Promises (Temporarily on Hiatus)

It was near one o’clock in the morning by the time I reached my apartments, and the warmth and freeing aspect of liquor was soon to be replaced by pain and exhaustion. Already I was replaying the night’s events in my mind.

I had been frank when speaking with Lucius, explaining that I would not support his bid for Headmaster and that he should abandon all hope of ever obtaining the position. I admit that I had had a few sips of Firewhisky before confronting him so as to not seem overly aggressive or belligerent. I’ve been told that alcohol makes me less ‘imposing’ and ‘reserved’ so I dutifully ingested the drink. I may have overdone it... I did overdo it. I realised this halfway through my debate with Lucius, when I had the strongest urge to just let him have the job. I left shortly afterwards.

I strolled into my classroom to check on the girl, and upon entering the room, couldn’t help but appreciate the sight of her rump thrust up as she bent over her potion. I vaguely remember coming up behind her under the pretence of teaching her to properly chop ingredients. And then I realised how very inappropriate it all was and pulled back... the rest of the night was a blur.

I concluded quite resolutely that it was her fault I acted so... lecherously. I, of course, had no problem with being libidinous and ribald, but certainly not without some precedent, some build. It was mortifying, the lack of control... She made me do it. And so I quickly began to resent Miss Harper for all that I thought she had done.

--/--

The first morning of autumn was a nasty one, and the sky of the Great Hall reflected that fact. Enchanted snowflakes drifted softly from the ceiling, evaporating just before they reached the heads of the students that were seated at the four long tables. Porridge with strawberries was on the menu, but I had never been a fan of hot breakfast so I contented myself with dry toast and a cup of tea, black, with a lemon wedge. While my fingers may not have been nimble enough to slice peppermint properly, what little flexibility I possessed allowed me to straddle the long bench and balance my current book on my knee. It had taken me some time to finish Juliette, but in my defence it was an extremely long book and hardly suitable to read in public. Justine, on the other hand, was quite short by comparison. I had asked Professor Flitwick how to charm the cover of books to look inconspicuous, explaining that I needed an excuse to read during Study Hall. The goblin seemed quite content with the explanation and showed me.

To be honest, I was getting quite sick of de Sade and felt as though it were time to move on to more refined writing. The Marquis seemed more concerned with shocking a person than evoking any sort of response other than revulsion, but the entire principle of his writings resonated with me: that pleasure could be found through pain and vice versa.

One Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom will just have to wait, I suppose.

I was quite inexperienced with carnal matters, other than a rapid clitoral massage in the prefect bath, and that hardly counted for anything. But I did know what aroused me and what I found to be pleasurable. No one was going to tell me that I wasn’t an eager little masochist just waiting to be punished.

Speaking of punishment, here comes Prof. Disciplinarian now.

“Miss Harper,” Snape intoned.

Come on, Evelyn, pull yourself together.

“Good morning, sir,” I tried to say in an alluring voice.

“Yes, well, I want to inform you that your detention will be served in the library this evening, aiding Madam Pince in shelving books, and assorted clerical jobs.”

I was disappointed that I wouldn’t get to spend it with him, but what was I to do?

Maybe it has something to do with that night where he practically had his way with you on a potions bench... Evelyn, get a hold of yourself, he was so drunk that he couldn’t possibly remember it. Besides, that was days ago.

“All right, sir, I’ll be there. Have you gotten a chance to review my application again? I think I’ve made some real headway—”

Even though my parents denied me access to my inheritance, I was sure that once I was accepted, they would have a change of heart. They were good people.

“I’ve been very busy as of late, Miss Harper, and I suggest that instead of reading badly glamoured books, you work on that essay which is due... today it seems. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

I was quite hurt by his brusque attitude and dismissive tone, but I wouldn’t let him see it. In true Slytherin form, I gave him a small nod and continued breaking fast.

That’s what Slytherins are best at after all, swallowing their emotions until they snap and implode on themselves or end up stark raving mad.

“Miss Harper, how are you this lovely morning?”

“Peachy, Mr. Weasley,” I replied. “You know, I really wouldn’t mind it if you called me Evelyn.”

He looked mildly surprised at the suggestion, but soon grinned enthusiastically. “Yes, but only if you call me Arthur.”

“All right then.”

