, you're the fuckin' best," I said, getting up to my feet. I offered a hand to her, which she gladly took. We made our way into the Great Hall. It wasn't often I was able to go in, only on days when the clouds haze over enough that the tall windows cannot reach the tables.

I pulled open the wide doors of the Great Hall. The place was in a state of mild activity. The fake ceiling was a haze of dark clouds, suggesting that today was going to be something far milder than yesterday’s slush storm. The windows showed thick black clouds that seemed to suck every drop of light away from the world beyond the glass.

But it was cold in here, far too cold for the sleeveless leather outfit I had on. I could feel my skin prickle and my hair stand on end. I wish I brought a sweater along with me. Or my robes. You could keep a body in here. I did that once, but that's something we'll discuss later.

Everyone was clad in their house regalia. I saw more multicolored scarves than I saw faces. The 4 long tables of the Great Hall had been divided under banners of gold, red, green, and blue.

But every table had the same array of foods I could not eat: greasy scrambled eggs that slid down your throat, lukewarm sausages made from parts unknown, potatoes seasoned in foul garlic and onion. There were pasties hard enough to break bricks, porridge with a texture like mud, and toast so abysmal it was not worth a mention here in this chapter.

Willow had taken the closest seat and scooped up some scrambled eggs, letting them slop onto the silver plate laid out before her. The sound alone was enough to turn me off of the idea of human food entirely. I sat, hovering next to her.

“You know you can sit down,” Willow said to her scrambled eggs. “Even if you’re not going to eat, your package should be arriving by now.”

With a bit of hesitation, I took the chair right next to her. The Slytherin table was remarkably empty for such a common hour. Which was a great thing in of itself. After all, I had come just to pick up a package. Usually, she'd get them for me, but the weather as of late has been spectacularly dreary.

“Do you want to try a bit of the egg? It’s not that bad with a bit of salt.” She offered her plate to me. And that was when I made a variety of mistakes.

Mistake number one. I was too polite. I decided to swallow my bile and give it a try. After all, it was just some eggs. Willow wouldn’t dream of poisoning me.

Mistake number two. Silverware and a silver dish. It’s not that complicated.

Mistake number three. Salt. Believe it or not, vampires are more closely related to faeries than one would believe. A pinch of salt can send even the scariest vampire flying home.

And finally, mistake number four. Eggs are disgusting.

So when I had the salt-laden disgusting glob of mixed egg in my jaw, I did the one thing I thought would be reasonable. I threw up everywhere. Heads swiveled, ghosts paused, and the few professors serving themself at the Head Table dropped their spoons with a loud clatter that did not help.

Willow yanked her plate away in time to avoid the mess of red that had shot out in every direction. My knees had given out and I hit the floor hard and fast. I heard gasps and sounds of disgust rise as I let out the last bit of my energy. The floor surrounding me was a puddle of dark red that was spreading fast and unstoppable. The students at their surrounding tables stood up on their stools, gathering up their robes and their hems to avoid the liquid.

The gentle relief of a cloth napkin dropped on my face as if to censor my identity to the growing crowd. But it was very clear I would be infamous for this for the rest of my semester.

Thankfully, the owls had arrived just in time along with the package I needed the most to survive. I gave no tip to the giant horned owl carrying the parcel nearly half its size. It shook its wings in frustration and flew off. Instead, I tucked it under my arm and ran out of the stone silent hall, clutching the napkin to my face. According to Willow, there was a blood-red trail of footprints leading out the hall and into the corridor. Not from the package. A small relief.

Stumbling out into the corridor, face dripping red from vampiric vomit was how I bumped into Professor Severus Snape, the head of the Slytherin House and the last person I wanted to see.

“Miss Way, my office. Now.” His drawling voice was low enough to keep even the most earnest eavesdroppers from hearing. His cold slimy hand grazed my shoulder and nudged me down the hall and to the left. We walked, side by side down the hall.

We entered his office, lit in the pale green light he preferred to be perceived in. The items in those glass jars seemed to follow us with their pickled eyes and digits, suspended in time and in their presumed death.

He gestured to the chair facing his desk and I took it. The thing was ice cold as if dipped in liquid nitrogen. I felt the wood stick to my skin as if it were made of tape.

“Would you mind telling me what you are coated with blood?” His eyes honed in on my face. I dabbed the napkin on my face quickly, as if to say “Blood? What blood?”

“I threw up. Willow offered me a bit of breakfast and I didn’t want to be rude---” He raised one hand in the universal gesture to stop.

“I thought vampires could not eat human food, especially the fare provided at Hogwarts.” His eyebrow rose as if to mock my lack of knowledge on my condition.

“They can’t, but I recently discovered Muggle breakfast cereal can help stave off residual hunger. Plus it’s really tasty, would you want me to get you a box?” I was testing my luck right there, but I did it with a cheeky grin that he ultimately ignored.

“That would be unnecessary. If you threw up, why is your face covered in blood? Perhaps you forgot the agreement you and your family made to let you into the school?”

That hit harder than any detention or point reduction I could have ever received. My eyes stung with unrequited and unwanted tears that I blinked back furiously.

“Vampires have different body functions than humans. Because I can only subsist on blood, I can only vomit up blood and bile. Willow gave me her scrambled eggs with silverware, two things that caused me to vomit. And for someone who subs for Professor Lupin all the time, you seem to not know a thing about vampires.” His greasy hair seemed to stand on end as if he were shocked by an electric cattle prod. I had gotten him good, and there were no snide comments he could’ve employed to get back at me. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, hiding a smirk.

“I see. Normally I would deduct points from my House for such insolent remarks, but I see I have made a mistake. Regardless,” and at this point he hunched over on his desk, palms pressing his weight down on the desk.

“Have you harmed any students here?” His breath smelled strongly of garlic. I recoiled in disgust, the wood on the stones making loud scuffing sounds. The space that his eyes would have occupied was hazed over by his thick eyebrows.

“No, of course not sir.” His face screwed up for a moment as if to search the interior of my mind. I fell back on the floor with a headache I couldn’t push out.

“Have you harmed a student before, Miss Way?” The headache was the most excruciating pain in the known universe as if my skull was being crushed with the force of a thousand hippogriffs. “Dishonesty will only make this harder.”

“No, never! Get out of my mind!” My hands swatted the air, trying to break his concentration. I couldn’t see an inch from my face. And as soon as it came, the pain disappeared.
A pair of hands grabbed one of mine and pulled me up to the chair. Slowly my eyes fluttered open. Snape was sitting at his desk, poised as if rearing up for an attack.

“I had to ensure you were telling the truth. Legilimency is a powerful tool, is it not?” His tone had not changed the entire interrogation, it was the same cold drawl he used in his classes.

“Isn’t there a rule against torturing students?” I grabbed for my bag and my wand, the package all but forgotten on the floor.

“There is, but this is something that you and your family agreed to undertake in the event of visible blood on your person. I know what you have in that package, and I advise you open that in your dormitory. You are dismissed.” The sneer on his face reminded me of a snake about to trap its prey in one fatal motion.

Wordlessly I scooped up the bags and the package and darted out of the office without as much as a glance in his direction. But I felt his gaze falling on my shoulders.

“And I hope you are aware of the dress code. I don’t suppose you want me taking any points off of Slytherin, now do you?” Those last words, a threat so thinly veiled and yet so irritating, did not sting as harsh as the mental barrage he used upon me. But it was a parting threat, one that would bear no real weight on a weekend.

The walk towards the Owlery is one that future marathon runner masochists could only dream of. The route from Snape’s office took me back in front of the Great Hall, where a gaggle of third years gaped open mouth and pointed. With a hearty serving of two middle fingers, I darted past them. The paintings seemed to point at me in shock. Even the Bloody Baron, who floated towards the ceiling like a wayward balloon, seemed mildly impressed.

Willow was nowhere to be seen. I would’ve been able to pick her thick pink curls and tall frame from the growing waves of students in the halls.

But somehow, I made it to the Owlery. Pushing up the trap door just a peek, I saw nothing but snow, straw, and stone. My shoulders were bare. I should have brought a coat.

The clouds were dark and the winds were laden with snowflakes thick enough to coat the stone floors. The straw that coated the floor smelled like mold and bird feathers. I had to look up towards the ceiling to see where the owls were. They were nestled together on those old wood beams, an unusual mass of feathers and wide eyes. After all, they were nocturnal creatures, built for woods and for late-night hunts, not so much frantically scribbled letters from teenagers.

The usual wooden boxes for outgoing mail were covered with a thick tarp to keep the weather (and the feathers) from getting at the letters. Fortunately, a kind soul had moved the boxes close to the trap door.

Ten letters made up of three order forms and seven letters to the seven people who I considered family. We’ll get to them soon. I wedged those in between the slats and quickly shut the trap door to keep out the chill.

When I finally made it back to my dorm room (passing by those two boys who were still halfway out of their seats), I was glad to see I was not alone. Mary and Willow were playing wizard chess (or at least I thought it was, it looked like they were making the pieces have a brawl on the board with the pieces cheering them on) and seemed to be betting money.

I decided not to ask questions. It was anniversary day for Mary, and Willow seemed to be having a bit of fun.

Mary looked up at me and gestured for me to sit with them. Dropping the box on top of my coffin, I took a seat next to them and watched the little figures put each other in headlocks.

“Two of the best witches in Slytherin, and you two decide to use your powers to pit chess pieces against each other,” I mumbled sarcastically.

“Well, she wanted to play chess and I told her I wanted to play by my rules.” Willow shrugged. “She’s still winning of course.”

“What can I say?” she said, exchanging an equally toothy grin.

“Willow told me you got a date. Care to elaborate?”

“It’s not a date! He asked me to go with him to a concert because his usual friend wasn’t going, and I said sure because he caught me mid-fall!” My cheeks felt hot with those last words.

“Mid-fall? Wait, was it those surprise stairs again? You’d think Madame Pomfrey would’ve asked the school to get rid of them after all those ankles and wrists she’d had to mend,” She sounded a bit bossy at the mere thought of a set of surprise stairs in a school known for a surprise everything. Perhaps that would be on her agenda as Minister of Magic, banning anarchist architecture.

“Yes, it was those stairs. Draco Malfoy is not my boyfriend!” Those little chess pieces looked up mid-fight, their little cheers dying down.

“If I got free tickets for every time I tripped down those stairs, I would be going to every Muggle music festival on the planet. He likes you.” Willow produced the prison-like box for those chess pieces and popped the top off of it and placed it next to the brawl. The pieces trooped inside in neat little rows.

“Besides, I thought he was dating someone. Willow, do you remember when you were across the hall from us back in our third year? I thought he was still going steady with them.” Mary brushed the little chips of stone off of the black and white board.

“Going steady? Mary, this isn’t Bye Bye Birdy. And that could very well be the quote-unquote usual person he goes with. Either way, I have a concert tonight in Hogsmeade. You guys won’t snitch on me, right?” They shook their heads (okay, Mariko did reluctantly) and slowly got to their feet.

We spent the rest of the morning and afternoon pouring over music and books, comparing outfits, and just talking. Crookshanks had pawed for me to open the door, only for him to paw to come back inside again. It was the boredom of a weekend, and it was blissful.

It was a moment I wished I could live the rest of my days in. Those small hours before the mistake cost me almost everything I knew and loved.

Chapter Text

Truth be told, I’ve never been on a date before. Yes, I'm being 100% honest. It’s the kind of thing I thought I would have been doing quite a bit, given the whole “vampiric thrall” thing that most vampires prattle on and on about at the scant few events I’ve been able to get invited to in the past. My theory is that it’s a myth created by gross old vampires to explain why they have girls locked up in dungeons and old buildings.

The significance of a first date wasn’t lost on me. Countless teen Muggle movies that Willow and I poured through instead of studying made it seem like a first date was the absolute best thing anyone could’ve gone through. It was the magic we could never conjure up with spells.

After the chess piece brawl, we each had scurried to our own corners of the room. Crookshanks had sat on the empty bed, barren of its sheets and the effects of the previous owners. In the room, my coffin seemed incredibly out of place. It was a little secret that Willow and Mariko were all too happy to keep, in fact they both were responsible for it happening in the first place thanks to their hard work in Transfiguration.

Willow was busy knitting the sleeve of a jumper, hunched over a parchment with directions. She once said she would teach me, but it was like 5 years ago. She was muttering numbers as if they were a spell, long fingers weaving the needles down and up, down and up.

Mary on the other hand was rifling through her collection of books. The word collection is not really a good word to describe the neat stacks of books surrounding her section of the room like fortress walls, but we'll go with that for the sake of time.

“Listen, I’m not saying that he’s unreliable but I think it’s best to have a backup plan in case something bad happens!” Mariko dropped a book on top of my coffin with a thud so loud it woke the spiders in the corner of the room. Willow looked up from her knitting and pushed the bridge of her glasses back up her nose.

“Backup plan? What do you mean?” I eyed the cover. “Two Hundred and Fifty Defense Spells for Modern Witches” the cover seemed to scream in lurid orange letters. Oh sweet Satan. She's serious.

“Mariko… I mean Bloody Mary, I don’t think it’s necessary. Besides, it’s just a concert! And we are going as friends. And before you say anything Will, I said friends.” I shoved the book off the coffin and shoved it back into Mary's hands. There was a twinge of guilt I couldn't shake off as she staggered back a bit.

