Disguised Affections

The Headmaster looked at the young man sitting quietly before him. He was a slender boy of eighteen with shiny raven’s wing hair that reached to his shoulder blades, an aquiline nose that appeared to have been broken repeatedly, healed, then broken again, and a healthy glowing tan resulting from several weeks in the summer sun spent helping Hagrid take care of the grounds. The young man neatly crossed his ankles and tucked them beneath his seat. His eyes were shadowed and guarded as he watched the old wizard.



“What are we waiting for, sir?” His voice was deep and quiet.



“Because of our rather unusual circumstances,” here Dumbledore winked merrily to the boy’s frustration, “and because you’ll be starting Hogwarts as a seventh year, I have asked our Head Girl to help ease your transition into classes, Con. We are currently awaiting her arrival.” The Headmaster looked terribly pleased with himself, and Constantine gritted his teeth.



“Why the Head Girl and not the Head Boy?”



“You and Miss Granger share a House. The Head Boy is in Slytherin. Rest assured if the Sorting Hat had placed you there, it would be Mr. Zabini on whom we’d be waiting.”



Con shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Moments before, Albus Dumbledore had placed the ratty Sorting Hat on his head to determine in which of Hogwarts four houses he’d spend his last year of schooling. It had taken the ancient hat an extraordinary length of time, but it had eventually declared, “The cunning and ambition you possess is nearly unrivalled by any witch or wizard who currently walks these halls. However, your courageous heart dictates that you are undeniably a GRYFFINDOR!!”



“Well, well,” Albus had murmured, surprised. His blue eyes met Con’s black ones as he said, “How very unexpected.”



Constantine was brought out of his reverie when he heard a prim female voice announce “Fizzing Whizbees.” The door to the Headmaster’s private office swung open to reveal a young woman suffocating under a mass of curling, bushy brown hair. He stood politely as she entered the room, curious to meet Hermione Granger after hearing the groundskeeper discuss her and the other two thirds of the “Golden Trio” (as the Daily Prophet had named them) ad nauseum. Con decided that he had expected her to be taller. This petite, open-faced girl didn’t look capable of defeating a first year, let alone a homicidal, reptilian dark wizard intent on taking over the world. Hermione was also nicely curvy, he noticed through heavily lidded eyes. As a war hero, she could at least have the decency to look hard or dangerous instead of… girlish. She smiled at him slightly, and Con had the sudden uncomfortable feeling that she knew the direction of his thoughts.



“Miss Granger, thank you so much for joining us. I’m sure you’re busy keeping all the first years in line. It’s amazing how quickly they got lost, and we do find them in the oddest places. Just last year, one turned up asleep in Mr. Filch’s cleaning supply closet.” He paused for a minute, looking pensive. “Argus did deny that he had anything to do with that.”



The girl waved her hand dismissively and smiled at the dotty old man. “Please don’t give it another though, Headmaster. I’m happy to help.”



“Excllent, my dear. I knew that I could depend on you.” Albus Dumbledore offered her a sherbet lemon which she declined gently. “Well, then. On to business, yes? Miss Granger, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Constantine Prince.” Con tipped his head politely, his eyes and mouth remaining impassive. “Mr. Prince is a new seventh year Gryffindor, and I was hoping I could call on you to make his transition a little bit easier.”



“Of course, Headmaster. It would be my pleasure. Constantine,” the bushy haired girl said, smiling, “Where did you attend before Hogwarts?”



“Durmstrang,” the boy said shortly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe. He didn’t meet her eyes, preferring to watch her obliquely through the curtain of his dark hair.



Hermione appeared taken aback by his curt tone and unfriendly manner, but merely nodded and continued speaking. “Hogwarts will be quite a change for you, but I’m sure you’ll settle in admirably. I think you’ll find your housemates to be quite accommodating and friendly.”



“I’m here to complete my education, Miss Granger. Nothing more.” He found himself distrustful of her solicitousness. Con wasn’t sure where his certainty came from, but he knew that reaching out a hand in friendship most frequently resulted in having it smacked. The perky Miss Granger must have ulterior motives.



She cocked her head and regarded him in a clear-eyed manner that made him uncomfortable. Finally she nodded and answered. “We’ll see.”



