The Noctiphany Terror •Tom Riddle•

4. Silk and Stares

The next morning, Hydra dragged herself out of Serenity's bed, who sighed in relief, finally having some space to herself. The sun was barely peeking above the highlands, and the birds had just begun their early singsongs. The castle was sound asleep, and even the portraits remained silent, as if savouring these rare moments of silence. The corridors were cold, the kind of cold that could make anyone burrow deeper into the comfort of a warm blanket.

Yet there had to be one unruly witch who just loved defying every rule, every custom. Hydra's bare feet barely made a sound against the cool stone as she walked down the deserted corridors. The cold didn't bother her. On the contrary, it invigorated her. The goosebumps that spread along the bare skin of her legs only made her feel more alive. Her almost sheer nightgown fluttered faintly as she ambled without destination, casting glances out the fogged windows.

Her freezing feet and hands were starting to become numb, and she smiled contentedly. The dull headache she had woken up with was slowly beginning to fade. The cool silk of her nightgown shifted with her every move, spreading a soothing chill through her body. She paused in front of a tall window overlooking the Black Lake, and for a second, she wondered how it would feel to be swallowed whole by the freezing water. How her muscles would tighten, how her skin would tingle and sting. How she would start to feel stiff and heavy. How it would become hard to move, until she would finally adapt and be able to just let go. Of every thought. Of every worry.

And she would feel nothing. No pain.

Her mind would finally be quiet.

Just like the corridor was now. Dimly lit and utterly silent.

She craved that silence. She craved that numbness. She craved something she couldn't even name. There was always something simmering inside her, like an itch just beneath her skin, a building pressure, something that ached to be unleashed. Something she knew would eventually surge out violently.

But she couldn't just... explode. Right?

And then there was this unexplainable thought, the one that plagued her mind, the one that she refused to acknowledge. She bent rules to her will, acted on impulse, never cared for consequences. And she always knew there would be repercussions. And sometimes, she felt like not only did she deserve them, but she wanted them.

She wanted to see people lose their composure in front of her. She thrived on driving someone insane, on dragging the worst out of them, especially her parents.

And worst of all, she loved being pushed to her limits.

She sighed.

Hydra's biggest enemy was none other than herself. And she found that... amusing.

It was hilarious. Her entire life felt like a bad joke. She was expected to be perfect, an obedient pureblood doll, the kind who should scrunch her nose at a badly placed stitch on her dress. And she was anything but.

No matter how hard her parents had tried to control every little aspect of her life, Hydra had become everything they feared.

Even now, months away from an inevitable death, they still refused to loosen their grip. They expected her home every Saturday for consultations with the healers, and every Sunday was reserved for her Auror training.

At least she had one thing to look forward to. Spending a day blasting curses at dummies was a surprisingly effective way to let out her rage. And Sigyn Anquetil had a knack for being exactly the kind of mentor Hydra needed. She was quiet, sharp, and dangerous enough.

But there was still the gnawing feeling that all of this was for nothing.

Hydra didn't have much hope. She had done her research. She knew exactly what she was facing. She had a deadly, incurable disease. And there was nothing about it in the library. No records of a wizard or witch with CJD. Not even in her mother's extensive collection of healing books.