“At least leaf through it! It’s not a lengthy read and it has loads of important info…” I looked her dead in the eyes.

“Your idea of a lengthy read is three thousand pages long. Mine is fifteen pages with pictures. I’ll look through it.” I deadpanned. There was a glint in her eye, something that said this was something more than just a book on self-defense. I would;

Willow cringed and put her hand on Mary’s shoulder.

“Mary, maybe we could get something to eat while Ebony gets ready. Or maybe we could go to the library?" Willow nudged her with a small smile. Reluctantly, she put the book down on one of the smaller piles and nodded. "Ebony, I know you both are friends but there's something odd in the air tonight. I can feel it." Mary's eyes darted around the room as if she was trying to pinpoint the evil in each nook and cranny. "Listen, if something goes wrong I'll send up a signal flare. We're close enough to Hogsmeade, so if anything I'll go to Willow's parents and ask for some help." I smiled a bit, trying to ease Mary a bit.

"But you're going to be in Hogsmeade on an unapproved day! You'll risk us getting detention---"

"Us? Mary, what do you mean by us? You need to stop worrying. I've been in detention loads of times, I don't give a fuck. Can I just have one night where you don't breathe down my neck?" My voice got a bit louder than it should have. "I do give a fuck! Ebony---" The words she was going to say did not escape her lips. She took a deep breath and winced, turning around and leaving the room. Willow took one long look at me with a pained and painful glare. "I'm not going to say anything else. You've made up your mind. Just, please stay safe.” They left without any further comment, the door emitting a low moan that did not bode well with everything going on.

In stone silence, I gathered the clothes that we agreed would be perfect for a concert. A mini dress with corset lining that was tight enough to crush bone marrow, fishnets red as blood, and lace-up boots that had me stagger around the room to keep up with the sudden elevation change.

No one was going to help with my makeup. So I coated my eyes in heavy black eyeliner and painted my lips black to match. Were they asymmetrical? Most likely. But no one would help.

The box of needful things sat unopened. Peering around the room to make sure I was not being watched, I ripped the cardboard container with my trembling fingers. Two pints of pig’s blood from butchers meant for black pudding, three cartons of cow’s blood in neat paper boxes made to look like milk boxes, and then those fateful vials. Pig's blood would substitute for normal meals, cow’s blood for nighttime usage to fend off the need to hunt, and human blood for necessary purposes when both of them fail.

And then there was the card with another order form to be sent by owl for when I ran out.
“R.M. Stokes’ Butchery, Knockturn Alley” was printed in crimson ink at the top, with that signature blood-red wax seal. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of that little piece of parchment. If the Church of Satanism had saints, they would certainly be among them.

I checked my pocket money, which consisted largely of a couple of Galleons and a smattering of Knuts from the small allowance my parents sent me. No Sickles, as I soon found out after two heaping burns on my hands.

While whoever R.M. Stokes was considered a saint in my eyes, the cost to ferry these necessary boxes certainly was not. Especially with the raids on Knockturn Alley as of late, as if Voldemort would be hiding in a tea kettle in Borgin and Burkes. I fished about the room for a proper quill, picking up a raven feather one and dunking it in ink. The black liquid splattered on the floor as I stabbed each word into the paper, hoping that each carving held the urgency I hoped to convey.

I picked up one of the glass vials and took a long swig, letting the metallic taste wash down my throat. My body slowly felt warm and energetic, sanguine even if we’re getting technical. The doubts in my mind and the tiredness that pooled in my limbs seemed to wash away after the little vial became clear.

I gazed at the form. Hopefully, they can decode the scribble.

I shoved the change into the envelope and sealed it up and put it in my usual mailbag. The silence in the room was bothering me. So I turned on the CD player and blasted Good Charlotte, mouthing along to Joel and the gang as I painted my nails black.

The CD soon began to skip right around the time my nails began to dry. He didn’t quite say what time the concert was, but it wouldn’t be too hard to find him in the Slytherin common room. So I made my way into the common room which was full of students all in boring sweaters and collared shirts. But they ignored me, which is a small miracle given my attire. Those two guys Willow and I hexed disappeared.

But out of the sea of plain clothes, I spotted Draco. And Draco looked rather spectacular. He was wearing black baggy pants and a t-shirt that showed off his pale and subtly muscled arms in a way that raised my eyebrows. When he came close, I could smell cologne with notes of lavender and cedarwood, the kind that cost half a year’s salary to buy.

But the makeup he had? And yes, he was wearing makeup. A lot of cool guys wear it nowadays after all. A light bit of black eyeliner ringed around the red color contacts he had put in, making the red far more noticeable.

“You look nice.” He said with a small smile. Was that a bit of blush I saw on his face?

“Thanks, you do too!” I sounded way too excited with that last word. I cringed inwardly. He didn't notice

“My father brought me something Muggles call a car. It’s a bit tacky but I think it would be far better than a walk in this weather.” There was a drawl in his voice, letting each syllable roll slowly on his tongue.

“He’s one of the governors of this school, meaning I can do whatever I want to do.” If that was the truth, we would’ve kept the House Cup streak for years. Stupid Hufflepuffs.

“It’s out front, follow me.”

So we went down the hallways, which seemed to be a bit too dark compared to how they normally were. The torches were dim and the air was oddly humid, as if we were walking through a bog rather than a castle hallway. No one was around. He found an exit and we went onto the front lawn of Hogwarts. The skies were a mellow purple with few scattered clouds. They were not large enough for a storm but were enough to highlight the possibility.

The ground was thick with mud and jagged grass. The waterlogged ground caked my legs and boots in cold, dark brown hues. Draco was right, a car would’ve been much more preferable.

“Episkey,” I whispered, pointing at my shoes. The mud disappeared from my legs and shoes as if they never existed.

It was a Mercedes Benz, a car Muggles with too much money and too small genitalia preferred to parade around. It was black as night with a license plate that read 666 on the front. Classy. It was as if he was trying to impress me. And it was working.

He opened the door for me, letting it close with a loud slam. The black leather interior suggested that either someone cleaned the inside compulsively or that it had rarely been used. I was leaning towards the latter.

“Do you have a driver?” Theoretically, this obvious question had an obvious answer.

“No. After Dobby set himself free, we abandoned the whole “driving” thing. It’s what Muggles do, anyway.” The word Muggles sounded less like a casual noun thrown around by wizards and more like a swear.

“Who’s Dobby?” I’d never heard of someone named Dobby. Maybe he was a student?

“Our old house elf. Now buckle up.” The key turned in the ignition and the engine purred. He put it in drive and the car began to soar.

“HOW DOES THIS FLY?” I shrieked, grabbing the seat for dear life.

“My father stole pieces from that weird Weasley man at the Ministry. Calm down.” He looked calm, which made no sense because we were quickly gaining altitude and were about to go right into the dark clouds. He turned on the radio and the opening notes of “The Anthem” hit my eardrums and the car began to shake with the rhythm. I grabbed onto the seat instinctively, keeping my eyes on the floor and away from the sky. He took no note, instead of drumming his fingers onto the steering wheel.

“If you’re so inclined, open the glove box.” His eyes slowly took me in. There was no real way out of the car, was there? Unless I fell face first. Like Amy Lee in the “Bring Me To Life” music video.

But, I popped open the glove box. The little space was packed with cigar boxes, cigarette cartons, tiny tasteful bags with green and less tasteful bags of white powder. There was a tin decorated with dragons, like the kind you put your sewing supplies in.

“Aren’t you driving though? Won’t you crash?” He saw that slight tinge of anxiety in my eyes and laughed.

“If I crash the car, we can buy another one. Pass me one of the cigarettes from the tin, won’t you?”

With trembling fingers, I handed him what I thought to be a cigarette. It was wrapped in paper, but not the cheap kinds you'd find in a carton. He lit it up with the tip of his wand and inhaled. A shiver rolled deliciously down his spine and through his fingertips. The smell was not of burning tobacco or cannabis. It smelled like the iced vanilla cookies from Halloween, jasmine from the greenhouses, and the elusive smell of cedar. His face relaxed, red eyes drifting off the skies as we brushed by a flock of Canadian geese. He held it between his teeth.

“Ah, I missed these.” The smoke that came out of his mouth was purple, curling around his neck and wrist like snakes on tree branches. It took a long, serpentine shape as it wound through the tips of his fingers, the shape of his face, the curve of his ear. It was like a living creature, slowly enveloping him in a purple hue that soon disappeared as he took the next puff. He had a dreamy look in his eye, slowly growing.

“It's called Dragon’s Breath. My grandfather’s grandfather discovered this on the land we bought out from the Muggles. Try one, won’t you?” His voice was thick, more smoke churned out of his mouth and cascaded across the dashboard.

"Is it okay to have these while driving?" I said, turning down the music a bit.

"Darling, no Muggle on Earth can handle these. This car is in safe hands, and if it crashes we can just get a new one. Now, try one." Harsh, drawling syllables came forth. The car was going at such a slow speed. Plus, it's not like there are traffic cops patrolling the skies.

I grabbed one out of the tin with shaky fingers and lit it, putting it to my lips. The moment that brushed my teeth was one of sudden shock. It was as if someone had opened a trap door to my subconscious and dunked me in head first. My eyes fluttered open and closed, open and closed. My fingers and toes turned ice-cold, and then a mellow warmth as if I had been in a hot spring. Shivers coursed through my body, starting from the roots of my hair to the soles of my feet, forcing my mouth to open. Draco's eyes flicked to me, but in an instant I lost sight of his face.

I woke up in a dark room. No one was around for miles, but there was a small light that quickly flicked onto a scene from a play. Except it wasn't a play. I walked towards the scene and found a glass wall and a stool. Look, but do not touch the gesture seemed to say to me. It was home. At least, it seemed like home. The dim light gave way to the orange glow of the lamps we used to have, illuminating the kitchen that served as our living room and parlor. My mother's embroidery hoops and work covered the bare walls, beauties featuring dragons like the ones she used to wrangle for a living. Bright greens, oranges, and metallic black dragons hid the rushed paint job from the landlord. There were newspaper clippings of my father's work in cheap frames from second-hand stores as well, his photograph cheekily waving back to us at all times. There was a girl sitting at the kitchen table. That girl was me, eight years old and industrious, with long black hair in a plait. The girl turned to look at me. I looked down and saw the writing exercises in Romanian, a language my mom usually spoke in the privacy of home. A tray of apples. The way my mom cut apples for me while I was in homeschool, taking off the shiny red peel as I poured over Romanian and English writing books. Her long dark hair brushed on my shoulder as she read over my words with a faint smile. "Very good," she muttered in her thick Eastern European accent. She pointed at one word, and whispered something I could not recollect about my spelling.

The front door opened, and my dad was home from a long day of work at Gringotts. He'd kiss my mom on the cheek with a loud smack and I'd fake gag. He'd pick me up from my seat and hold me in the air, making monster noises that would make me giggle and run. In half an hour, he'd reenact a day’s work in his booming voice at the kitchen table while my mom ladled out bowls of her ciorba de burta, a recipe she got from my grandmother.

The orange glow faded and everything went still. My hands felt damp. And I saw they were covered in thick blood. My neck was dripping red onto the blank slate of a floor.

And then the bite, the feeling of teeth sinking into my flesh. The splash of blood on my lips and how I screamed for my mom to help. St. Mungos, where my dad kept vigilance over me twenty-four hours a day. The screaming would not stop. My mother was a silent mask in a thick fur coat, standing at the foot of my bed like Death. Her blocking the doorway when the first Ministry official came in with a priest, hissing at them to leave her daughter alone. My mom was talking with a man with a silver beard at a pub in England, explaining that her daughter was going to Hogwarts as her father did and that was final. I fell to the floor of this room of nothingness. The sound of laughter, the sound of screams, and the sound of life itself filled my eardrums.

And as soon as these memories flooded, they stopped. My body felt like I was riding on foam and bubbles, floating on the clouds that surrounded us as a beachball does on water. There was no past. No present. No future. And then I came back to reality, back to that leather interior with Draco in the field of clouds above Hogwarts. I began to cough.

“Good, huh?” he asked with a smile I had never seen on him before. I nodded. I could see the roofs of Hogsmeade and their street lamps growing ever so closer to us. The car slowly rolled onto the cobblestone streets, the tires bumping rhythmically onto the stone. The crocodile line that stretched out of the venue was relatively short.

We got out of the car, smoke dissipating in the cold air around us as we joined the line. But for Draco, he was above the line. With a couple of gestures and a “do you know who my father is”, we made it to the front of the line and were within arms reach of the stage. The band was set to perform, a bunch of gangly twenty-something wizards with guitars and microphones as if they were Muggles.

The music began to play and the Dragon’s Breath kicked in. The lights were swirling around us in a frantic dance. The sea of humans that surrounded us seemed to fly rather than bounce off the ground, untethered in their enthusiasm. We shouted along to lyrics that I don’t own due to copyright, manically spitting out the words as if we were at gunpoint.

“Joel is so fucking hot,” I said, pointing at the one who held the mic double-fisted as he filled the club with his voice that shook the floor and the walls. It wasn’t really Joel, but there were no real introductions to the band at large to be had.

Draco seemed a little sad. He stopped bouncing to the beat and stood stone still. That combed blonde hair looked as if it had been attacked by a wild beast.

