SOUR CURSE

Khalilah fixed the prefect pin that pierced through the fabric of her robes, right next to the Ravenclaw crest, always close to her heart. As she fixed the pin, the needle has pricked her finger, the thumb of her right hand. A single drop of scarlet blood rose to the surface, painfully obvious against her bronzed skin. It was a wonder how a goddess would easily bleed the same as the ones below her and not of anything grand like gold. To have gold blood, she imagined the first time she saw it, blood touched by Midas himself. Allah’s blessing? 

She pressed her finger to a napkin, carefully wincing at the immediate pain, but a small squeal left her mouth in a moment of vulnerability - a moment of weakness. Her hazel eyes glared at her friend sitting across from her, Olive Hornby, a muggleborn witch holding herself to the highest degree as much as Kitty. She did look nice in the robes Khalilah gifted her this morning, a bribe enough to solidify allegiance for their sixth year. 

“Olive.” Kitty started, thumb still pressed into a napkin, the small ounce of blood seeping out from where it was first placed onto the fabric, like ink on parchment. “It is always incredibly dull around here.” It was no question she gave a quick glance to the Gryffindor table, eyeing the golden Aviators in their moments of pure glory. “The countdown to the first Quidditch match is becoming a bore really. I’m ready to win.” 

Khalilah lifted her thumb. Of course it stopped bleeding, it was only a single prick, Sleeping Beauty. She folded the napkin over, not enjoying the slight of blood any more than the queasy. “Even after the disasters of the first night, you would imagine the air would be more intense rather than fleeting. Why don’t you stir trouble Olive, a show would be lovely. Besides, a show in your new robes would be lovelier.” 

One leg pressed against the other, folding together as she lifted one over the other, adjusting her posture to pay more attention. A beacon of light radiated from Kitty, a warm glow that she’d come to associate with the fellow Ravenclaw, decadence dripping from her friend, a honey which Olive longed to swim within the pools of. Each word that left Kitty’s mouth was taken as gospel within the girl’s mind, a desperation to latch herself onto the glamour that she hoped would swathe her, needing the light to shine upon her, as it did her friend. 

Noticing the way a napkin was pressed to a small pin-prick wound, her brow creased marginally, although no words of concern left her mouth. On her list of things she cared for, it was herself that always came first, but her friend had also been etched there. Olive didn’t mind the orders, since she’d often pass the menial tasks onto younger student, too scared of her to draw any form of argument. 

“Some would disagree, I’m sure. But you’re right, it is really dull around here. You’d think a bomb would incite further chaos, or at least a few students doing unnecessarily rebellious things - but they cling to doorways and hide behind tables, as though that will keep them safe.” Primary classes when she was in single digits, were flooded with practice after practice, everyone in fear that one day the roof of stone would fall upon them when an attack hit - she knew the drill.

“I never need much convincing to turn the attention to me,” Olive proclaimed, a smile glistening on her features as she twirled a long sable lock round the perimeter of her index finger. With a deliberate glance down at the fabric she wore, and the fine robes which she’d been gifted, Olive gave a nod of agreement. “Do you have anything particular in mind?”

Leo is, of course, in detention. 

It’s been five days since the bomb, and as Hogwarts rebuilt itself, Leo had played his role of jester and joker perfectly, setting off a particular stink bomb in a third floor corridor with a delicate chuckle. He had made feeble attempts to slip away from the scene of his crime, but his potions professor had slipped their hand around his arm, grip as firm as the gaze coming from their eyes, and scolded the Yaxley boy in a manner not entirely deserved.

❝ Oh, Olive Hornby! ❞ he exclaims as he slips himself into the seat beside her, unable to behave himself even as he sits in his punishment. ❝ I am slain. ❞ 

The detention proctor casts him a glance of pure distain mixed in with something akin to awe, as though they are simultaneously amused by his grand sense of humor, and annoyed that they are the one who must deal with it ( perhaps because they, too, find him hilarious and can’t bring themselves to punish him in the wake of the destruction that befell their beloved Hogwarts ). 

❝ Here I was thinking, ❞ he says, carelessly slipping his arms around her shoulder as he dips his head closer to her own in an attempt to both appease the professor with ire in her eyes and get himself closer to her, ❝ I was the life of the party. ❞ 

An eyebrow rose, knitting with the other in unison. Loud tones sounded around the room, bringing the tedious silence to an abrupt halt. Out of the corner of her eye, Slughorn gave her a stern look - igniting an annoyance within Olive. The threat of another detention clung to his lips, almost as though he enjoyed giving her them - if only to help his stupid students.

“Yaxley,” she sighed, curling her fingers around the page of her blank textbook, not a single word etched upon the fresh parchment. Ink sat beside her, a honey pot of literary potential.

The arm thrown across her shoulders caused a look of distaste, a roll within her eyes. “I’m not an arm rest, stop leaning on me.” Patience was void from each syllable, agitation infused from the dull time stuck reciting what she had already learned, in stead of having fun. Kitty was probably having fun.

