Ecdysis

Chapter 9 - Fourth Year: Ritual

The mermaid behind the glass was barely recognisable. Her hair trailed past her hips like sea serpents, wavy strands branching off in different directions as if cognizant, darker than I remembered, even under water, and her teeth were longer and sharper. She pressed her webbed hand on the glass and I pressed mine over hers to complete our ritual greeting. I was surprised to find her spindly fingers longer than mine by at least two knuckles when our hands were about the same size last year. Her eyes, bright yellow and warm like the foliage that was beginning to blanket the school grounds, glinted back at me, lit with recognition. Fondness. The cold glass created a barrier of distance between us, but it was the warmest welcome I'd received this year.

Behind me, the common room rumbled with life. A couple of crinkle-browed second years were teaching each other Wizard's Chess on the leather sofas. A tattered rule book hovering open beside them. On the opposite side of the room, far louder, Blaise, Goyle, and Crabbe sat behind the long mahogany study, flipping through a Quidditch magazine, bragging boisterously about the World Cup event they'd attended over the summer. Apparently, some Crumb fellow had autographed their t-shirts. I could see their reflections in the window, white shirts stretched over curved spines, dark heads bowed together like three Magic Eight balls.

Their reflections vanished as an older mermaid swam into the dark void, rows of mangled rope layered around her neck proudly as opulent strings of pearls. She shot me a chiding look before clutching the younger mermaid by the wrist and jerking her away. I followed them as far as the window allowed, watching them communicate heatedly, pausing when they disappeared, an achy longing blooming in my chest.

A moment later, footsteps bounded down the dormitory stairs, growing louder to signal someone descending the spiral. It was Pansy, strutting into the room in her chunky loafers with all the pride and confidence of a hardened fourth-year student who thought she owned the school.

She wore a tartan headband in a Slytherin motif, pulling back most of her ebony fringe, a few strands wisping over her carefully arched brows, ears uncovered. Over the summer, she'd added two new piercings on each earlobe and never failed to show them off. It wasn't common for pure-blood girls to have over two conservative ear piercings. Nobody in our house had them, anyway. She wore small white gold hoops (and made sure everybody knew they were white gold and not silver), emerald studs above them, and mini stars on top like Christmas tree toppers. Draco had bought them for her. It was all she talked about.

Pansy had a dishevelled look about her. Skin flushed. Shirt misbuttoned. The collar flipped up on one side. I knew her well enough to tell it was deliberate. Pansy didn't take two steps in public without first checking her reflection in a window, mirror, suit of armour, the swell of a silver spoon, if necessary.

Ignoring her, I headed upstairs and nearly barreled into Draco at the landing. He seemed out of breath and was fumbling with his trousers. At the sound of my footsteps, he froze, looking up at me. Then, as if I were nothing but a cold draft, he turned around, smirking to himself. A raspberry splotch marred the silvery skin beneath his ear, bright and blooming. His hair was tousled, and he smelled distinctly of Pansy's cinnamon hearts perfume.

I made a hyperbolized gagging noise as I passed him into my room, shutting the door with an audible thump. If third-year Draco was all pompous disregard for female attention, fourth-year Draco was the horny teenage boy my mother tried warning me about in the Human Anatomy book I'd burned last year.

I lit an oil lamp on my bedside table and illuminated the chandelier in the centre of the circular room. It smelled like Pansy's perfume, and Daphne's shea butter moisturising cream, and probably my something that I'd grown nose-blind to. Three girls sharing a room was far more pleasant than five, and this year we had ample space to spread out our belongings and a bed between us so our sleeping quarters were more private. Though I could still make out the screechy pitch of Daphne grinding her teeth at night. Strange how I knew the sleeping habits of these girls more intimately than those of my parents.