“What’s wrong?” I stopped moving with the crowd, dodging elbows and pushing hands and feet out of the midst. Then it clicked.

“Listen, I think he’s hot but I like YOU better.” That cheesy line would’ve gotten me a well-deserved "fuck off" outside of here, but there was a smile that lit up his face in a way I thought was adorable. His eyes seemed brighter underneath those plastic contacts.

“Really?” No sarcasm, no reference to his family, not even a snide remark passed those luscious lips. His arm wrapped around my shoulder and moved me away from someone seemingly trying to do karate kicks in the mosh pits.

“Really. And besides, I don’t know Joel and he’s going out with Hilary fucking Duff! I fucking hate that bitch!” Poor taste? Sure, why not.

But the rest of the night went well. We bought beer without IDs, got photographs with the cover band (who were shocked to see I didn’t make the photo!) and tees from a vendor outside the concert.

The buoyancy I felt hours ago stopped with a crashing halt when I sat back down in the seat. The tin box was on the floor. I wanted to reach down and take another. The slam of the car door caused me to sit back up and put the tin out of sight. Mary would have a field day if she found out I had something... illicit.

Instead of flying back home, we cruised out of the cobblestone streets without another word. The way to the front of Hogwarts was not too close by, but he decided to take a right turn on a muddy and moonlit path that led to the dark and twisting trees of the Forbidden Forest.

Chapter Text

The winding roots of the deep and dark trees curled around the tires of the Mercedes Benz, tossing the car up and down as if we were in the storm-stricken sea rather than the treacherous forest that lies beyond the castle walls. Draco’s eyes were bloodshot and fixed on a point ahead. The headlights of the car were the only light we could see, bleaching the dark wood and the leaf-strewn floors.

“Draco? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” My nails clawed onto the seat for dear life.

He hadn’t said a thing during the journey. There was no music to be heard. All we had was the sound of tires bumping on gnarled wood and broken branches.

And without warning, we made a screeching halt. We stopped in the middle of a clearing, where the stars were bright and unblocked by the towering foliage. The clouds of the day had cleared overhead. The moon was a yellow sickle hanging overhead, slicing through the straggling cloud growth. In the midst of the clearing, there was a petrified tree without leaves and

Draco unbuckled his seat belt and put the car in park, kicking the car door open and walking into the trail of bright light and to the lone tree in the midst of the clearing. The engine still hummed, waiting for him to pull the key out of the ignition. He stood in front of it, his back to the windshield and his eyes lingering on the deadwood in front of us.

I wasn’t going to wait for him to finish brooding in front of the tree. I quickly unbuckled the seatbelt and pushed the car door open. The leaves were slick from rain and mud, but I managed to walk over to where Draco stood, my arms outstretched to keep balance.

“What the fucking hell?” I shouted. Birds roosting in the trees began to scatter out of the branches, their silhouettes blocking the stars as they moved out of our way.

“Ebony?” he asked. Each word was slowly drawn out in a voice deeper than anything I ever heard from him before. He slowly turned towards me.

“What?” I snapped, squinting to see him in the bright lights.

He didn’t say a word. His nose was dangerously close to mine. I could see a small bit of stubble, unusually light addition to a rather youthful and thin face. He bit his lip, eyes narrowing to make out my face. The thick rings of eyeliner made his eyes glow red and his face far more narrow. Those color contacts most likely bought from some cheap Muggle costume shop took away anything that would have been truly real about him, a figure of my own imagination than a student at Hogwarts.

He took the words right out of my mouth with a sudden kiss on the lips. His lips gripped mine frantically, gentle hands grazing my cheeks and pulling me closer.

And then there was the mistake. He leaned into me, pushing my body up against the tree. The sudden movement caused me to bite his upper lip.

It was in an instant all of this happened. I broke out of the kiss, licking my lips. He smiled sheepishly, looking at me as if to say “What’s wrong?”

I bit over his heart, hearing him scream in shock and agony as I took his life. Blood seeped through his shirt and I hastily tried to take as much blood as I could. For a moment, he was dead. His breath, which was shallow and frantic, had ceased. He died sitting against that tree, its bark soaked in red.

It was when I saw the dry brown leaves turn crimson in the headlights that I came to my senses. The lights from the car suddenly went out, the engine going absolutely silent with a final rumble. All I could see in that dim light was the corpse of the boy who invited me to a simple night out of Hogwarts. I held my hands out, dark and thick with blood and mud.

I began to tremble all over. This was not a simple mistake. I could not just say a monster had attacked us (well, technically a monster attacked him) and expect nothing to happen.

He was not my first kill. The person I gave that dubious distinction also happened to be killed in the same forest, albeit miles away from this clearing.

But it was not a good look to leave his corpse behind while I, soaked in blood, walked back to the castle. I felt myself sink to the forest floor, kneeling as if to pray to the God that I didn’t believe.

But as soon as he died, I began to hear thick and heavy breathing from the tree. I turned to see his eyes flutter open and his body flop forward. I quickly pulled him up, holding him up as gently as possible.

His mouth formed words he could not speak, and I saw that telltale sign of transformation. Two fangs were growing where two front teeth would have been for a human. His hands went to his eyes, pulling out the color contacts in a fury. He tossed them out, never to be seen again. I later learned he didn’t want to wear them in the first place.

“I’m alive?” His voice sounded weaker than normal. It was like he had a bad case of the flu rather than almost die at the hands of a vampiric date.

“You are alive. We’re going to need to get you some help though. But first…” I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. Here I was, giving instructions in such a calm fashion that suggested years of experience I didn’t have.

My eyes trailed to the splatter that surrounded us.

“We’re going to need to get rid of the evidence. Do you have any spare clothes in the car?” He shook his head no. There was a scratch across his heart from where I attacked him. If anyone like Lupin saw, he would’ve known it was the telltale sign of a moroi rather than a frantic attack from some wild beast found in the Forbidden Forest. The area around it was quickly healing thanks to the power of vampiric healing. I saw what looked to be a tattoo on his arm, but I could not make out what it was. It was covered in mud and blood, but nothing a bit of water could fix.

As soon as I was about to ask him what the tattoo was, a tall figure emerged out of the bushes.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUCKERS?”

It was...Dumbledore.

Chapter Text

When Dumbledore arrived on the scene, I had managed to pull Draco into what resembled a sitting position with his hands pressed onto a tree for balance. His nose was dangerously close to my own, cartilage brushing against cartilage.

If it hadn’t been for the blood everywhere, it would’ve looked like Draco and I were having an intimate moment.

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Way. It’s nice to see you both… despite these circumstances.” Dumbledore said with the air of someone running into an acquaintance at a bookstore. He was rummaging in the pocket of his purple cloak for something.

“Would you care for a strawberry sweet? Madame Pomfrey says they’re no good for your teeth, but the gooey center is too lovely for me to pass up.” He cordially offered a handful of sweets in tidy plastic wrappers resembling a strawberry.

“No thank you, Professor,” I said with a nervous laugh. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same question. But if you must know, I do enjoy screaming obscenities into the Forbidden Forest on nights like these. It’s far better than yelling at people according to my therapist. Now, why are you two here?” His eyes seemed to twinkle at those last few words.

“We were… snogging,” I said, with a nudge to Draco that plainly told him that I would do the talking in this situation.

“Ah, teenagers. Well, it’s a lovely night but I think it would be best for the both of you to go back inside.” With a small flick of his wand he produced two plush blankets and passed them to Draco and me. Awkwardly tucking the blankets under my arm, I helped Draco to his feet and draped the soft gray fleece over his shoulders like a cloak. I wrapped mine around my shoulders as tightly as I could manage.

“Could you two follow me back to the castle? We can get some hot cocoa and you two can head back to your dormitories.” A brilliant orb of light came out of the tip of his wand and pointed us to a well-trod path back to the castle.

We weaved through the trees and ducked under branches. The hoot of owls and the sound of twigs snapping underfoot were the only sounds we heard during the entire journey.

Dumbledore would have noticed, I thought. He would have seen those telltale marks and had done something about them. He probably already sent an owl to some magical creatures authority at the Ministry to tell them. Hell, we could very well be walking back into a trap.

We left the Benz behind. The battery of the car had worn out completely by dawn as I’d later find out.

As the butter-yellow lights of the castle came into view, Dumbledore turned to us and whispered “Do you mind if I practice yelling for a bit?”

Draco, looking a little more lucid than he had been earlier, nodded his assent.

“Here goes nothing…. YOU LUDACRIS FOOLS!” he shouted, the top of his long hat wobbling.
“What do you think? I’ve been using a word a day calendar Madam Pince gifted me to help improve.” He seemed absolutely unbothered by the prospect that he could be walking with a dangerous vampire who has clearly attacked one of his students and trespassed into the Forbidden Forest, leaving Hogwarts without permission, and far more rules that I surely forgot about.

Tears came unbidden to my face, vermillion streaks forming on my pallid makeup and shirt.

Draco put a hand on my shoulder and whispered, “It’s okay. He’s using big words,”

I couldn’t help but snort a little, but tears still flowed.

We had arrived in the Chamber of Reception, one of the large entrances meant to herd all the first years a couple of hours past midnight. The light from the torches and chandeliers was dim and gave the room an ochre tinge. Mr. Filch was on a stepladder, fixing the portrait of a rather large mustachioed man clad in orange and green gesturing to his wares. His cat, Mrs. Norris sprinted to Dumbledore, Draco, and me and let out a yowl so loud that you could hear an echo bouncing around in the arched ceiling. The long hairs on her back stood up as if she was shocked by a cattle prod.

“Good evening, Mrs. Norris.” Dumbledore reached a long-fingered hand to scratch behind her ears, which she quickly swatted away with a hiss.

“Yes, my sweet… OY! STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” Mr. Filch turned his head to see the cat but quickly turned his attention to us and quickly descended down the ladder in one sweeping motion that signified years of experience.

“Evening, Mr. Filch. And no need to worry, they’re with me. Would you care for a strawberry sweet?” Mr. Filch looked a bit crestfallen at the notion that we were not fair game to torture, but nodded at the strawberry sweet. Filch quickly ripped the wrapper off and popped it into his mouth, showing his brownish teeth.

“Thank you, sir. And are these the two missing students?”

Dumbledore nodded. “That’ll be all Mr. Filch. If you’ll excuse us, we have to go.” We cruised through hallways and up staircases to a gargoyle statue that recognized him and we went up a spiral staircase to his office, where McGonagall, Snape, and my friend Bloody Mary Smith were waiting for us.

“Mary?” I whispered, perplexed. She nodded and turned her back to us to fix her attention on the wall of books clad in thick leather and crumbling parchment.

“They were having sexual intercourse in the Forbidden Forest!” He said calmly. He wasn’t actually saying it calmly, in fact, it seemed like he was really pissed.

Professor McGonagall in a tartan nightgown looked far more dangerous than Voldemort himself as she stood stone still, arms crossed in a viselike grip as she stared at us.

“Why would you two do that, you mediocre dunces? We were going to have to search every nook and cranny of this castle to find you two after all the fuss Miss Smith made about your safety.

Professor Snape wore the same dark robe as usual. Same frown too.

“How dare you?” He demanded.

Words were building upon my lips, excuses, and lies forming unbidden and yet unrecognized as I took in these faces surrounding me. But then, the unthinkable happened.

“BECAUSE I LOVE HER!” Draco shrieked, his voice loud enough to cause the figures in the portraits to stir and yawn.

The tower of babble I was constructing collapsed at those four words. Draco’s face was flushed pink and healthy, a complete departure from what I saw of him in the Forbidden Forest.

There was an awkward silence that hung over us all. McGonagall opened her mouth to speak, but Snape gestured for her to be quiet.

“I see. Very well. You may go to your rooms. Miss Way, we will need to talk sometime tomorrow about this… incident.” He dismissed us with a flick of the wrist, and Mary followed right behind us.

"What about the cocoa?" Draco said, but McGonagall shook her head no and pointed to the door.

We circled through hallways and down staircases to arrive at the entrance to the Slytherin dorms. The only time Mary spoke during the entire thing was the password. But I can tell from the look on her face that she was anxious.

“You okay Ebony?” Draco whispered, helping me cross the threshold into the dormitory. He held my hand. His flesh felt clammy and yet searingly hot. He would feel the symptoms of vampirism soon.

“Yeah, I guess.” I lied between my teeth. He let go and darted away into his dorm.

Mary opened the door and let me into our room. Willow was snoring peacefully behind us.

“Why did you have to snitch on us?” I whispered, casting a glance at Willow. Crookshanks was kneading on Willow’s pillow and purring. Loudly.

“I thought you would’ve been back much earlier. Besides, something seemed a bit off about a concert in Hogsmeade.” She sat on her bed and rolled her eyes.

“Well… you are kind of right. I didn’t really expect him to… you know.” She quickly ran to the door.

“Did he hurt you?” she spat in a level louder than we were trying to go for.

“NO! We went to the forest to snog.” Another lie, but let’s not call it a lie. It’s a half-truth.

Mary buried her head in her hands and groaned. “Ebony, did you really go to the Forbidden Forest and risk us all losing house points? You know what, don’t even finish that sentence.” Her voice was muffled.

