Poison | Cedric Diggory

8: determination

{ 8: determination }

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Despite Oleander remaining furious about Cedric's being chosen to compete in the Triwizard Tournament, it seemed to her that everyone else in the school had accepted the fates of not one, but two of their prized students. For Merlin's sake, the Potter boy who had been selected alongside Cedric wasn't even of age! She was utterly baffled that Headmaster Dumbledore had allowed the games to continue, and resented him greatly for it.

Her Slytherin family had long held hate for Albus Dumbledore, and growing up, Oleander had tried to block it up. She had simply been a child, trying to grow up peacefully and without any sort of negative influence. But it turns out that she had not plugged her ears quite hard enough, and now she was seething with anger at her headmaster.

But, even though the young woman longed to see the shocked look on the old wizard's face when she stormed into his office, a whirl of school-ordered cloak and vanilla perfume, and demanded that the tournament be cancelled, Oleander chose to remain silent. She had heard tales of how strict Professor Dumbledore could be, and how little he gave in to anyone, students in particular.

A new plan was in order.

But the girl still had no idea how to help Cedric.

Oh, how brave he was! Oleander nearly sighed audibly at the thought of the determination that had come over his face as he spoke sternly about the upcoming challenges that he would be forced to face.

In front of a fucking audience.

It was completely and utterly barbaric.

This was another thing that annoyed Oleander: who gave seven hells that the Triwizard Tournament was 'tradition'? That was no excuse for putting children, the entire future of the magical world, in danger. If this were so, then the Salem Witch Trials would have never stopped, and there would be no magic left at all.

If some traditions never became outdated, then there would be no world at all.

Close to screaming aloud, Oleander nearly threw herself out of bed, where she had been lying late into the night and thinking. Through the strongly barred and glass-paned window of her dorm, the green water outside was dark. It was still quite late.

Tossing her heavy sheets back up towards her flattened pillow, Oleander slipped into and laced up her black boots, which were dirty from many late-night walks around the grounds of the school. She tended to think too much, and often found that the only remedy for this was to walk and think, rather than laying in one place and letting her busy mind absorb the rest of her up into its black hole.

The female grabbed the cool metal candle holder that rested on her nightstand, casting a quick spell to cause the wick to burst into flame. She then tucked her wand into the pocket of her nightwear and slipped, quiet and stealthy as a panther, from the room.

The Slytherin Common Room was unnerving at any time of day, but in the inky black night, it was positively eerie. Stone skulls could be found everywhere; carved in the corners of the walls, stacked along the mantle that stretched over the expanse of the fireplace. Oleander's candle gave off enough light for her to see what was just in front of her and a bit beyond that, and the glow tossed shadows along the walls, stretching the skulls into eerie and inhuman shapes. She shivered, but wether it was from the cold or terror, she couldn't exactly place.

"What are you doing here?" came a voice from the absolute depths of the shadows.

A shriek ripped itself from Oleander's throat, and the candle flickered angrily as it shook in her hand. Once the initial shock wore off, her fearful expression sobered and melted into annoyance.

"Malfoy."

And indeed, it was fourteen-year-old Draco Malfoy, seated in a large armchair, the plushest one in the common room. As the girl approached him and more of him was brought into the light, she could make out the smug expression on his face, his loosely crossed arms, and how one ankle was crossed over the other. Oleander chewed her rose-tinted bottom lip, fighting not to punch Malfoy right in his pale arrogant, little face.

The boy smirked, looking much older than his fourteen years due to the shadows that were cast over him. "Are you planning to answer me, Alsbrook? Or would you rather just remain there and stare at me all night."

Oleander gritted her teeth in annoyance, running her tongue along one of her canines. "I didn't come to see you. Clearly." Now that her composure had been regained, her slender fingers danced through blonde hair that was much more natural-looking than Draco's. "And I don't owe you any answers. I'm not planning on burning the school down with this measly candle, if that's what you're afraid of."

They both laughed sharply at the last line; the pair of them knowing that if anyone wanted to burn Hogwarts to the ground, it was Malfoy.

"I'm not afraid of anything," the boy drawled. "You had best continue on your way, before I go to Snape and inform him that I was simply reading a book in the common room and you came down in the middle of the night and threatened to set me on fire."

Oleander rolled her eyes privately, yet graced him with a response. "Very well, Malfoy," she said, mimicking his uninterested tone. She swept past him, moving her hair just so, making sure that he could catch a waft of her perfume.

Oleander lined working her magic on everyone, even complete twats like Draco Malfoy.

The girl drifted from the common room and out into the dungeon corrider, wrapping her sleeping cloak tighter around her slim shoulders. She didn't know quite where she was headed, but that didn't matter.

As Oleander wandered down the sloping halls of Hogwarts, admiring and flirting with the portraits on the walls, thinking to herself...she could swear she heard something.

Was it one of the ghosts? Peeves?

No, this was a different sound than ghostly screeching.

A much more human one.

It was someone crying.