Howling at the Moon

12. Darkness

Po had a darkness that ran through him. It had a way of staining the lives around him. People think of Griffindors as honest and loyal and brave. He is all of those things, Po has never lied about the person he was, and has a twisted loyalty to all of his friends. He had been the one to convince Lukaz he was too good for the Hufflepuff witch, the one to set him up with (in his opinion) a more beautiful girl. But when Diondre broke his heart... Well Po fights his friends battles for them, tenfold with zero regard for the people he has not deemed to be one of them. In a way, it is not his fault. He grew up in a loveless home and had to fight to feel valued. His ideas on love and friendship have been warped. He knows his mother would die for him, but he also knows she would gamble him away just to fulfill her addiction.

He had been eyeing Diondre for a few years now, looking for the most impactful way to hurt her. It was hard, there wasn't a lot she seems to care about other than her friends. He'd humiliated her and bullied her friends, but as a group they stood against him too forcefully. He had learnt from Lukaz about how she struggles with controlling her empathy, but her block was too strong to get more than the tiniest of fluxes these recent years.

Lately however, Diondre had developed a sense of urgency with her studies. Her spare time was spent in the library, craned over a book, or in empty classrooms practicing the spells she had just learnt. No longer was the girl who wouldn't bother to turn up to an exam. In her desire to succeed Po saw an opening for revenge.

______

Diondre was bone weary. Her head hurt, her shoulders were sore from the motion of waving around a wand for hours. But she felt amazing. Today she had not just learnt, but mastered, three new spells! Her head was buzzing with the possibilities that could arise from learning three a day. Along with the new skills, she had memorised a large portion of magical history. For once in a very long time she felt hopeful about leaving. She could find a future in magic and wouldn't have to fall on Muggle jobs like her mum wanted her to.

If it wasn't for her heavy eyelids, Diondre would be skipping down the empty corridor. As it happens it was probably fortunate that she didn't. It was past curfew, Filch would be sure to hear her. Even Filch, she thought, couldn't dampen the mood she was in right now. Achievement was grand, she realised, she liked this feeling. With her empathy block safely up and secure she could fight for it all she wants.

Something dreadful was sneaking through the corridors. She should have felt it sooner, but she was tired, and happy, and far too content with a long hard day that she only felt it when it hit her full on like a wave. She submerged under it, her skin chilled, leaving goosebumps all the way up her arms. Her block served as a wetsuit for the cold waters of malintent. Diondre looked around but couldn't see anyone. She was alone, or someone was hiding. Someone that wanted desperately to do harm.

"You're the girl?" Came a gritty voice, dragging her attention to a different part of the lonely corridor. Even the portraits on the walls appeared vacant.

"What girl?" She asks sharply, terrified, but hiding it.

"You. I suppose." The boy grinned. Diondre didn't find that funny, so couldn't fathom why. She caught a glimpse of green on his uniform through the low light of the moon peaking through the window. He was a Slytherin. His face belongs somewhere in a memory she can't quite hold on to. She is shaking too much.

"What is it you want with me?" She asks, the more she talks, with confidence, maybe he will see she is not someone to hurt.

"Oh, you won't remember." He lifts the wand in his hand and raises it above his head, ready to strike.

Diondre desperately scampers for hers in her robes. The words! What were the damn words! Her fingers catch on the fabric but finally she grabs it.