“Well, there seemed to be no other forests nearby. Think about it, can you name any other forests within a five-mile radius?” Willow began to stir but did not wake up, moving her face away from the two of us. Her bonnet fell off onto the floor.

She got up from her spot and was nose to nose with me, furious.

“Well, I personally think it would be a stupid idea to go back to the same forest where we lost Britney!” And then when she saw the hurt in my eyes, she winced.

It had been years since her disappearance. Sometimes, we find old posters of her beautiful smiling face hanging up on bulletin boards in various classrooms. It was something no one wanted to discuss, like when the teacher forgets to assign homework.

“Ebony I’m sorry…” she whispered, but I began to crumble. I rifled through my things and produced a low-cut black dress bedecked with lace. It was a dress robe that I commissioned from Willow’s mom after our fourth year. The same year Cedric died. And the same year Britney disappeared. No real occasion for this, but if I were to be killed by some two-bit ministry employee I at least want to look nice.

I shut the bathroom door and lit a candle. I brushed my hair, letting the spikes deflate down onto my shoulder, and wiped my face with a soft makeup wipe. I could not see my face in that mirror, but just one brush across my front teeth produced a dark red color. Food. I wasn’t quite full, in fact, it felt like I had a light snack before bed.

The bathroom was empty, but my eyes darted around the room as I shoved the toothbrush to the bottom of the waste bin. I heard the dorm room door slam and Willow stirring from sleep.

As I left the bathroom, I noticed two things. Mary was gone. She knocked a stack of books onto the floor. But Draco was sitting patiently on my coffin, dressed in a well-tailored silk robe and pajamas. They seemed to cost more money than every single thing in this room combined.

“Draco!” I whispered hoarsely. He stretched out his arms and held me in a tight embrace.

“Are you okay?” I looked up at him. “I’m so sorry for how everything turned out.”

“You should be. You ruined my clothes. Do you know how hard I had to pester my father to take me to a Muggle store to get it?” He said teasingly.

“Your dad buys your clothes?” I chuckled, playfully shoving him. “Dork.”

He looked a bit hurt. He was really bad at hiding his emotions.

“What would your dad say if he saw us together? And what about earlier?” He looked a bit perturbed by those questions.

“Suppose I don’t have to tell my father. And as for the injury, who cares?” I cared immensely because he looked like he was inches away from death. I could see his dark blue veins in his face showing through his face. His eyes were a shade darker than bloodshot.

“I think you need to tell your father. Or your roomie at least. It looks really bad.” I stood on the tips of my toes to brush his face. He gently swatted it away.

“I just wanna live, don’t really care what they say,” he sings. His singing voice is absolute garbage, but the vampirism flu gives you that kind of delirium. “C’mon Ebony, I know you love Good Charlotte, sing with me!” He began to do the kind of shuffle dance you’d see a drunk uncle do at a wedding.

“I’m not going to sing with you Draco. Look, I’m flattered you came to see me but I think you need to get some rest…” Suppressing a smile, I nudged him to the door. He gave me a sloppy kiss on the lips. At least, that’s what I think he was doing. He kissed the area between my nose and mouth.

“I’ll get you to your dorm, c’mon.” Even though he was a bit taller, I draped his arm around my bare shoulder and half walked/half carried him down the steps and to the common room.

Mary was buried deep into a book, face hidden in the thick leather binding. She didn’t budge.

Draco gestured to the hallway leading to his dormitory and yanked the door nearly off its hinges. It was clearly a boy’s room. It was messy in a way that felt all too planned. Instead of posters, there were prints of Muggle paintings and pegs to hang cloaks and bags. It was dark, with the only light in the room coming from the crack in the door. A soft circular rug served as the center of the room and the center of the foot traffic judging by the mattes in it.

Two of the four beds were occupied by two loudly snoring boys who looked nearly identical, drooling on their pillows. One of the beds had a thin and handsome young man with a close cropped haircut who slept peacefully. He had wonderful cheekbones. Not that I noticed, of course.

The bed closest to us had a boy with long hair streaked in red sitting with his back to us, taking off what looked like a sports bra but with corset hooks. He did not acknowledge us, instead removing the binder and dropping it on the floor. The moment the door closed, he covered himself in his blanket and flopped onto his bed and feigned sleep.

I walked Draco to his bed and covered him up in the blanket Dumbledore gave him. Then, without saying another word I kissed him gently on the forehead. I left as quiet as I could and sat down in the common room with Mary. Only a couple of lights were on, casting a dim green haze of light across the floor

“I know you’re upset. Wanna know how I know that?” I said, sitting down on the closest armchair I could find and smoothing out my skirt. It was cold and hard as if it were made from metal rather than cloth and wood.

“How.” No question, just a statement.

“You would have finished that book by now. Get it? Laugh, it’s funny!” I nudged her playfully.

“Listen, I had to tell them because I was worried you were going to get hurt.” The way she said this felt like I had pressed play on a television program rather than a normal conversation. The green light of the lantern she had cast odd shadows across her face and spattered onto the floor.

“Well… I do appreciate it. But I don’t get why you’re so anxious about me.” There was an uncomfortable silence between us. “Is it because of the incident?”

“Not everything is about my trauma, I’m worried because I care about you, Ebony!” She slammed her book shut. “You’re one of my best friends and I don’t want to see you get hurt. I thought I was doing the right thing, and I’m just glad you’re okay.” She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a hug, her long hair brushing my bare arms.

“Is it also because I promised I’d cut your hair tomorrow?” I whispered. She looked up at me and laughed.

“That also was one of the reasons but I’m just glad you’re safe.”

We gathered up her books and went up the stairs. As I closed the coffin and buried my face in the soft interior, I knew that I would not die that night. But the scent of blood on the forest floor would tell another story.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 “Toxic” / Anthem”

Taken from the Slytherin bulletin board, circa three years ago

“Vigil Held for Missing Student - 7 pm Wednesday night, meet in the common room”

Taken from Quibbler, Volume 47

“Readers Report - Hogsmeade”

“I’ve seen this weird beast rooting up my rutabagas late at night while I was having a smoke. It had long blonde hair and hooves like a goat. I thought it was that bloke over at the Hogs Head having a nice go around in my back garden. Then I saw its eyes.” Rutabaga Roland, Hogsmeade

Second to last page in Daily Prophet issue number unknown, marked “Hogwarts Happenings” archived in the Hogwarts Library

“Students hold vigil for missing Slytherin late Wednesday night. Brittany Minogue, 15, has been missing for over a week. A spokesperson from Hogwarts said in a statement that the search is still ongoing, but at the moment is held up due to issues related to the Forbidden Forest’s flora and fauna.

Anyone with information on the topic is urged to contact the Ministry of Magic. Minogue’s parents could not be reached for comment, but said in a previous statement they are working with Aurors.”

Now, in the middle of the forest floor.

The deer that stood in the moonlight had one antler on its head. Local biologists would most likely attribute that to plain old nature. They would fall off anyway. It was awake at an ungodly hour when most of its kin would be hidden from the prying eyes of predators. But something had stirred it.

It stood with no purpose, like an extra in a high school play, on a stage, it was not meant to stand on. A fool. The deer’s nostrils sniffed something not too close to the clearing. A tree, coated with human blood. And a strange metal monster with flickering lights that burned to look at, making odd noises as if it were snoring.

The deer obviously was not very intelligent. It drew closer to that light, that metallic scent, and dipped its nose towards it.

The creature that slinked closer was not one the deer would have recognized. In its short life span, it would have witnessed centaurs, unicorns, trolls, and other such creatures. But it did not recognize the hunched figure of that creature.

The deer did not have a chance to run or make a sound. Its neck was snapped by sharp and unforgiving hands. Its body was ripped into pieces, entrails spilling out onto the forest floor.

The last thing that deer saw before it left its mortal coil was the face of a young woman. In the moonlight, she looked like a spirit.

The deer’s carcass had been found sprawled out a few inches away from where that car was parked sometime on Monday afternoon, during a Care of Magical Creatures class. Hagrid had seen this and dismissed it, along with the car.

That deer’s horn had been snapped clear off. Its face had marks from hands that no known creature in the Forbidden Forest possessed, hands that would have matched those of something beyond knowledge of the Ministry. The eyes of the deer were frozen in fear.

All that was left behind in the wake of the carnage beyond the corpse was a long chunk of bleached blonde hair.

--------

“Can I be completely honest with you?” Willow asked, struggling to hold bobby pins in between her teeth. We were in the bathroom, her standing in front of the mirror and me standing in the doorway with a pint of pig’s blood in one hand and a shot glass in the other. Mariko was buried deep in a book, waiting for her turn in the shower. It was hair day.

Every third Sunday of every other month I promised Mary I would cut her hair. Mainly because the first time I saw her try to do it herself, some asshole in her class made a snide remark about her appearance. The detention I had that day was probably the longest I had that semester.

“Willow, if it’s about Draco I think it’d be redundant.” I watched as she fished around for a toothbrush to fix her edges, styling her baby hairs with a bit of gel.

“Where’d you get that word from, Miss Sixth Grade Vocabulary?” Willow quipped, curving her hair in that intricate pattern.

“Contrary to popular belief, I can read. What do you need to be “completely honest” about?” I poured a shot and downed it in one gulp. There was always a weird film that coats your throat after you swallow it. Not as good as human blood, if anything the most hardcore vampires would consider this vegan shit.

“Wait, Ebony, you can read?” Mary said with a snort, burying her face in her book. Her long hair was spread out as if she’d poured ink on her bedsheets.

“I can read two languages,” I said, a touch defensive.

“I can read three languages and Ancient Runes! If you can read, why do you have to cheat on your homework?” She flipped a page. That book probably came into existence at least 250 years before us. A small miracle she didn’t tear it, that looked like it would’ve been ready for the waste bin. Then again, she could always repair it.

“Cause I can read your notes! You have terrible handwriting, by the way, it’s like a bloody doctor’s!” I said with a grin. “It’s like I’m the one reading Ancient Runes!”

“Good Charlotte is a terrible band,” Willow said, fixing her first Afro puff on her head.

The room stopped in its tracks as I was taking a long swig. I almost choked.

“Excuse me?” I raised my eyebrows, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

“You heard me. Like I can’t tell what they’re singing half the time, and even if I could, it wouldn’t matter! Every song sounds the exact same.” She fixed the second, putting in the bobby pins.

“Take it back, they aren't all the same! Have you heard Anthem? Just Wanna Live? I could list their whole fuckin catalog!” I knew it was all a ploy for a fake argument, I could tell by the glint in her eye.

“The one that goes “EYYYYE DONNN WANNA BE YOOOOU, DON WANNA BE JUST LOIKE YOOOUUUU?” she said, grabbing the hairbrush like a mic and exaggerating Joel Madden’s voice. “THEY LITERALLY SOUND ALIKE! You only like the band because you think Joel Madden is hot.”

“NO--- actually you’re right Joel Madden is hot BUT the band is fuckin awesome! Don’t act like you haven’t enjoyed any of their songs before Will.” I put the cap back on the pint and put the shot glass on the marble counter of the sink. “Clearly, you’ve never seen them live.”

“I’m not gonna pay hundreds of quid to see a band I think is trash live!” She slid her glasses back onto her face. “Would you pay that much to see Britney Spears?”

That B name again. “No, fuck off with that shit,” I said with what was supposed to be a light-hearted laugh. It sounded too shrill in that small space.

“Thought so. Right, I’m just about done here. Your turn Mary.” Mary shut that book with a satisfying thump and trudged over to the door to let Willow pass. She sat down with her back to the tub.

A thought rattled around in my head, unbidden. Shove her in. Let her topple over. Pursing my lips, I fished through the makeup bags and cupboards to find a pair of scissors for the job. A slim pair, perfectly made for the job. A hairdresser, not a surgeon, could have used those with the delicacy they require. I could easily slash her. It wouldn't take long. I would not need another pint of pig blood again. My pale fingers grazed her shoulder, feeling the heat that radiated off of her living body. The sound of Willow letting out a wheezing laugh cut my attention away from the tantalizing thought of killing a friend in a messy old bathroom.

"What's so funny?" I asked, letting the hand holding the shears go limp, the scissors clattering onto the floor. 

"EYYYYYEEEEE DONNN WANNNA BEEEE YOOOOOOOOUUUUUU" she howled. "Ebs, you know I'm right. He sounds like my mom's cat when he hasn't gotten his kibble." She snorted, holding her stomach from laughing so hard. 

Mary let out a giggle, cupping her mouth with her hands to suppress the sound. "It's a good impression." 

"You guys suck." I said. But a grin had appeared on my face, one that Willow pointed out with glee and I had to admit it was funny. 

Those thoughts were not uncommon. But they were very much unwanted. We had no barber bibs or anything like that, so we improvised with a ratty old raincoat. Mary pointed out how much she wanted me to cut.

“Could you get to armpit length?” I nodded.

As I grabbed her hair, another such thought crossed my mind, its fingers clawing at my brain. I could slash her with the scissors, like in that one Tim Burton movie. A river of red. Like the one in the Forbidden Forest. She would crumble like a leaf. Her blood would spatter the tiles, the ceiling, and the walls. 

The tranquility of the bathroom would not be interrupted by an intrusive thought like that. The bottom of the tub soon filled with long, black hair. She was unharmed, of course. She looked as if a weight had been taken off her shoulders. Her hair was thick and wavy, which I admit was a bit difficult to cut. It was jagged but somewhat symmetrical. 

