INIMICUS, sirius black

prologue

"HOW DREARY," said the girl, her eyes flashing across the headline, but not truly reading it at all, eyes glazed over— honestly, who cared? The mean mug of the newly ordained criminal glared at her through the newspaper, a scowl marring his handsome face, as if he could see her apathy at his flight. A shame though, the girl thought internally as her eyes flashed across his face. What a waste of such beauty. True, with high cheekbones and luscious locks, the man could have easily been seen on the cover of Witch Weekly, had his face not been covered in dirt and grime so much that the rest of his features were unrecognizable. Perhaps Celestia was too judgmental, having decided upon the attractiveness of the man without even knowing what he looked like apart from his cheekbones, but she digressed.

A weird sort of feeling settled upon the girl, as if she was missing something. As if that surprisingly attractive (yet dirty) criminal was more than just the newest killer of the week. As if he was no stranger. As if something had gone terribly wrong, and she was the only one who had missed all the signs. That face, where had she seen that face? Celestia racked her brain, but came up eerily blank. Her mind was silent. Her heart beat quickly, and she felt a familiar sense of dread creep up her throat. This is not the right future.

She silenced her mind, taking a sip of her tea, and closing the magazine.

Who cared! Life went on, people died (or lived, she supposed), and the world kept turning. It was probably nothing, she assured herself.

Celestia yawned, fanning her hands near her mouth. "It's as if all that they write about these days are murders and killings." She turned her head to the side, looking at her friend, awaiting the chilly response expected from her friend. "Yeah, it's as if mass murder is something newsworthy." She could already hear the sardonic response in her mind, and she began formulating a reply until she realized— no one had spoken. Celestia blinked. How odd.

She will save her response for another day then, she mulled insouciantly, picking up the book again and flipping pages quite carelessly (murder, murder, oh! The new Witch Weekly rankings!) until she slapped the paper down on the coffee table. She spared a glance at the girl next to her, but could see nothing past the curtain of platinum hair that fell, hiding the girl's face. The noise hadn't even startled her. She didn't even move to reprimand her for being obnoxious. Celestia paused. How odd.

But, Celestia paid no mind to the silence of her friend. After all, Nadia had been acting quite odd lately, she thought to herself. Though Celestia had called her odd quite a bit in her mind, to say that out loud would be quite the death sentence. Nadia Chernova, for the odd few years or so that the girl had known her, had always been fiercely protective of her reputation, her name, and her looks (not necessarily in that order). But luckily (or unluckily) for Celestia, she had gotten used to Nadia's cold silence and icy glares, and Nadia's silence today was no barrier for the might of a girl who liked company. Celestia opened her mouth, about to discuss the latest gossip she heard from Cissy, when Nadia's hand snatched the newspaper that Celestia had left on the table. Celestia shut her mouth immediately, her throat drying. How odd, she thought, her blood chilling. Hadn't Nadia already read the newspaper? It was already half past twelve, and Nadia usually read the newspaper as soon as it got to her house at eight in the morning, far before Celestia even realized it had come. Which either meant Nadia had forgotten, or ——

Nadia gasped, an odd, strangled sound emerging from her throat. The girl turned to her immediately in alarm.

"Nadi—"

Her words were cut off by shock upon seeing her friend's face. Nadia's knuckles were white, clenching the newspaper that Celestia had so mindlessly discarded. It was odd— yes, there was no other word for it. It was odd, it was out of the ordinary, it was an anomaly — how Nadia Chernova's face, which had always been set in a tight poker face, as still as a stone, was leaking tears like a broken pipe, landing upon the same headline that Celestia had barely read.