“Life of the party? Who on earth told you that?” He swayed little opinion within her, he was avoidable thought and her mind barely lingered on him.

Sugar dusted against her lips, the indulgence of sweet pasties melting on the plains of her tongue. Growing cold in a teacup beside her, the half-drunk brew was pushed aside with distaste. With every cube of sugar which had been dropped into the tea, brows had raised further on the faces of other - blasted rationing. Olive was tired of it, her sweet tastes not fully satisfied due to the lack of resources. Her actions did not impact those outside the walls of Hogwarts, what should it matter if she desired an extra cream puff? 

Laboriously, she turned the pages of the paper, eyes skimming the world events with disinterest. Lips pursed, eyes rolled and she cast her glance around the room, watching other students eat or chatter, some paying lots of attention to their surroundings and other’s completely wrapped up in their own life. Olive already felt irked, having been issued with a detention on the second day of classes - a stern look had shot from her history of magic teacher. Too much too soon, apparently. 

Shoving away the news articles, she made no movement to unfold The Daily Express, which her mother had sent, bound with a letter in tow - she didn’t care to read that either. Dark ink would probably read of love, perhaps a growing fear, but an urgency from Violet Hornby that her daughter should not worry herself. 

Drumming her fingers methodically against the table, a restlessness flooded her bones. A long sigh slipped past her lips, “Things are incredibly dull around here.” 

DATE : September 5th 1944 LOCATION : The Library TIME : 9:01 PM STATUS : Open

Fill your work with the breathings of your heart.

She sat alone in the library, books sprawling across every corner of the table at which she sat. The savor of fresh ink and parchment intertwined with the scent of ancient books and unknown knowledge settled around her, filling her every breath with familiarity, as if she never left her second home. In truth, Kharmali gave little regard to the notion that classes had just begun; she had never truly stopped working during her summer, hence the official start of classes did little to change her routine. 

Her eyes dragged over the series textbooks surrounding her working station, each leather-bound cover capturing her gaze just long enough to skim the title. She had purchased the books second-hand from a graduating 7th year just days before her 6th year had ended, spending much of her summertime pouring over the new information, familiarizing herself with foreign concepts and reviewing the old ones. It was routine. 

But her comfort had not lasted long. The repose which came with returning to school was destroyed in that matter of mere minutes. She had blinked and the illusion of safety and solace had shattered around her.

Kharmali had returned to Hogwarts for but not a week and the chaos had begun, rising with the tide of bleakness and crashing against the shores of her school, her safe-haven. School ought to have been her escape from the terrors and uncertainties which ravished her home but the vow of protection the school had promised had been fractured. 

No amount of magic or classes could ever return her certainty.

But she worked away, her only goal to return her frame of mind to normalcy she found comfort in. Submerged in her studies, she was only partially aware of her surroundings, thus when her ears were met with the sounds of slight rustling and shuffling, she didn’t take it upon herself to look up from her book but rather muttered, “If you wish to take a seat, then do so, but do it quietly, if you could be so kind…”

Boredom stirred within, words upon parchment of a finely bound book swirling within the many compartments of her mind. Fingers knotted around the inches of its spine, clasping it firmly, gripping mercilessly in irritation. With a roll of her eyes, the novel she’d received from her mother was tossed without care into the burning fire, sight caught on the way the flames licked the pages. “Pathetic,” she huffed, ire ridden, provoked from the verses which she predicted long before her sight crossed the scripture, a dull romance falling below her idea of a good story.

Eyes burned, a penetrating gaze causing her head to tilt. Girlish features stared back, more youth within than her own, a fellow bird judging her lack of care for the fiction she cast aside. “Take that look of your face! I have standards when it comes to literacy, just because you don’t. doesn’t mean I should suffer the waste of time that comes from a bloody terrible book.” 

Without another word, Olive rose from her spot on the sofa, legs which had extended the expanse of the plush furniture ( leaving no room for another ), swung to touch the ground. Invisible fibres were brushed from her skirt, the comfort of her personal clothes less restrictive than the uniform which was pressed daily, for a flawless outer visage of sable curls and impeccable standards. 

Old oak doors slammed against aged stone. If anyone was not aware that Olive was leaving the room, the exit soon alerted them. 

Glowing lanterns guided her path, flames littering the walls as untouched shadows concealed dark corners of the castle halls. Feet rhythmically tapped against the worn ground, dark eyes glancing around. Autumn had lowered the temperature of the Scottish air, causing her to shiver involuntarily. 

Upon entering the library, she noted that not many lingered. Crossing over to her favourite section, Olive plucked an advanced book on charms from the shelves, a half-smile planted on her lips. Her fingers continued to skim spines, occasionally pulling out a book a few inches before sliding it back in with a dissatisfied huff. A voice caused knitted brows, head turning in surprise. She didn’t like to be silenced. “Or you’ll do what exactly?”