When she looked into the mirror and liked what she saw, she said thank you and we all finished getting ready.

I produced a bottle of temporary hair color spray and unleashed holy fury onto my locks. When it was dried, it looked a regal purple, like a king’s robe. I grabbed a top with skulls and a miniskirt from my wardrobe. This too was the Sunday best. I had collected enough Muggle money to buy it from a punk store in London.

We all left for the Great Hall together. I tucked a box of Count Chocula into a canvas bag, along with the remainder of the pint of pig’s blood, along with a plastic bowl and spoon I happened to have wedged in a cubby.

We walked to the back of the Slytherin table, as far from eyesight as we could get so I could enjoy breakfast. The third biggest mistake of my life would happen at the breakfast table that day. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Chapter Text

Maybe it was a terrible idea to ever go to the Great Hall. It has nothing to do with the ceiling, which was a wonderful shade of gray one grew to expect from the United Kingdom. It had everything to do with breakfast turning into the worst meal of the day.

We sat towards the middle, the last table furthest from the doors was crowded with first years who seemed to love open mouth chewing. Maybe it was some curse, but it seemed like everyone at that side of the table had no idea how to close their mouths in front of people.

So Mariko (or Mary if you’re a prep or polite) had sat down across from me with Willow. She cast a quick glance around the table and nodded. Willow peered around at the other House tables and craned her neck to see whether or not the teachers had noticed our arrival. They didn’t. So I brought out the plastic bowl and the Count Chocula, along with the pig’s blood.

Don’t get mad at me, but I’m the kind of person who pours their blood (or milk if you are, again, a prep) in before their cereal. It’s because I like to see what I’m working with liquid wise before committing to emptying a box of cereal. It’s a method I picked up on after ruining a perfectly good pair of skull leggings.

Once I emptied out the remaining pint, I caught Willow wincing in my periphery as she poured her cornflakes in the bowl first before adding the milk.

“Don’t knock it until---” and then I got cut off by someone shoving me.

My top was coated with blood. Let me say that one more time for the people in the back, my Sunday best skull top was ruined by a perfectly good bowl of blood for my goddamn Count Chocula cereal.

“BASTARD!” I whipped around, blood dripping onto those tiles and coating my shoes in a red sheen I dare not forget. I rose out of my seat.

“You called?” I staggered back a little bit, trying to make eye contact with this assailant. He wasn’t that tall, in fact I could brush the top of his head with the palm of my hand without much effort. But despite his short stature, he cut an interesting figure. Hair like Sid Vicious, eyes thick with black eyeliner, and thick eyebrows. Don’t ask me why I focused on his eyebrows, they reminded me a lot like the mascara brushes Willow used to hoard. Stubble, coated lightly with mascara makeup, coated those taut cheeks and drew my gaze to those red colored contacts that seemed to take in everything and yet nothing at all behind the flimsy lens.

Vampires are known for being, well, undead. We don’t blush. In fact, it’s physically impossible for us to do so because we have literally limited blood flow. But goddamn it, I felt warmth in my bones unlike anything I had ever felt up to that point. Not even Draco could have made me felt like that. I didn’t care that the blood had made my top cold, and that I started to feel dizzy. All I could see were those piercing plastic eyes and that genuine smile, the tops of his teeth obscured by his painted lips.

“Sorry about the mess, let me help you clean that.” He grabbed a white napkin from the table.

“Before you ask, I’m not bleeding. I just---” I raised my hands up defensively, but he gently handed me the napkin.

“No, no I understand. Always good to meet a fellow vampire.” The traditional points at the end of his teeth poked out, albeit with the stain of black lipstick upon them.

Mariko was taken aback. “Fellow---- what?” She got up from her seat with a scowl.

“Relax, I mean no harm.” He grabbed another napkin from the table and wiped up the floor.

“Listen, I’m sorry about the top. It looks wonderful by the way.” He was on his hands and knees wiping up the mess.

“It’s okay, what’s your name?” I got down to help him, but he waved his hand away.

“It’s Harry Potter, but most people call me Vampire these days.” I let out a snort. I’d heard of this Harry Potter bloke, but I could swear the name was slightly different than that. Sure, it began with an H, but it was a bit longer. I didn’t want to ask, if Harry wanted to be known as Vampire, I’d gladly call him that. Even if it was a bit redundant.

“Real creative,” I said. I heard the sound of chairs scraping the floor. Mariko had left in a rush, leaving behind a still warm plate of beans on toast. It was a shame, it almost looked half appetizing. Willow’s eyebrows threatened to leave the stratosphere, but she noticed a couple of her Transfiguration friends sitting down at the Ravenclaw table and went to join them.

So it was just Vampire and I. Which in the grand scheme of things, was a pretty swell deal.

People were noticing. But really, who cares whether or not people stare at you.

“You seem a bit cold, here.” Vampire shrugged off a dark denim jacket covered in the kind of patches you’d put a lot of iron on and offered it to me. It was lined in dark black sherpa, the kind you’d find in baby blankets. “There’s a spell or something to get stains out, I don’t remember it…”

“Listen, it’s fine. My question is, do I know you from somewhere? I thought I saw you the other night---” but then I noticed Vampire was peering off into the distance.

I turned to see Draco sauntering into the room. He looked as if he had been hit by a bus, and yet still had time to slick back his hair. In an instant, he picked me up and tossed me on his shoulder with a giggle.

“Draaaaco? What’re you doing?” I kicked the air, scrambling to grab my bag.

“Oh. Hello Draco.” The friendly voice of Vampire Potter had changed to a somber, almost robotic tone.

“Vampire.” Draco sniffed.

“Could you carry me in a different way, this is kinda uncomfortable.” He fixed me so I could look up at him in his arms. Was that a wince I saw from Vampire?

“I thought that this was---” Vampire had sat down with a distinct hunch, like a gargoyle.

“None of your concern. I’ll be using the room for a bit, see you later.” His face was straining with effort. I reached down to grab my bag and bowl and put them in my lap. I waved to Vampire as he slowly became another face in the crowd.

Hurt on his face. And blood on his hands. Those were the last two things I noticed before we made it to the hallway. Draco had let me down on the floor, taking deep and loud gulps of air before dry heaving in front of Professor Snape. Snape chose to ignore the whole "kinda puking" thing and went down the hall, which seemed kind of weird, even for him.

“Good Lord Ebony, I don’t think I’ll ever do that again. He stretched his arms towards the ceiling with a long and low grunt. “I’ve got to tell you something in private, if you don’t mind. And what’s with the jacket?” I shrugged it off.

“He gave it to you…” but those hushed words were cut off. He draped it over his own shoulders and tied the sleeves together like a cape.

“I don’t mean to be a burden, but could you carry me? It’s only fair. After all, I feel very.... faint.” Rolling my eyes, I knelt down and let him lay awkwardly in my arms and slowly rose up from the ground. Maybe it was the vampiric super strength or the fact that he probably was far lighter than I was, but picking him up was no big deal.

We went to the dorm with him nestled in my arms. I admit it was a bit tiring, but the way Draco whinged about how hard it was to carry me made me seem like I was some bodybuilder rather than some teenager in heels and a blood soaked top. He hadn’t even asked me why I was soaked in blood.

“About last night, I need to ask you something. Did you make me sick?” He asked me this after shooing the rest of his roommates out of the dorm and plopping on the bed.

“What do you mean?” I asked, sitting next to him.

“Don’t play dumb. I know what vampires are like.” He looked me dead in the eye, and without warning, he floated to the ceiling like a balloon and grabbed his stomach.

“After all, I know you are one.” That voice was distorted, so different from the cold drawl that I come to expect from him.

Chapter Text

In an instant, the lights of the room dimmed at a level so low one could not see their hand in front of their face. All the cabinet doors shut with a sound that suggested broken hinges and crushed shelves. And the door opened with a loud creak, and then slammed again. That jacket he purloined from me fell to the floor with a jingle that suggested something hidden in a pocket.

“Why did you…?” I said, gesturing at the door. Magic slamming doors? No big deal. But kind of sort of boyfriends hanging out on the ceiling like a spider on a web? Kind of a big deal now that I’ve given it a bit of thought.

“FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT,” he hissed.

“You didn’t lock it. I mean, someone still could come in.” I twisted the knob and pulled, letting the sound reverberate in the silence. He dropped to the floor with the grace of one getting off of a train and onto a platform. With his back to me, he rifled through his cloak and produced a key made from copper. He then locked the door. At least, he tried. Something told me he wasn’t used to doing anything without the help of others. He twisted the knob, trying to wrench the key out like King Arthur did with Excalibur.

I politely shoved him to the side and pushed the door closed and gently turned the bolt so it would lock, then handed him the key back discreetly.

He quickly shoved it back into the pocket and retreated to the same corner.

“Draco, have you ever had “the talk” with your folks?” He was crouching in the dark space where I could not make out the lightness of his hair, hissing like a feral cat.

“I KNOW WHAT SEX IS!” he snarled. His knees were to his chest, hands clawing on the wall. He looked less like a brooding vampire and more like a sphynx cat in a bathtub.

“I meant the vampiric one— listen. Draco. What do you mean you know what vampires are like?” His arms were bent backwards and his legs dangled in the air. I dodged them as he twisted and turned on the ceiling.

“Potter. He was bit by one.” He dropped down onto a bed, causing pillows to scatter across the room and a significant bounce that might have probably broken a bone had he been a normal vampire.

“There’s no other vampires at Hogwarts besides me, and I lost my ability to process solid foods.” A lie and a half, but I realized that the more you said a lie aloud it sounded more and more like fact. Your brain alters the past and present to accommodate this fact, a little trinket picked up upon a winding road: not quite yours but who’s keeping the score?

I ran my teeth on where the filed down stumps, the ghost of a time and the mistakes that followed.

“Then how did I get it?” There were several answers I could’ve given him, but the simplest one will suffice. I bit him. He died. And he’s here.

“I bit you. I was bitten beforehand. So it goes.” I looked up at him. “I think you’re going through the ol’ vampiric flu. Happens to all the new ones, it’s just your body trying to adjust to the whole ‘being dead’ thing.” He flopped onto the floor, stretching out his limbs. He looked pale and smelled like a funeral home.

“You’re not dead yet, your symptoms should fade in the next couple hours. You’re gonna be climbing walls and shit, it’s gonna be weird. Do your roommates know about—” He shook his head no. Right answer.

He started scratching up and down his arms, pushing up a sleeve to show a tattoo of a heart pierced with an arrow. The handwriting was unmistakable. “When did you get that?” I asked, sitting down next to him.

He looked at me in the eyes, then hastily covered it up with his hand. “None of your concern—”

“Draco darling, we need to be honest with each other now,” I gestured in the air to suggest that this was all readily apparent. “...that this stuff is going on.” He grabbed onto his hands with his cold and clammy ones. I recoiled a bit at the touch.

“Drop it—” He hissed. And then something clicked.

“Vampire, that’s what it says on there. You were supposed to go with Vampire to that concert, isn’t that right?” I rose up and made my way to the door. The lights suddenly flashed on and off, on and off, like lights at a club.

“You don’t understand,” but I kind of did. I turned to him. “You’re still into him, aren’t you?” He blinked, slowly. No words passed through those lips. I grabbed my bag and that jacket from off the floor and draped it around my shoulders, running to the one place I knew I could hide.

I didn’t care if I had blood on my top or a flying Malfoy tailing me. The moment I got into my dorm room I dived into my coffin, slamming the lid behind me. My head ached like a steel baseball bat to the skull, and as much as I wanted to shut my eyes and be done with the day closing them made everything worse. Time passed, but I could not sleep even if I tried. And when I bolted out of that coffin and arrived in that classroom uninvited, it was only then I could speak the words on my lips.

Chapter Text

“VAMPIRE POTTER YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

All eyes on me. The Potions class, first thing in the dark and cloudy Monday morning after breakfast, was met with the sight of me in a blood splattered top and the thick jacket on the floor. Vampire Potter’s easy smile faded the instant that door slammed shut behind me. His stubble was still there, standing stark on a face that had it been a human one, would have been drained of blood.

The whole seventh year class turned to face me, a class full of my peers looking like they wanted to be vaporized on the spot for having to wake up at this ungodly hour. Some gawked, holding their empty flasks. Others laughed, I saw a girl in pigtails turn to whisper something in her classmate's ear. Thankfully the class was in the dark dungeon, as I’m almost certain someone would’ve been looking. Even the weird things in those glass jars seemed to have their pickled eyes transfixed on me.

I heard a glass drop and one of the burly Gryffindors yelling a hasty “shit!” as his robe caught on fire. Green flames crawled up those dark sleeves, arms flailing around as they crawled up on the person’s shoulder. Their cauldron mate, an equally brawny Slytherin, prodded the air, trying to conjure up a cure to the sudden blaze.

Bloody Mary Smith was two tables away from Vampire and looked at me and mouthed something along the lines of “what the fuck are you doing”. The moment I was about to respond Professor Snape strode towards me and grabbed my arm with his hands, covered in some sort of slime.

“Miss Way, is there any reason why you chose to interrupt my class?” He pulled me close enough to where I could smell that scent of something pickled, something powdered and something damningly sharp. His robes looked like they could suck the life out of me. I could not meet his eyes, but I tried to wrench out of his grasp. He pulled me back to him and tried to grab my other wrist.

