A Circle of Flame- Sirius Black x OC

Chapter 7

"Are you really surprised?" Myra didn't look up from where she poked at her plate of chips. An unused puddle of ketchup lingered on a side plate

Liza decided to ignore the fact her friend was using a fork to prod the potato slices. It was a fight not worth starting. Instead, she slammed her Charms book shut. It was impossible to focus. "He's Reg's brother," her lips pursed in disapproval. "I would have thought the git would have at least attempted to help."

"He's a selfish Gryffindor," the dark-skinned girl shrugged, pulling on her already perfectly knotted tie. Today, her hair was deftly twisted into a pair of pigtails. Somehow, the style still exuded a mature decorum. "It's in his nature."

"And what does that make us Slytherins?" Liza raised a questioning brow as she shoved another bit of treacle tart into her mouth. The sweets were the only reason she bothered coming to the Great Hall. She was forever grateful for the house-elves and their expert baking.

Myra pressed her lips together in a thin line. "We are survivalists, which means that we will do anything to save our own skins. Both our strength and our downfall." Contemplation bloomed in her dark orbs.

There was a slight pause as Liza considered her words, chewing her tart thoughtfully. The rich taste of brown sugar and butter bathed her tongue. "Suppose that's true. Here's another for you," she held up a chip in front of Myra's nose. The steam burned her fingertips. "Is our sorting a reflection of who we already are, or is it the determiner of what we will become?"

Clicking her tongue softly, Liza suppressed a victorious grin. The fastest way to deter her friend from sinking into a cynical slump was to pose philosophical questions. She had no doubt the bright witch would have been in Ravenclaw, had she not been so determined to follow the will of her family.

"I suppose a bit of both," Myra acknowledged slowly, finally taking a bite of chip. "The Sorting Hat looks at our abilities to make the decision while we determine our own character with our choices."

Liza snorted at the serious crease between her friend's brow. "You sound like Dumbledore."

A scowl pressed down the edges of Myra's mouth as she delicately chewed her food. "Don't compare me to that old fool. He holds half the solutions to the problems of our world and look at him," she nodded to where the headmaster was chuckling with Madame Pomfrey cheerily, "he just sits up there with impossible riddles."

Liza couldn't exactly disagree. She wagered that the elderly man was discussing a trivial topic. Last term, he had spent most of his time describing his extensive sock collection. Taking another bite of her treacle tart, Liza's cheeks bulged as she debated her response.

"Merlin, you pair are boring."

Myra and Liza turned simultaneously to see Cuthbert Nott staring at them with a frown, his tan skin as smooth as always. The top of his sweater was unbuttoned just enough to reveal the beginnings of dark chest hair, which Liza had no desire to see. She swallowed her mouthful quickly to avoid spitting it back up.

"Hello yourself, Nott," Myra snapped, grabbing a crimson apple in front of them and pinching the flesh between her fingernails. It was a subtle threat to their new companion. "Surely you have something better to do?"

Cuthbert stretched out his legs as he lounged beside them, brushing back a piece of dark hair from his eyes. The sides of his head were shaved closely to his skin but the top grew out into thin waves. Liza didn't see the appeal that enthralled many at Hogwarts. Perhaps it was his obnoxious personality that ruined any attractiveness.

"Now, now, Rowle. I know your parents taught you better manners than that."

Myra stiffened at the mention of Eugene and Lydia Rowle. Liza had visited their Manor on occasion. It was a solemn place where one was reprimanded for talking too loudly. She shuddered at the memory of the hushed entryway, darkened with shadow, and smelling faintly of mildew. It was no wonder that Myra had so many internal walls.

"Sod off, Nott." Liza pulled back open her textbook, although she had no intention of reading. Her eyes scanned the lines of text.

Always petulant, Cuthbert leaned closer. The minty smell of his aftershave stung her nostrils. "Don't think you can hide behind Black much longer, Prewett. Regulus may defend you now but when the time comes," he rolled a grape between his fingers before squishing the skin into pulp. A spray of juice hit Liza's cheek. She wiped it off with a sour sleeve. "You're expendable."

Mocking his smug demeanor once his back was turned, Liza watched as the Slytherin boy strolled back over to Evan Rosier, who shot her an equally nasty look. "What is their problem with me?"

"Your brothers torture them every spare second they get." Myra sunk her teeth into the apple, using her tongue to catch the extra drops of juice. "And you're a bloodtraitor."

Liza winced at her candor. "But what if I'm not?" She frowned and traced the edge of her textbook. The parchment was thin and stained from many years of use. It was a thought that had plagued her for years. She had never really had the chance to build her own identity. Between Slytherin pressure and the reputation of Fabian and Gideon, it was easiest to dissolve into the background. "I never said anything of the sort."

"Liz, you're a bloodtraitor," Myra deadpanned, not looking at all contemplative. At Liza's silence, she let out a long sigh. "Let me put it this way: if a muggle woman was crossing the road and she was about to be hit by a bus, what would you do?"

The blunt wording made her hesitate. "Push her out of the way?" Liza replied slowly, "but—"

Myra shrugged. "There's your answer. Pureblood supremacists would say it was one less filthy being in the world."

A tense pause buried their earlier ease as Liza chewed on the edge of her lip, mulling over Myra's response. "Surely most people aren't that extreme. What would your parents say?"

Eugene and Lydia weren't exactly the friendliest of wizards, but somehow, she couldn't picture them watching an innocent bystander be pummeled.

"That they wouldn't want to get blood on their robes," Myra softened her sarcastic tone as she set down her apple. The murmur about them had ebbed as the students began to return to their next period. "I suppose it would depend on if anyone was watching. My parents use the utmost caution. Do what you want unless someone sees what you want if you know what I mean? No weaknesses."

Liza puffed out a long sigh, gazing up at the ceiling of the Great Hall. The sky was a cheerful blue today with wisps of white cloud. Artificial rays of sun split the bright expanse into faint strips. At least Liza thought it was artificial. She had yet to understand the true nature of enchantments that covered the ceiling. Now, she mostly noticed that the fall day greatly contrasted with her dismal mood.

"That's harsh."

"So is life." Myra piled her books together before she stuffed them into her satchel. The beading on the front of the leather case had been inlaid in the shape of her family crest. A lone raven cried in the right corner. "Let's go, we're going be late for Charms."

A loud burst of laughter erupted on the other side of the hall and Liza tilted her head to see James's hair had turned a bright colour of bubblegum pink. It was a startling change to his jet-black waves. To his right, Sirius howled, clutching his side while he rocked back on his bench. The rest of the Gryffindor house seemed uncertain whether to share in his mirth. If they did, Potter was likely to take revenge.

Gideon strolled behind the group of Marauders, his ginger hair gleaming in the light of the windows. He sent James a rugged wink. "That's for last night, Potter. Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong."

The Gryffindor's face turned a brilliant pink, nearly the same shade as his new locks. Liza swore a trail of steam erupted from his ears.

"And next time, watch what you eat," Fabian leaned over and popped an olive from James's plate into his mouth. "Veggies are a good place to start. You could use a bit of muscle on the field."

Liza snorted, slightly mollified that at least one Gryffindor wasn't having the best day. James deserved every bit of her brothers' torment. She couldn't keep track of the number of times she had had to scrub gold from her hair after the Marauders had raided the Slytherin Common Room.