“What do we have this morning?”

“History of Magic.”

“Binns?”

I nodded grimly.

“Oh dear, this is going to be quite dull. Am I allowed into Potions today?”

“What? Oh yes, of course.”

In order to get him to leave me be the day I received the letter, I told him that we were making a terribly dangerous potion and that Professor Snape had asked him not to be there. Arthur, not daring to cross Snape, quickly obliged.

Professor Binns’ classroom was on the fifth floor, next to the entrance to the Ravenclaw dorms and main staircases. It was a relatively small, dingy space with dusty windows and creaky desks. Only a few of us bothered to take NEWT History of Magic, and most were those itching to enter the field of Wizarding Anthropology or getting a job at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Mysteries.

I took a seat towards the front of the classroom (Arthur seating himself next to me), and we chatted amicably about the glacial weather and Muggles, the latter a subject on which he was quite knowledgeable. I disclosed the fact that I did live in a predominately Muggle community and he asked numerous questions about their habits and lawn trimmings.

The minutes ticked by and still Professor Binns didn’t float through the blackboard as was custom. There was much debate over whether or not to inform a teacher, and it was decided that we’d wait a while longer.

Finally, the door at the back of the room squeaked open, and all turned to see the insipid Professor Faire creep timidly to the front of the classroom. He shifted nervously before finally addressing the impatient group.

“Good morning, class,” he mumbled softly. His greeting was met with dull silence, but he persisted. “Professor Binns has taken ill—”

“He’s a ghost,” I said flatly and the entire class sniggered.

“Yes, you see...” He nervously fiddled with his necktie and ran his hands through his thick hair.

Sensing weakness, I continued, “We expect the truth, sir, not some hideous cover you’re attempting to spoon feed us.”

“I, I meant that—”

“Yes?”

“He was exorcised!” the man blurted out. I thought that I saw a wave of anger flash in his eyes. The way they narrowed, the way his eyebrows twitched. It disconcerted me.

Every living body in that classroom was dumb with surprise and horror. Never, in the history of Hogwarts, had a spectre been exorcised from these halls; not Peeves, not the Bloody Baron. No ghost, no matter how agitating or gruesome, had ever been removed. An exorcism entailed the literal expulsion of a cytoplasmic entity from its chosen place of rest, never to return or find peace again. It was the worst fate that could be forced upon a soul.

“Who ordered this?” I hissed.

Everyone leaned in to hear Faire’s mumbled response: “The Board of Governors.”

The room erupted in loud discussion and dispute. The majority of the Slytherins were quite excited at the prospect of never having to listen to his monotonous lectures ever again. The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors rebuked their callous statements with a defence on the deceased teacher’s behalf.

“Why?!” a Hufflepuff wailed.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I cried out dramatically. “They wanted to get rid of him, he refused and they can’t very well sack him now could they? What was left to do but exorcise him?”

I turned to stare at Weasley and the rest of the class followed suit. I wondered how he could condone such a manoeuvre. Imagine our collective befuddlement at the fact that he was just as surprised as the rest of us.

“I had no idea,” he said more to himself than to us.

Of course you didn’t. You are obviously not in the loop when it comes to anything important. What does this mean for the other ghosts? The teachers? Who’s going to get the axe next?

“Are you going to teach us or not?” I snapped agitatedly at the simpering prat of a man.

“Erm, no, I’m not. I was instructed to give you study hall.”

“It’s the first class of the day! What are we supposed to do for the next forty minutes?”

No response.

“Right, okay, thanks for that,” I spat at him.

I whipped out a length of parchment and hurriedly explained to Arthur that I had a two hundred centimetre essay due for Potions on the properties of every ingredient in Veritaserum (of which there are seventy-eight) and how they contribute to the overall effectiveness of the potion.

“Two hundred centimetres?”

“I managed to earn myself another one hundred for my cheek.”

“Ah yes, well I’ll let you get to work.”

And work I did. I utilised those forty minutes to the best of my ability, writing the last couple of paragraphs I had yet to do.

--/--

The other fifty centimetres were relatively easy by comparison to the rest of the essay, it was mainly a summary and conclusion to my paper. Although it wasn’t my best work, I felt it deserved at least an ‘E,’ if not an ‘O.’ I placed the scroll on Professor Snape’s desk with the others and took my seat next to Arthur.