“Go on, speak. You came into my classroom to insult Mister Potter, who somehow has had sex with his deceased mother. I’m sure whatever you have to add will be… insightful.”

There was a smirk, the kind you see a hunter give its prey stuck in a snare, one that would kill me at the slightest provocation. The delivery alone could have gotten the class in stitches, if this was McGonagall rather than Snape. But the room was so silent I could hear that student scream in agony as they ran into tables trying to get the fire out. There were glasses breaking in the wake of the furious charge to extinguish the blaze that had grown to cover everything, even their wire short hair.

Without letting go of my wrist, Snape slashed the air and a strong jet of water consumed those thick flames. The Gryffindor fell to the flagstones, hands pressing onto the shards of glass to block their fall.

“You were cooking with Floo Powder, you dimwit. Not sure how on Earth you pulled that out, but you could have ruined this class even more than Miss Way would. Ten points from Gryffindor for not following my instructions, and an additional five points for every supply you broke.” That student was howling with pain. Maybe it was a cry of relief? Or a cry of recognition, they broke at least three beakers trying to take out a sizable fire.

“Professor Snape, could I take him to the hospital wing?” Mary asked, raising her hand politely.

“If it will shut you up Miss Smith, go ahead.” Mary got up and helped the Gryffindor to his feet, despite him being more than twice her size. He was blubbering like a baby, so much for bravery. But then again, I would have done the same. As she pushed the door open, she moved out of the way of a very frantic Draco with a relatively calm young man with those incredible cheekbones.

“Mister Zabini, you’re late.” Blaise Zabini had taken a seat towards the back, stretching his long legs with a low grunt.

“Sorry Professor, had a bit of a rough morning,” Blaise said with such an aristocratic air, pulling out parchment rolls and a brand new text book. “Draco had a rough morning.”

Rough morning was a generous way of putting it. Draco’s face was thick with tears, the color of a brick wall and twisted in pain.

“EBONY! PLEASE, IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK!” He fell to the floor, slamming his fist on the ground with a loud thump. Professor Snape looked disgusted and waved his wand, and a white bed sheet fell on top of Draco. He looked like a ghost.

“WHAT IS IT YOU DESIRE, YOU RIDICULOUS DIMWIT?” Snape yelled, finally letting me go.

“Snape, this isn’t about you!” Vampire called out from the corner of the classroom, where most of the class congregated. He stepped forward, clutching his jacket.

“It’s about me.” He beamed with the recognition, stretching his arms out the same way a gladiator would after making the final kill.

“Yes, yes it is but the point is that I’m pissed off! I’m not some sort of rebound chick—” I looked to see Draco wrapping himself in the sheet and cringing.
“Rebound? What do you mean? Draco and I are— friends. Just friends.” Vampire walked to help Draco to his feet. Vampire gently picked up the jacket and draped it over Draco’s shoulders, looking at him with the longing. I could feel it in my chest, heavy and solid. The room softened, a haze where desks and chairs and cauldrons once stood. And at the center, Draco’s hand was close to Vampire’s. Was it a reflex or a conscious choice?

I opened my mouth, wanting to tell them off with something witty. But that was not in the cards.

“You both fucking suck. I’m out.” The tears started coming down my cheeks. I don’t like crying. But here I was. I stormed out of the classroom, knocking over the nearest cauldron and letting the liquid sizzle onto the floor, eating a hole into the stones. The door slammed behind me, and I ran.

It was dark out today, but it almost always is. British weather is always the best. So I did the rational thing. I took a walk outside. That’s right.

Actually, no. I ended up sprinting, then tripping over the step. That same step that Draco caught me at. I sat in that moment, letting the black robes of students brush past my shoulders. And despite everything, I still wanted to live in that moment where he caught me and I felt like I had that sliver of a chance.

So I pushed past the class heading out for a Care of Magical Creatures class led by the gigantic Professor Hagrid and started sprinting into the forest. The mud, ever present, splashed onto my legs and coated my shoes and made me slower and slower. I didn’t care what direction I went, I just wanted to run.

Trees, boundless trees were the only thing I saw. But then I heard a meow. I looked down and saw Crookshanks’ squashed orange face and those bright eyes. He was nudging me with his head.

“What’re you doing out here?” I said, scooping him up in my arms. He looked down and started doing that weird sort of motion that suggested this was not what he wanted. He lifted his chin for me to scratch, and I obliged.

“Thanks Crooks, but I need some time alone. You understand, right?” Crookshanks sneezed, which I guess meant yes in cat language. He climbed up on a tree and nestled in the space where the branches started.

So I kept walking. Slow, meandering. There was nothing for me to do but think. I should have noticed the strange hoof prints on the floor.

And then I was at that clearing where Draco died. The grass was rusty and the car was still there, with what looked like a dead deer draped on the rocks nearby with a long clump of blonde hair nearby.
I knelt at that tree and what remained of my strength dissolved right then and there.

****

You were not used to hunting during the daytime. In those small years spent traversing the Forest, you had set rules. Rule number one was to wait until nightfall. You did this because despite everything, you became you during the day.

You would often find yourself with human hands, not the claws you use to tear into flesh, during the day. You knew for a fact you did not have the strength to dismember bones and sinew without the strength. Rule number two was also non-negotiable: don’t get caught. And so was three, not to return to the same hunting spot twice.

So here you were, in clear defiance of the rules standing in the daytime and so close to the place you had ripped that deer in two.

A part of you wants to go back to the nook where you last remembered waking up, but something was drawing you to the clearing again. Just instinct, you shrug it off and turn around to the direction of the nook. And you almost make it.

And then you see the figure of a bald man with skin the color of polished bone and features of a snake. You turn to run, but you are glued to the spot.

“Don’t try running,” the man hisses, circling you. “You’re not going to make it far.” You see his sleeve rustling, the unmistakable gesture of a wand.

“I know who you are, and I am tired of giving second chances,” the voice continued. A hand, one with untrimmed and dirty fingernails, brushed my face.

“You tried to kill Harry Potter. I know you did, but you failed. I offered you a chance to become human again, but it’s apparent.” His red eyes bored into your skull, his voice echoing in your ears. You wanted to bite, to rip his limbs off and sharpen your teeth with his bones. But you cannot even move your eyes.

“You don’t want to obey. Foolish girl.” And with those words you fall onto your back, breathing heavily. You scramble to your feet and tackle him, hearing the branches fall with a crack that causes the birds to fly out.

“I don’t want to harm him. He’s just a kid,” you say. It’s been a while since you spoke words, and your voice is a whole lot deeper than you remember it being.

“And you were a child when you were attacked. That boy needs to die, and you almost killed him.” He gets up and grabs your shoulders, sinking those talons through your clothes and into your flesh.

“I can’t go back to the castle, they all think I’m dead.” You want to escape. “You’ll need to find someone else to do it.” Then you see him looking out into the distance.
“You can. You are different than I am, it’s obvious. You can pass off as a mortal, traversing around the school. After all, I’m sure that will be easy for you, Britney.”

You feel as if you swallowed a spoonful of honey. Brit-ney. Two syllables. You missed hearing those words spoken. You remembered the faint image of the person who said that to you, the face of a man you once recalled.

“I know there is someone else that can take your job while you spy for me.” He says, gesturing towards the clearing. You see a dark, purple haired figure kneeling on the forest floor.

“Go back to the castle. Follow Potter and kill him. Now go.” He shoves you, and you begin to run through the thicket of trees and the abundance of rocks and you crash into the tall figure of a man with a wild beard who lets out a loud oof as you bounce off of him and land on the ground.

“What do you think yer doing?” the man says, picking you up with a hand that could easily have crushed yours. And then he looks at your face and gasps.

You’re now in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, where a woman named Madame Pomfrey has sat you down in a clean bed and has draped you in a quilt older than the boy in the bed next to you. You’re in a white gown, not the kind you wore to the Yule Ball but the kind that is made from cloth that has been washed so frequently its becomes soft.

She’s fussing over you in low tones. Which is fine, because your ears are still ringing from the sound the giant man named Hagrid made when he recognized your face. You get a tray of chicken soup with noodles on your lap, with a spoon made from copper.

You think you can remember where you were last besides the forest you called home for what, three years? And damn it, you are smiling as if you’ve won an award. Because they’re all saying “Britney” and looking at you and talking to you.

And that makes you feel whole.

Chapter Text

I didn’t want to get up from that spot. If anything I wanted to slowly decay right here, right now. Let the worms and the creatures consume me. My forehead touched the rough surface of the tree bark, pressing those crooked lines into the flesh of my forehead, a mark of grief my tears could not express.

There was a dull ache in my head that shifted to the front. The headache that always follows those tears. Like how every fire must have smoke, every tear must follow with pain.

Draco was never mine to begin with. If anything, I should be glad because now I don’t have to worry about Willow jokes. But it’s only been three days, maybe I was a bit too intense. Seventy two hours is not enough time to declare true love. But it is enough to turn a perfectly normal boy into a monster.

The tree’s branches moved without wind to guide them. I heard a loud hiss, Crookshanks had appeared and began to scratch the ground with his little orange paws. He was looking deep into the forest, arching his back.

And then the dark tendrils of smoke began to coil around us, slowly forming a barrier. I pushed my hand up to the thick fog, and felt a zap. No escape. Crookshanks, poor thing, tried to jump through it but bounced back like a tennis ball.

And like a rocket, the face shot towards me. It was not a human, but a creature with snake-like features and red eyes, but not like the color contacts Vampire prefered. They were set deep, where the whites of his eyes were only black. He stood in a simple black robe that seemed to form from the smoke itself. He was in front of me, blocking the tree. I could only look up at him and I saw him smirk.

“Oh shit.” I said, getting up slowly from my position. Pins and needles in my legs screamed, numbness that even as a vampire I would get from the stolen blood of others pooling into my limbs. But this was more than just a temporary situation. It felt as if I was being forced to sit, as if invisible hands were pressing me to the forest floor.

My body began to shake. That was him. The one I had heard about. The one that was supposed to be dead. The world began to fade. Was I dead? Was I alive? He was going to kill me. That was a given. He'd rip my flesh into pieces without effort.

The cold claw of his grabbed my hair. Bony white knuckles like chess pieces, fingernails so long and sharp they could slice open skin pulled me to a kneeling position. Squeezing my eyes shut, letting the dark black of my eyelids obscure this face was a last gasp of rebellion, one act of defiance before the big sleep.

“Stand, girl.” He hissed, cold words carried by hot breath. Crookshanks hissed. As I was slowly rising up, forced by that invisible hand yet again, I scooped the cat up and held him tight. Bits of twigs and mud embedded into my knees, dropping to the floor once again. The hand still gripped me, held me by the hair and kept me still. And I did the one thing I thought was right at that very moment. My eyes were peeled open and I looked the killer in his face. The red eyes, the smell of corpses, the chill of air that preceded the spell would keep me up at night for the rest of my years.

I tossed him at Voldemort’s face, hearing a loud yowl from the cat as he smacked right into those eyes. He stumbled backwards and the fog disappeared. I sprinted, making a mental note to get Crookshanks a treat next time I made an order to Knockturn Alley. I could see the castle not too far from where I was. The castle, the lights, the promise of help. I could make it.

You know that trope in horror movies where the final girl trips mid-chase and it’s the most frustrating thing imaginable? Cause really, how often does a person trip?

Anyway, I tripped on a rock. Don’t get mad at me, you had prior knowledge that I’m not the most coordinated person. This is not an excuse, this is an explanation. Moving on.

As I was getting up, I felt a hand grabbing my ankle and pulling me away, far away from the castle. "NO NO NO NO NO NO" It wasn't a hand. It was a tendril of smoke, thick black smoke like the kind you see from a five alarm fire: billowing and toxic. Leaves, mud, rocks all went smashing into my face. Sinking my nails into the ground wasn't going to work. And all a sudden I was whipped into the air, stomach caught by the long arm of a tree branch before falling onto the floor on my back. I could not speak. I felt the pain gather in my back, in my arms, in my legs. Something was broken. I couldn't tell you what, I was in too thick of a haze to process even something as painful as that. The world seemed to be in a thick, black halo of stars and of blurred faces. All I could see was the thick gray clouds in a halo of black bare branches. They were disappearing. As was I, if I was so lucky. He could have easily cast Avada Kedavra and let my corpse rot out here.

“GET UP.” Voldemort yelled, and I saw a bright red light flash overhead.

It was as if I was a kid again, being bitten. Red hot nails sinking into the flesh of my back and arms. Voices in my head, my inner monologue were replaced with screams. The voices of my mother. My father. Willow. Mary. Draco. My old classmates. My new classmates. As if they were stuck in my brain and trying to claw their way out through my ears, fighting for freedom. I began to cough and cough, choking and wheezing.

"Don't be a hero. Get up and it will all cease." His voice was oddly sweet, but thick with malice. He would normally sic some goons on someone as unimportant as a classmate of Harry's. But now?

I got to my feet. Voldemort was holding Crookshanks in his hands. He clearly had no idea how to hold a cat, the cat’s arms and legs were dangling in the air and attempting to find solid ground. He dropped the cat, and it bounded away towards the school as fast as its little legs could take it.