“Excellent, children. Now that we have that settled, I’m afraid I have some rather pressing matters to discuss with Professor Slughorn. If you’ll excuse me…”

---

Con followed the Granger chit quietly, allowing her to fill up the silence with chattering. He listened with half an ear as he carefully took in his surroundings, analyzing every doorway and darkened nook. He wasn’t sure what he was concerned could be hiding, but he was in a place totally unfamiliar to him and every nerve was on edge.



“…and on your right is the potions classroom. It’s such a shame you weren’t here last year. Professor Snape, although a bit of a grouch, is a much better professor than Slughorn.” That caught his attention.



“You enjoy Potions?”



“Oh yes. Very much. After I’ve completed this year, I intend on applying for an apprenticeship with a Potions Master to further my studies.”



He looked at her appraisingly. “I am also inclined towards potions. It has a depth and subtlety to it that isn’t found in most other subjects.”



She nodded excitedly, and Con found himself quickening his pace to walk next to her. “I truly am disappointed that Professor Snape is not teaching this year. Last year, he taught the seventh year Advanced Potions students how to brew the Draught of Living Death and several very difficult healing potions. Professor Slughorn is teaching us how to brew calming drafts and pepper up potion. We already covered that in fifth year.”



“In a seventh year potions class? Unacceptable. How very disappointing. I hope that our other classes do not suffer in the same way.”



“I think you’ll be pleased.” Hermione gave him a small smile. Con tilted his head, suddenly intent on the curve of her lips. It was an intimate smile; one that spoke of shared confidences and gentle teasing. For the first time that he could remember, he felt hopeful.



“I am sure you are correct, Hermione.”



Upon reaching his new common room, Con discovered both his belongings and a herd of curious Gryffindors waiting for him. Hermione looked at him apologetically before introducing him to his housemates.



“…and last but not least, we have Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.” Just as Con had understood who Hermione was, he knew who Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were. No one in England would be able to mistake the lightning bolt scar and round glasses, which should make obvious who the red headed behemoth at his side was. Constantine was tall, but tended towards a more wiry build. Ronald Weasley was tall and broad with enormous hands – the perfect build for a Keeper.



Con smiled coolly, and gave a half bow preferring to remain silent instead of partaking in useless chit chat and small talk. He staggered under Ron’s hearty clap on the back.



“Bet you’re wondering where you’ll be sleeping tonight, hey?” The redhead’s face was friendly and he motioned to Con’s trunk and bag, casting a quick spell to make them lighter. “Well, c’mon then. Let’s get you set up in the boys’ dorm.”



He froze. “A dormitory? We’re all in one room?”



Harry smiled. “You sound surprised! Does Durmstrang have individual rooms?” The boy cocked his head to the side. “I bet that’d be nice sometimes, but it seems like it’d get lonely. I think I’d much prefer rooming with the seventh year guys though… Despite the fact that Ron snores like a banshee, Dean thrashes in his sleep, and Seamus sleepwalks.” The boy laughed suddenly and nudged Ron in the ribs. “At least that’s what he said happened when we caught him trying to sneak into the girls’ dorm. Sneaky bastard.”



Con rolled his eyes. “I assure you, I’ve never found having my own room to be a hardship.”



A timid-looking boy stepped forward and picked up one of Con’s bags. “Well, we’ll do our best to make you feel comfortable here, too.”



Neville Longbottom, he remembered from the introductions. Con nodded, before gesturing impatiently with a pale, long-fingered hand. “The dormitories?” He was eager to escape the crush of people in the common area.



Hermione Granger waved goodbye to him as he followed Neville upstairs. Con ignored her.



He was appalled when he saw five four-poster beds arranged in a half-circle around the tower room. “We all sleep right here? Together? In a row? This isn’t a muggle fairy tale. We’re not the twelve bloody dancing Gryffindors!” The other boys snickered at what they clearly thought was a joke.



Constantine acknowledged to himself that he was a snob, but it wasn’t his standards that were getting in the way of his blithe acceptance of his current living arrangements. The idea of sleeping in the open – totally defenseless! – was causing a spot directly between his shoulder blades to itch like mad. Half panicked, he observed that the only bed that did not have mounds of clothing and quidditch supplies piled on top of it was directly in the middle of the room. It had two beds on each side of it, hemming it in, and even worse, the staircase leading up from the common room spilled out at the foot of it.



It was easily the least defensible bed in the entire bloody room.