We were actually making Veritaserum today, but in my opinion it would have been more useful to attempt to brew it before we wrote the paper.

The entire class chopped and prepared the ingredients as Professor Snape graded our papers. The scratch of his heavy quill against the rough parchment was an indicator of how we all fared. Less writing meant less corrections meant a higher grade. The incessant scraping noise was his ripping our tedious research and meticulous documentation to shreds. Each plop of his nib in the crimson ink was more fuel to critique our ideas and assertions.

I met his eyes only once during the entire class period. I had been stirring my brew for some time when I felt someone’s eyes boring into me. Now, I had always been sceptical of the “prickly sensation on the back of your neck” concept, but I could feel someone’s eyes burning holes in me. I looked up to find the professor unapologetically studying me. Still agitated by his curt behaviour this morning, I raised my eyebrows mockingly and continued with my work.

My potion was spectacularly transparent, the exact colour and consistency of water. I was quite pleased with myself and smiled a rather smug sort of sneer. I blatantly brandished me ‘poorly glamoured’ copy of Justine as I removed it from my bag and pretended to read, all the while wondering why he had looked at me so strangely.

Probably deciding to fail you, Evelyn.

This particular potion, like so many others, required a full moon cycle to mature. It would be tricky to accomplish, as there was little room for twelve large cauldrons to be left simmering, so we would have to move them to an unused classroom.

Class soon ended, and I glanced around furtively at my now finished classmates. Most of them had managed to complete their potions and had done so successfully. Deeming mine to be superior, I breathed a sigh of relief and settled back comfortably onto the stool.

Snape stalked around the room handing back essays. He zigzagged in front of me numerous times without sparing me a glance. People seemed generally pleased with their marks and this only added to the strong feeling of self-satisfaction I already possessed. My peers began filing out of the room, bags and books tucked under their arms, when Snape snapped sharply for them to return to their seats. “I did not dismiss this class.” Perplexed, the students took their seats. Snape still held one parchment in his hand: mine. My pride swelled; he was undoubtedly going to read mine aloud to the class.

“Congratulations. Most of you managed to do quite well on this assignment. The majority of you received Es and some Os. I expect you all to improve as time passes. Do not rest on your laurels.”

I scoffed quietly, and Snape quickly spun around to face me. He unfurled my parchment with a sweeping gesture. A large, flourishing “T” was slashed across the page. I froze.

“Some of you must learn that laziness will not be tolerated. Slipshod efforts will receive marks that coincide with the amount of effort (or lack thereof) put into them.”

He dropped the paper disgustedly in front of me. I felt as though I were going to be sick all over the scrubbed wood desk. Hot tears filled my eyes and blood rushed to my face. I could hear the whispers and sniggers. I could feel Arthur shift uncomfortably next to me. But all I could see was Snape’s triumphant, repulsively pleased expression. Grabbing my essay, I lifted my head high and stormed out of the room.

--/--

“Bastard,” I muttered through a large globule of double fudge ice cream, courtesy of the Hogwarts kitchen. “He didn’t have to do it, you know.”

“There, there,” Marjorie Rosier cooed soothingly. “I told you he was a hideous git. Have some more ice cream.” I obliged mechanically and spooned another large bite into my mouth.

“I didn’t even deserve the grade. It was O material. I’ve never gotten a T before.”

Marjorie had become bored and stopped listening. I sighed and chucked the empty container into the bin. I felt humiliated and stupid and utterly pathetic for reacting in such a typical manner.

I’m above these fits of adolescent petulance.

But that didn’t stop me from burying my head in my pillow and trying to forget the whole incident.

I was loath to ever return to that classroom and was thankful for having my detention with Madam Pince rather than him. The embarrassment washed over me anew, and I shut the curtains to my bed in an attempt to drown myself in the darkness. Obviously it didn’t work, but it helped pass the time. At seven, I crawled out of bed, fixed my unkempt appearance, and headed towards the library.

The library was on the fourth floor, so the walk wasn’t as terrible as it could have been. I wrapped my robes tightly around me as I progressed up the numerous flights of stairs, taking care not to slip on a particularly mossy step. I paused to take a breath in the main foyer, but soon was distracted by the sight of Victor Gamp. I had forgotten all about my mission to ask Victor so Marjorie could punish him for some unknown crime. I had no desire to make the poor chap suffer so, but my fear of Marjorie outweighed any sympathy I may have felt for him.