“You are frustrating. I came here to ask you to do one favor. Kill Harry Potter. If you do, I will grant you whatever you want once I take power over the wizarding world. You can kill as many people as you want, never go hungry ever again. You will never feel the pain of hunger, the fear of words. You shall be a member of my army, of wizards and witches who strive for the best of the best. Not many people can survive the Cruciatus curse like that. Even for a minute. Surely, that takes courage. You could do it, subdue Potter and bring him to me.” He says this in a cold voice, one that reverberates in my skull.

“What if I don’t want to?” I squeak out. I’m curled up in a ball from all the pain. It’s a miracle I could say those words.

His face is dangerously close to mine now. “I could kill you. It's not difficult. Your friend Mariko, the silly one who wants to be minister. I’ve already killed her mother—” and that’s when I got up. The pain I felt did not matter. I socked him in the face, letting him fall back to the floor with a satisfying thump.

He killed her mother. The anniversary was less than three days ago, when her mother died at the hands of Voldemort and his cronies, the Death Eaters. This punch would not solve that problem. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say it felt good to see him crumple to the ground.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I said. I staggered away, fist still clenched in triumph.

“I’ll kill Draco. I know where he is. His father, he's a minion of mine. Surely he would not mind losing a son when he could so readily produce another. He’s walking to you right now, Ebony. He’s been looking for you, and I can kill him right here, right now.” Voldemort got up.

I was about to ask how he knew, but he gave me a look that suggested that I was an absolute idiot. Which I kind of was. I did just punch the Dark Lord’s nasty ass face.

“I know you love him. I can read minds, and yours tells me that you love him. I know surely you do not want to hold a corpse.”

“Kill Harry, and he lives. I tire of this.” And with that, he shot from the ground like a rocket, a black plume of smoke streaking through the dark clouds.
I began to hobble out of the forest.

Or at least, i tried. Somehow, he found me and brought me into his arms. “I’m sorry I–” I said. “I thought you two were a couple.” He squeezed me tight.

“We’re just friends. Really good friends." The hesitation was there. I could feel it in my bones. "I wanna be with you,” he said, burying his face into my hair. And in that moment, we kissed. I held the back of his neck gently. It was a sweet and short kiss, melting and yet permanent.

“Oy! Lovebirds!” Willow crowed, rushing to the two of us. Was that embarrassment or envy that crossed her face? She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“They found Britney.”

Chapter Text

You wake up yet again in the same bed with the hard springs and the taut sheets, with the same panels of fabric blocking you out from the student body. You’re used to it at this point, Britney. How good it sounds, to hear those two syllables rolling around your head like dice in a cup. You see the dish of broth at your bedside, still steaming. It’s chicken broth, with chunks of chicken bobbing up to the surface with carrots and celery.

No garlic in it. It’s a lot more watery than it is normally. A hunk of bread and glass of water stand next to it, like strangers at a party.
You’re not hungry.

The woman sitting at your bedside is one you don’t recognize. She’s got these spectacles you see librarians wear in cartoons, the kind that have points at the end and a chain that holds them on her neck. And a satin blouse the color of pond scum, with big poofy sleeves that you could deflate with a pinprick.

And a quill moving faster than your eyes can catch. Those long red nails, as fake as her smile when she sees you shift to a sitting position, are tapping on her notebook. That short blond bob, tight with curls, bounces. You’re not even exaggerating, it bounces on her skull.

“Ah, good morning darling! How lovely it is to see you.” You can see her teeth, they’re white and bleached like the bones of the deer you once ripped apart. You swear you know her name, your mother collected her articles the same way you collected corpses nowadays.

“I’m Rita Skeeter, writer for the Daily Prophet. I’m sorry to bother you while you’re…” You hear a camera click and a bright white light. You squint and see a man with a box camera. He looks decidedly less fashionable, better fit for a bricklaying job than the lackey of a journalist. If you could call her one.

She’s pausing, edges of her mouth twitching. We both knew there was a photographer. But neither of us care to admit it.

“Resting, darling. Now, I don’t have quite a lot of time to talk but you’ve been the talk of the town. You’ve been missing for almost four—” the quill scratches and she pauses.

“Three years and some change, but who’s counting?” She laughs and the quill returns to stabbing the paper. The laugh reminds you a lot like Voldemort’s voice, the same shrillness and danger. And yes, you’ve decided you don’t like this woman sitting at your bedside.

“I’m here to get the juicy details, the kind that our readers are ACHING to hear. And you’ve been in the hospital here at Hogwarts for long enough for your name to be on the front page of every single magazine and paper on the face of the Wizarding World. Even more popular than that Harry—”

And then she stops. Clears her throat. She probably knew about you and him. You remember that name, Harry. After all, who forgets their first (okay first notable because you’ve done it more than once) bite and transformation?

Skeeter looks at her only a moment to acknowledge her presence, but quickly snaps back to you.

“Yes, of course. Harry Potter.” She sounds slighted.

“Regardless, how are you feeling now Britney? This wonderful Madame Pomfrey here’s done a terrific job returning you to the picture of health, oh I can see her blush, you’ve done a terrific job here Pomfrey, take the compliment will you.” Pomfrey is blushing. At least, that’s what you think she’s doing. Her face is red.

“Britney, look at me. Don’t look at the quill. How are you feeling? You’ve been wandering the woods for goodness knows how long, and I’m sure you’re making strides towards recovery.”

“Yes, I have. I’m grateful to be sitting here in Hogwarts again, surrounded by such wonderful staff who saved my life and let me wear these oh so fashionable hospital gowns.” You say these words, and Skeeter lights up with excitement. You even hear a chuckle from that camera man.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve sat in a bed and ate with a spoon and fork. And a long time since I redyed my hair, I hope my roots aren’t too noticeable.” Another joke, one meant to show that after all this you’re just a teenage girl in hospital. You pretend to cover your hair, which is still the same bleached blonde you’ve had since forever, with your hands. The smile on Rita’s face is enough to signal this is what she’s looking for. A happy story about a young girl safe from the clutches of the Forbidden Forest.

You’re going for the kind of girl that you know the public will love, the one that people can celebrate having a happy ending. And if the camera man’s laughter and Pomfrey’s sudden absence to take care of a surge of students at the wing door are enough to go off of, you’re doing a great job.

****

“You’re fucking kidding me, Britney’s still alive?” I yell over the din of students and reporters making their way to the hospital wing.

“Yes, she’s been, come on!” Willow’s dragging Draco and I to the wing. Not really dragging, it’s more like a human chain where I’m holding her hand and I’m holding Draco’s, who is slowly following behind like a balloon on a string.

“Why do you want to see her so bad? It’s not like she’s gonna be all sugar and smiles.” I’m closer to Will now, so I don’t have to be as loud.

“Because! It’s not everyday your best friend’s mortal enemy reappears from the Forbidden Forest.” We’re at the far end of the hall, peering over heads. At least, I’m trying to. These heels can only do so much for me. I’m short, but Willow is tall enough that she can see everything without much effort.

The hospital door is shut, and rightfully so. There’s a man and a woman standing at the door, asking to go in. The man is carrying a box with legs and a tarp, the woman carrying only a jaunty purse. The door cracks open, and they go in. The crowd surges, a roar of frustration as the door slams behind them.

I’m not certain who they were. The woman was blonde enough to be Britney’s mom. And I have no idea what her dad looks like. The crowd stood. Draco’s pulling on my hand, trying to get me to move out of the pack.

The next day, when the Daily Prophet dropped from the ceiling I saw Britney’s face smirking from the front page, the tear tracks on her mother’s face outside their posh apartment in London. And the coverage of the day was Britney, Britney, Britney.

It was enough to block out page five, an Auror raid on R.M. Stokes, Butchery. The one place I could depend on to keep me alive. The Prophet came with a raven holding an envelope heavy with the money I spent trying to get the bare essentials, stamped RETURN TO SENDER. It squawked loudly, smashed its face into Willow’s toast and speared it with its beak and flew away.
“They had to take the toast with the real butter, not the margarine one.” She groans. “How am I gonna survive my morning classes now?”

I open the envelope with trembling hands. My friends at the table, Willow, Mariko, Vampire, and Draco scan the area for any prying eyes. The piece of parchment, slashed and curled, has frantic writing and uneven print, so different from the organized set up they portrayed.

“Dear Customer,

it's with a heavy heart that we close our doors and our owl service. Our job, providing the supernatural with the food they need to survive, has ended. If you put in an order, we have sent back your money as well as a list of possible blood alternatives until a suitable replacement comes into being.

Thank you for your patronage.”

The coins spill out of the envelope, and everything goes dark as I tumble to the ground along with them.

Chapter Text

“Truly, I have no idea how you managed to not die after all these injuries, especially after being untreated for so long. I can mend these in a minute, but could you tell me how you managed to break your left arm, your collarbone and your left leg?” Madame Pomfrey asked. She’s crouching next to me, her eyes level with me. Her dull crimson robes were brushing against the floor, her white headdress tilting with effort. She reminded me of the older vampires I’ve seen

“Quidditch practice,” I said, looking at Willow. The injuries could be hidden easily, had I chosen to wear a sweater or something.

“You’ve never done Quidditch. Ever.” Willow said. Pomfrey turned to her, mouth agape. I flipped her off, and she clicked her tongue. “I’m just saying!”

“Miss Gladrags, I appreciate you bringing her here but I’m afraid no guests are allowed. She’ll be with you soon.” Willow took one long look at the scene and turned without another word.

“Miss Tara Way, you’re going to have to be honest with me.” The hair on my right arm stood up and the sensation of gooseflesh crawling up my arm was enough to almost reignite the feeling in my left arm. Almost. “If another student hurt you, I can assure you that you’re in the safest of hands.”

“It’s Ebony. Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way. I tripped and fell, that was all. Down a flight of stairs. Maybe more than a flight, I wasn’t really counting—” She looked incredulous.

“You look very pale, have you eaten—.” I opened my mouth to say something and a tongue depressor was in my mouth. The taste of cheap wood was on my tongue as she peered inside.

“Ah yes, you’re the resident vampire on campus. I meant to check in on you Miss Way but—” The door clicked open.

“I’m sorry but no guests— ah Mr. Potter! You’re a bit early for your hormone shots, are you feeling alright? ” Lo and behold Vampire Potter came in with a bundle of fabric and the jingle of coins.

“You left your stuff behind at breakfast, Ebony!” He dropped them on the floor beside me with a grin. “Lucky I was there to pick it up for you—”

“But who carried me to the wing? Was it Draco?” I sat up a bit. Draco could probably have carried me, he must be strong. After all, it was a long ass walk from the Great Hall to the hospital wing.

“Actually, Draco tried to. Funny thing is, he froze up and couldn’t even pick up the plate of toast you knocked over. He’s in class right now I think. Willow carried you here.”

I let out a low whistle. “Not even a damn plate?”

“Language.” Pomfrey exclaimed, waving a finger in Harry’s face.

“Yep, that’s the guy I—” The moment he said that guy everything stopped. He looked at me and sucked in his teeth, pushing up air on the bridge of his nose. “--- once beat in Quidditch. He was always a bit shaky grabbing the Snitch.” He coughed, not to clear his throat but to end the sentence and story where it stood.

Madam Pomfrey was roaming around the wing, checking cabinets and underneath beds for some spare sheets.

“So besides dropping the stuff, what are you doing here?”

“Usually I get my testosterone injections and a juice box here in an hour or two. I’m just glad Pomfrey’s comfortable with needles.” He sat down on the stool near me, but Pomfrey gently gestured for him to stand up. The metal curtain, the one with the cheap paper divider suddenly slid between Harry and I.

“I’ll need that chair, if you please. Mr. Potter, your appointment is not for another hour. Kindly wait outside.” Harry stood. “Go.” He left.

“Close your eyes Miss Way.” I closed my eyes and heard the chair rattle and creak. A hand, gentle and careful, held my wrist. And that’s when I could see the gold flash of light, bright enough to see even with my eyes shut tight. The pain was unimaginable, as if I was reliving the incident again and again. Bones connecting, flesh healing, the dull ache of recovery radiated through my skin.

“Keep your eyes closed, that’s good. Almost there— let me pull back your hair a bit. Such long hair, I wonder what you use for it. Steady—” She’s half mumbling, half barking these orders as this weird sensation grew on my skin. Think of it like marbles rolling and collecting on your skin, spheres rolling and collecting. The dullness, the heaviness of it all.

No anesthesia either. So much for the Hippocratic oath.

“Perfect. Thank you for your patience Miss Way. You can open your eyes now.” She gets up from her seat carefully, stretching her arms a bit and carefully tucking her wand into her apron pocket.

“I’d advise you to spend the rest of the day here, you’ll need a bit of rest and recovery. I do believe we might have a bit of — nourishment on site. Excuse me for a moment, there’s another student I need to attend to.”

She got up with the kind of graciousness older wizards would have and shuffled towards the back, where a partition made of white fabric stood.

There was some rumbling, trays and spoons being moved from one spot to another. There was a hush as she walked past me.

“I’ll need to pick up some food for other students from the kitchens. Please, stay put. You’ll need to get a bit of rest.” She looked dazed. Strange, especially for someone who always seems so serious and so capable.

