The One That Loved {Book Three in 'The One' Series}

Chapter Six ~ Getting Through the Day

Chapter Six

Getting Through the Day

       The days seemed to crawl by for Syrie, each one longer and more painful than the last-no one saw it though, the turmoil of rage and heartbreak whirling inside of her. Her grades were perfect, she laughed and smiled and played Quidditch-but every time Victoire or Teddy kissed or held hands or laughed with each other, a flash of sadness would cross over her face.

It was a Friday night in the common room and Syrie was going over her Quidditch strategies when she was once again reminded of Teddy and Victoire by the tinkling laughter coming from the couches by the fire. Her head was in his lap as he played with her hair and read a book; they were surrounded by a few other seventh years, all talking about what they would be doing after Hogwarts. Syrie had a small satisfaction that Victoire was a little left out in that conversation.

Snapping her Quidditch journal shut, Syrie bowed her head and left the common room, practically tripping over her own feet as she raced out of the portrait hole. Pulling her long sweater around her, Syrie let her dark hair make a curtain over her face as she sped down the halls-she wasn’t sure where she was going, but anywhere Victoire and Teddy weren’t suited her just fine. Turn after turn after turn, Syrie found herself in an abandoned room that reminded her of a Muggle church; the ceilings were high and arched, and a portrait of a young woman in clothes that could have easily dated back to the 1860’s hung over a large fire place. The room was completely empty except for the portrait, and Syrie felt exposed and turned to leave-but a voice called her back.

“Leaving, are you?” said the woman, pouting at Syrie with very red lips “They always do.”

“Sorry?” asked Syrie, surprised-the painting had looked strangely still, and she’s assumed it did not move at all. It happened to some of the older paintings.

“They all leave,” she sighed, tugging at a black curl “They come in, see it’s empty and leave!”

“I-I’m sorry!” Syrie stuttered, inching forward “I didn’t mean to be offensive, I just-”

“Wanted to be alone, I know.” She couldn’t have been very old, maybe a few years older than Syrie, and was strikingly beautiful; her hair was black as a raven’s wing and her eyes were azure blue, almost like a cat. “That’s why they all come.”

“What’s your name?” Syrie asked, thinking the lady might not have had a conversation in a while.

“I,” she said proudly “Am lady Alva Davidson Gallaher, and this is my castle.”

“Your castle?”

“Well, not anymore.” Lady Alva’s face fell “I gave it to the four founders on my deathbed. They were supposed to cure me you see, but I died before they could.”

Syrie felt bad for Lady Alva, but wondered why her portrait was hidden away, not on display “But…why are you in here? You should be in the great hall! This is your castle!”

“Yes, well…” Lady Alva shrugged “Godric and I discussed the matter, and my ghost now lives in this painting. I don’t mind…though I don’t often get visitors.”

“Are you a witch?”

“I’m Muggle Born,” she said “And that’s the main reason why I am in this room. Salazar Slytherin detested me and my heritage, and he trapped me in here. He poisoned me, too-though I didn’t find that out till much, much later. He wanted my castle.” She said this simply, as if it didn’t matter.

“That’s…that’s terrible!” Syrie wanted to throw something, and momentarily forgot her heart ache.

“Well I served one purpose,” she said, and for a moment happiness glowed on her face “I gave Godric his only children, and really I wouldn’t have minded dying if it was from child birth…but no, Salazar had to poison me!” an age old fury burned in her eyes.