He stalked over to one of the few windows. Glancing out, Con saw that there was a drop of fifteen feet before there was another roof below. From there, several other windows were accessible. Easy to escape from, hard to break into because of the fifteen foot gap. The bed closest to the window was pushed flush against two walls which meant that he’d be able to sleep with his back pressed against the cool castle stone.



Constantine didn’t want the free bed. He wanted this bed. Although he was a standoffish sort, he wasn’t exactly rude. Or at least, he had no intention of making enemies so early into his tenure at Hogwarts. He wasn’t going to invite anyone to hex him while he slept by sniping at them on their first night. Looking at the coveted bed, he saw a blanket with the Gryffindor crest on it, a cage with a fat toad, and a Rememberall.



“I’d like this bed instead,” Constantine said pointing and trying to sound friendly. It felt unnatural to him, and he could tell that he’d failed to cozen his roommates who were looking at each other, taken aback. He’d sounded a touch predatory, and the smile that he’d pasted on his face had showed a distinctly feral gleam.



“Sorry, mate. That’s Neville’s bed. It’s been his spot for as long as we’ve been rooming together at Hogwarts.” Ron’s voice was verging on flat.



Con pinched his lips together in discomfort.



Stay calm, stay calm.



It’s just a bed.



Except he knew it was more than that. He frantically wracked his mind for an explanation as to why it was so important to him that he not be in the middle of the room.



“That’s okay, Ron! I don’t mind at all.” Neville said. “I was hoping to get away from Dean’s thrashing, anyway.” He smiled at Con, and the black-haired boy sighed in relief.



“Oi, you! If it bothered you so much, you could have cast a silencing spell!” Dean’s voice was good-natured. Neville rolled his eyes and patted the other boy on the back.



In a trice, Neville and Con had switched beds.



Before turning in, the new boy pulled out his wand – a lovely, long ebony wood – and began casting wards on his bed. The first level of defense was a distraction spell. For anyone who was not aware the bed was there, their eyes would slide right over it. The next level was a repelling spell which did not allow anyone to come within five feet of it. Constantine raised his wand again, when he heard someone clear his throat.



He turned, surprised and aggravated.



Potter was standing at his elbow with sympathy in his eyes. “You won’t need that here, but I understand. Did you fight in the war against Voldemort, too?”



Con shuddered suddenly. The burgeoning irritation he’d felt at the Potter brat’s interruption quickly fled when the darkness in his head lashed out and engulfed him.



His memories were gone.



Dumbledore had filled in his past as best he could, but it didn’t matter.



His memories were gone. Con might not have known who he was specifically, but he could feel the orderliness of his brain and his reliance upon it, and his memories were gone. He felt betrayed.



And relieved.



No mother’s face or lover’s caress resided in the dark of his mind. It was all emptiness and shadows of forgotten horrors. Flashes of dead flesh and red eyes and psychotic laughter would claw up from his belly and threaten to choke him, and it was during those moments that Constantine prayed the dark mysteries of his mind were never actually revealed.



Would it be so bad to continue living this muffled imitation of a life?



He’d thought he could start again, untainted by his past.



Judging from the faces of the boys that surrounded him, he’d already failed the first test of normality.



What could have happened to him? they whispered with their pink lips, turning eyes that were too soft upon him.



They were doe eyes – gentle and naïve.



He doesn’t think anything would actually happen here, does he? Their voices were soft and chiding.



And Con couldn’t help it. He started nodding. Yes, it could be coming here for me. My past could show up at any time and smother all of us in its bloody sheets.



Potter sighed next to him, and when Constantine turned to look at him, Potter’s eyes were old and hard – a predator’s face.



And he relaxed in relief. Not completely – he wasn’t a fool.



But enough so that the darkness receded and he was once again in the seventh year boys’ dormitory clutching his long, ebony wand.



“Trust me, I understand.” Harry leaned forward and lowered his voice so that only Ron and Constantine could hear him. “The others… they weren’t really a part of it so much. Ron and I… Ron and I cast our wards from the inside so that they don’t know. They didn’t see what we…” Potter trailed off, swallowing what he’d been about to say.



Con nodded and grasped the other boy’s forearm in acceptance.



That night, Constantine Prince lied in his triply-fortified-from-the-inside bed and clasped his wand tightly. His eyes were clear, but his ears strained listening for any noise that broke the silence that curled attentively under the soft breathing of his dorm-mates.