Year of Damnation, Tom Riddle

I. Cradle Mouthed

YEAR OF DAMNATION
I.   Cradle Mouthed

✶

By the ninth of October, leaves began to wilt off the trees, blanketing the courtyard. The season's first frost knocked showers of them from their branches, and they suddenly formed thick beds and carpets on the ground, swirled up into the castle by the wind.

Summer dissolved in an instant. An array of orange and brown speckled across the cobblestone and Dion found the soles of her brown bar shoes losing traction as she kicked up the dead foliage from its resting place. She weaved under the grand arches and sidestepped through the crack between Jean and Rosemary Bandini as they passed through the steel double doors.

A scuffle ensued behind her, parchment went flying across the entryway, and a sharp, "Dion!" pierced the confidence of her stride and stopped her in her tracks. Dion spun on her heel, her long white-blonde plait swung after her, grazing her last rib. She inhaled through her teeth at the sight before her.

Sanyu imitated a very clumsy run of hop-scotch: she bounced twice on one of her legs, gold and pearl necklaces jangling against her collarbones and the red and gold tie half done up around her neck before she caught herself with both feet on the third and animatedly apologized to the twins. They ignored her and shot dirty looks at Dion, then squashed two of the parchments that billowed around the corridor like dust bunnies with their feet. Abashment crept up Dion's neck, burning underneath the cool metal of the triple beamed cross that sat between her collarbones.

She caught two out of the air, the rest drifted into her friend's hands with the flick of her wrist. There was no time to waste. Dion continued her march.

"You should be a seeker," Sanyu huffed as she caught up, coils of her dark hair escaped her ponytail and bounced around her face in par with her steps. "Scrawny, slippery—every player's worst nightmare."

"I am not..." Dion shook the distraction from her head. "We are going to be late. I have never been late."

They had a terrible excuse, too—terribly embarrassing—to be caught up in one of Peeves' obnoxious pranks at their age. He turned an entire corridor into a splotchy ice rink with one of his gadgets; Dion and Sanyu, as well as a handful of other students, went blundering down the hallway with baby deer knees and chilly feet.

Sanyu blinked, then grinned crookedly. "Well... neither have I."

"Urgency, then. Urgency!"

"Dion, being a few minutes late won't kill us."

A disgruntled noise escaped Dion, something between a groan and a whine as she picked at the broken seam of her satchel strap. She would fix it after their monthly prefect meeting. "It won't kill you. People respect you."

"Oh." She inhaled sharply and gulped like she was trying to swallow her words back into her mouth. If Dion did not know her, she might have thought Sanyu threw up a little and tried to hide it. "Let's not dawdle."

Sanyu Ngondi, star beater and captain of her house's Quidditch team.

It was quite the sight to experience, watching her play. Every slam of her bat against the bludger made the stands erupt into tidal waves of gold and red; she gleamed just as bright on the field as she did off of it, even without the sizable jewelry adorned along her neck and limbs. Dion did not know why Sanyu chose to be her friend, oftentimes she thought much too well of her. But in the case she thought poorly of the blonde, Dion theorized she would have still been her friend.