“Victor,” I called out nonchalantly. He turned towards me and pursed his lips expectantly.

“Hello,” he replied with a stiff bow.

I heaved a sigh before starting, “Marjorie has asked me to ask you to come along with me to Hogsmeade tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, I thought you’d say that. Really, it shouldn’t be too painful. It will be you, me, Marjorie of course, Robert, Abigail and Adelaide, and Markus—”

“Markus?”

Oh shite.

“Really, I’m not trying to get into the middle of this. I’ve got a detention. So... goodbye.”

I scurried away, leaving the boy standing there, fuming. Curfew had just begun, so I rummaged through my courier bag to find my detention slip. If anyone confronted that I would merely have to wave it in their face and they’d scurry as though I had the pestilence. I was nearing the second floor when I saw him.

I spotted Malfoy strolling languidly down the corridor in my direction and ducked my head down in the hopes he would not notice me. Of course I would have none such luck, being conspicuously tall and in quite a rush.

"Miss Harper!" Malfoy made a beeline for my path and I stopped abruptly.

"Good evening, sir. I'm sorry to say I have a detention so I can't talk—"

"At what time?"

"Erm, seven thirty."

"My dear, you have plenty of time. At least allow me to escort you to your punishment. Where are we headed?" he stood alongside of me, but did not offer his arm.

He was about my height, with longish blond hair, platinum and perhaps white in some places. He was very pale and had thin fingers, one hand of which was secured around the knob of a tapered black cane. The top of the crutch was a silver snake head, fangs bared and eyes brilliant emerald stones.

"I see you're admiring my cane," he noted.

I was unsure if this was some lame attempt at innuendo, so I merely offered a soft "Yes, it is attractive."

“I have a question for you, Miss Harper. What are your feelings about balls?”

“Balls, sir?”

“You know, balls or... dances. Yes, dances. Do you think that the students would enjoy such revelries?”

“I certainly think that you would win over a majority of the student body.”

Lucius grinned menacingly, and I balked at the realisation of what I had given him: a means of seducing the students in his favour. The hallway was brisk, a thick coating of ice covered a pane of glass farther along the dank stone wall. Goosebumps pricked my skin as a slick breeze drifted by us, and the area darkened considerably. There was a lull in the conversation, our footsteps reverberating off the ceilings. A large bird of prey swooped by a cracked aperture, cawing loudly.

“Did you know, Miss Harper,” Lucius said softly, “that we have met previously? I mean, before this Hogwarts visit.”

“No, I wasn't aware...”

"Nor was I until my companion, Hadrian, revealed to me your true identity." I broke out in a cold sweat and stopped walking. At this point Lucius grabbed my elbow and led me forward. "Oh yes, Miss Harper. Or should I say Delaney." I tried to remove my arm from his grasp, but the grip had turned vicelike.

"Please, sir, you cannot tell anyone. I—"

"Don’t worry, Evelyn, I will not reveal your identity. I hope you can trust me to do that. And now that I know your real name, I must apologise for my rather crass behaviour that first night. I trust you won't tell your beloved grandparents."

Ah so this is how it will go; if I remain silent, so will he.

Recognising our precarious position, I thought it best not to make waves and allow Professor Snape to deal with Malfoy's desire to usurp power.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. I thought nothing of it, I assure you."

It is so easy to lie to these people.

"You are a good girl, Evelyn. And please, call me Lucius."

“If you say so. Sir—Lucius I really need to hurry of I'm going to be on time."

"Yes, of course. But before you run off, why exactly do you have this detention?"

We had stopped in a darkened hallway, a few metres from the library portal.

"Erm, for my cheek. Potions."

"A detention for being impertinent? Is Severus becoming stricter as time passes?"

At a loss for what to say, I shook my arm from his grasp. "Mr. Malfoy, I really have to go. Have a nice night." Turning quickly, I made my way to the threshold of the library without looking back.

"You may restack those tomes. No magic," Madam Pince's tart voice hushed.

A pile of books two metres high awaited me and I set to work.