The door clicked shut behind her, and it was in an instant everything around me shifted. The curtains snapped shut, fabric snapping into place. The candles, the gas lights, the overhead lights were extinguished with the sort of quickness only magic could provide. The sound of a squeaky wheel, the hushed sound of something slithering on tile, the harsh breathing of someone sprinting.

I tried to roll over to my side, to get out of there as quick as possible. Was it Voldemort, coming back to finish the job? Aiming to kill me off?

No. He’d never appear on Hogwarts grounds proper. He’s too much of a coward. After all, that what you’d call someone who sends teenage wizards to do his bidding.

“Ebony.” Her voice. Melodic, soft, the kind you hear and think of the tinkling of bells. The gentle kind. Only, that wasn’t really her voice. Her voice was nasal, harsh sounding when I knew her. Her face reminded me of something you’d see on the front of those teen gossip magazines in Muggle stores.

And it was her face. And her long blonde hair.

“It’s been a while.”

Chapter Text

The face of a girl I thought was dead and missing for years was hovering centimeters above my own.

I could feel her face right next to me, the kind of heat you feel when someone is directly next to you.

“It’s not really Ebony, isn’t it? I was there for that time. It’s Tara.” Her voice goes cold and flat, dropping all the nasal tones and going so deep I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. No way a prep could ever do that. But she wasn’t quite a prep. At least here and now.

“Look at me. Surely this is no way to greet your friend, Tara.” Satan smite me now, I turn my head away. Even if my bones were repaired in an instant, I felt them ache deeply. The kind you get when you know something is wrong.

“Taaarrra. Won’t you look at me? You left me to die in that forest so many years ago. You can’t even spare a glance?” Her fingernails were long and curly, so different from the fluorescent pink ovals she would spend hours laboring over with vials of polish. That hand was at my neck, fingernails scraping the sides.

“Fuck off.” I shoved her away with the palm of my right hand. I heard her stumble into the panel, the rattle of mechanical wheels moving with the sudden force.

“I didn’t leave you to die, you preppy bitch. You went there on your own. You were going to hurt—“ I began to get out of my bed. Whatever happens, I don’t want to be found dead in it in the next few minutes.

The creature that called herself Britney hissed loudly and waved her hands in the air. They were beginning to smoke. Silver. Those dividers were made from silver. Most magical creatures can’t touch it, us included. If you could call us that. What does us even mean? I’m a vampire, but she’s….

“Tut tut. Shoving a friend aside? Tara dear, you’re being incredibly rude.” In a split second, she was up. No clambering to her feet, no fussing or trying to find something to grab onto. She was up instantaneously.

And it was in this split second she grabbed me by my neck and held me in the air. My feet were dangling, kicking, trying to find a solid place to land. This superhuman strength was unlike anything I encountered. And what disturbed me the most was how calm her face was. Britney’s perfect face had the most placid smile I’ve seen, the kind that would make anyone feel ill at ease.

“You know something? I’ve been thinking quite a lot about you. It wasn’t very hard to do so — when you’re wandering around a forest for the good part of oh - three? Four years? You tend to wrap your mind around the mistakes you made. Mistakes like you.” Her voice was also oddly calm. She could be reading a passage aloud in class, but here she was, doing whatever this is.

The room suddenly went brighter than before. Was it Pomfrey, back with food?

My airway was restricted. Perhaps it was me hallucinating. I remember in a movie somewhere that things got brighter under stress. Or maybe I’m misremembering something.

My legs were dangling, boots going heavy. Boots. Steel toed boots. Without warning, I reared my right leg back and kicked her in the collarbone.

She dropped me in an instant, and I felt the cold tile press up against my skin. I grabbed onto the bed and pulled myself up.

“You’re a fucking weirdo, you know that? Get the fuck away from me.” I scrambled away from her, trying to get as much space between us as I could. I passed by tables and chairs, beds and dividers until my back somehow found a wall.

She didn’t bother to even get up from the floor. She crawled to me, faster than anything I’d seen here.

“Look who’s talking. Won’t you stay still? It’ll be much easier.” Hands grabbed my ankle and yanked me onto the floor. My head hit with a loud thud. My ears started ringing. I felt myself being dragged somewhere.

With some hesitation, I loosened my foot from the boot she was dragging me on.

“Oops. What are you going to do now, fuckface?” I grinned ear to ear, getting to my feet. Or rather standing on one leg like a flamingo. It wasn’t the smartest move, sure. But hey.

She dropped the boot and stood still.

“You look ridiculous.” She couldn’t help but chuckle. Murderous intent aside, we both laughed for a couple seconds. In that second, I tried to find my wand. It was in my bag. She doesn’t need a wand to do any of this crazy bull crap. But I need one. Where did Pomfrey put my things?

On the other side of the room, in the check in desk, was a cubby full of effects. If I could just hop over there (even if I’m not the best at magic) I could at least stand a chance. Or at least I could try.

One hop. Two hops. Three hops. Britney looked at me, roaring with laughter.

“If this is a last ditch attempt at humor, you’re doing a great job. Once you’re done acting like a clown, I’ll be sure to make your demise a little less painful.” She laughed. “How many more hops do you plan on doing?”

“Just — as —- much —- as —- I —- need —- to —- kick —- your — ass!” Closer. I was getting closer.

“You remember the first time we met? How you were so scared of sleeping in the dungeons? How we decided to fix up your little bed to fit your needs — we turned it into a coffin. You were so thrilled. I wish I had one. But we can’t have nice things, can we?” She was walking slowly. Toying with me.

“It was fun getting to see you again, Tara. As much as I’d love to think about the last few years, I have more pressing matters to attend to.” She stood in front of me.

The door opened. It wasn’t Madame Pomfrey with trays laden with food. It was Willow, Mary, Draco, and Vampire. They had brought me a change of clothes. Or rather, Willow dropped a change of clothes onto the floor.

“Oh fuck no.” Willow said, pulling her wand out. Mariko had done the same. As did Vampire.

“EXPELLIARMUS!” Mary shouted, and the boot skittered out of her hand and onto the floor.

Draco pulled out a get well soon card.

“That’s not your wand,” Vampire whispered, nudging him.

“Well, I wanted to at least give her this card first. I spent hours working on it.” He quickly toddled to my side and handed me it.

Britney looked at him and sneered.

“Is that Draco Malfoy? God, you used to be so popular. So cool. So evil. And now you’re handing out little cards to goth freaks?” Draco looked down.

“Well, we do things differently now.” He drawled that, trying to conjure up some image of himself.

She backhanded him into a side table. He slumped over instantly. Vampire rushed to his side, trying to get his bearings.

“With more ease than I thought. Surely, this is a terrible sight for the house of Malfoy to see their youngest son being so weak. And is that who I think it is? Vampire, my dear. It’s been so long. A Slytherin house reunion here in the hospital wing. How quaint.” She slowly sauntered over to the couple.

“Vampire, do you remember how we used to date? Do you remember the night I bit you and gave you that namesake? Because I certainly do. The Boy Who Lived, my boyfriend. Everyone I knew wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

“WILLOW! Grab my bag!” I shouted, even though she was collecting what she dropped. She nodded and headed over to the cubby.

Mariko took one look at the scene and took a long breath. She looked petrified. And confused.

But nonetheless, she grabbed my boot from the floor and helped ease me into it.

“Listen, I had to come in. I’m not too keen on skipping my morning lectures, but—”

“Quit making excuses and help me put this shoe on please, I can’t keep my balance.” She eased me into the shoe.

“No magic fighting, huh?” she asked.

“I find it a whole lot easier to use fists than spells. And besides, it’s not every day you get to punch a vampire demon prep. But I’d prefer to have a wand. Willow?” I asked.

“Got it. Wingardium leviosa!” She floated the bag over to me and it gently fell at my side. I pulled out my wand.

“Thanks Willow!” I shouted. “Thank me after we take Britney down.” she said, running to my side.

“STUPEFY!” I shouted, and in that second Britney froze. It was a temporary fix, but it was enough for me and Willow to run and pull Vampire and Draco out.

Draco looked dizzy. “He’ll be fine, he might just need some smelling salts or whatever.” Vampire said. “I’m not a doctor.”
“We need to get out of here before things get worse. Bloody Mary, do you know of any other spell that could freeze her for a second?” I said, grabbing my bag.

“Yes! Hang on, I think I wrote that down in my notes…” She instantly went for her robe pocket, pulling out a small notebook and flipping through the pages.

“Let’s see…. No that’s for opening doors. Not this one either, it’s for spreading butter on toast.”

Britney began to move again. Slowly this time, but still moving her limbs in an eerie way.

Willow’s face suddenly lit up. “Wait, Ebs! That spell we did the other day — let’s do that one?”

We did the confusion hex together, and Mariko finally found the spell she was looking for and all of a sudden things had slowed down enough for Britney to stay in place.

Draco grabbed my hand and the five of us sprinted out of the wing past Madame Pomfrey, who was pushing a cart with three pots of chicken soup.

“Could we reschedule?” Vampire shouted, pushing past the old lady.

We were back in the dungeons, in Draco and Vampire’s room. Albeit against Mariko’s wishes (“You can make up the class, I’m sure that saving your best friend from attempted homicide is a valid excuse!” Willow said. Mariko nodded.) Draco was smoking Dragon’s Breath. Draco was sitting on the floor, Mariko at a desk covered in wadded up pieces of paper and glitter. It was evident the get well soon card was constructed here. Willow was sitting cross-legged on the floor, while I was sitting next to her. Vampire was sitting on his bed, idly twisting his hair with his fingers.

“Your ex-girlfriend’s a real bitch.” Draco said to Vampire. Vampire snorted, flopping back on his bed.

“You narrowly avoided death, and your first takeaway is that I dated a shitty person?” Vampire said.

“She used to be our roommate,” Mariko said, playing with a paper ball in her hands. “We all shared a room with her.”

“Was she the roommate from hell?” Draco asked. He took a long drag.

“No, she was actually very nice. But she was…” Willow began.

“A total bitch.” I finished. I slowly got up and stretched. I was still in a bit of pain, but I could manage.

“She was a vampire too, but unlike me, she did things a bit less subtle. No ordering from anywhere, no help from anyone. So like a vampire in the wild. Mariko, I hate to ask but why are you covered in glitter?”

She looked down at her lap. “It kind of got everywhere, if I’m being honest.”

Draco nodded, understanding. “Yeah, there’s no spell for that. Arts and crafts come from the soul, you know?” She nodded.

Willow looked at me, and then at the rest of the room.

“So what now?”

Chapter Text

There was an awkward silence that hung heavy in the air - along with the stench of Dragon’s Breath. That intoxicating fragrance was too syrupy sweet for me now - too strong of vanilla cupcakes and cinnamon. I coughed and the sound echoed throughout the room.

“To be honest - no fucking clue.” I flopped back onto the floor, eyes focused on the dark cracks of the wall.

“I kind of assumed that when I bite people - it sort of kills them? I think? No one really explains this sort of shit to me at all.” I kept my eyes on that low ceiling with its cracks and crevices, trying to count each one to myself instead of looking at the faces of my deeply concerned friends.

“So - you did—” Draco said.

“NO FUCKING SHIT I DID!” I turned to look at them. Draco grimaced at the sight of my angry face. Willow looked down at her palms, at the places where her hands were hardened from hard work with spells and with helping her mom with orders. Vampire knew. Mary - as much as she does not want to remember - did as well. You could hear the walls reverberate the furious sound. Nothing moved.

“It wasn’t as if I didn’t want to do it.”

~~~

Fourth year, Charms class. The second - as it seemed - sunny day of that year. You could feel the heat radiating through the thick curtains put up just for me so I could take that course with everyone else.

We were exchanging notes again. Me - and her. Brit and I. We sat next to each other in that big auditorium of a room - filled with baubles and lit with floating orbs of light. Those were our fall term assignments. We did pretty good. And by we I meant everyone but myself. You could still smell the burning hair within the dustiness of it all.

She was in her robes, neatly pressed and prepared with a pink headband keeping those long blond tresses out of her eyes. That peacock feather quill of hers was going a mile a minute - as that professor began rambling on about this one charm my memory did not quite pick up on.

Her first note was “What time is it? Is there a clock near you?” Beautiful cursive. The kind you’d pay plenty of money for to decorate your walls with.

To the left - there was a big grandfather clock. 4 minutes until 4:30. Far from the end of class - but not too far. I stabbed my eagle feather quill in my ink pot and wrote that time - smudging the ink in the process with my robe sleeve.

I passed it to her without thinking. The professor was still talking - now using a stick to point out a diagram.

Another note. “????”

She turned to me. “Tara - what were you trying to say?”
“Almost 4:30–”

And then we were cut off. Everyone was getting up from their seats - wands at the ready. I didn’t hear the spell. She probably did. She always paid attention. She never had to worry. At least up until later that evening.

I got up too - and mumbled along with what everyone was saying. But - what I was saying was far from that. In a split second - neon orange paint covered every inch of that classroom. Including my own notes.

We were dismissed early that day - and I along with Britney were told to return for detention. It was the right place. And the right time for something terrible to happen.

~~~~

“I felt like that was my only option really. Willow - Mary - you both knew - right?”

Mary slammed her fist down on the desk. ”Enough. I thought that we were NOT going to talk about that again.”

…we were not going to. There were some doors meant to stay closed. At least for now.