❝those who aren't fed love on a silver spoon as a child, grow up and learn to lick it off iron knives.❞
Marauders Era.
𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙋𝙍𝙀𝙌𝙐𝙀𝙇
𝐓𝐎
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑
“The darkness inside me ignites me like an embered charcoal.”
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IF THERE WAS ANY MOMENT in Meredith's life where she truly wanted to die, it was this.
It was four thirty in the morning when she, hidden under the Invisibility Cloak, stumbled back into the Slytherin Dorms and felt like she had walked into some other time altogether. It was Lucius Malfoy's birthday and everyone was present to celebrate the turning 16 of the Slytherin Ice Prince. The muggles called it sweet sixteen. The Wizardkind called it one-year-till-adulthood.
No one noticed her as she dropped off her cloak. Everyone was present. Every single Slytherin — people she knew, people she didn't and even people from some other house. If Slytherins were known for anything other than being overly ambitious, it was their parties.
Lucius was in his trousers and nothing else. His ear length platinum hair was all kinds of wet and messy and Meredith had a hard time figuring out if it was sweat or some kind of alcohol. On his chest, the number 16 was written in red lipstick that very, very obviously belonged to Narcissa, because she was wearing the same shade at the moment. On his damp head was a golden colored cardboard crown. Like a king. And he was in the center, in the most desired couch of the dormitory, sitting and sipping on what looked like firewhiskey. Music that was very obviously wizard rock was playing from invisible sources. In a corner, some people were chugging Butterbeer by the gallons. The salamander was still kind of flying around, emitting sparks like a living firework. It was dark, chaotic, neon and all kinds of beautiful.
Meredith was on the verge of dying.
"Where were you!" Severus was at her shoulders and she jumped. He was in some strange black outfit and had a cup of Butterbeer in his hands. "You missed us pouring firewhiskey on Lucius's head!"
"That's what it is," she said, eying the damp blond hair. "Firewhiskey." It was hot. "Severus—I don't feel good."
"What?" Severus was now looking at her with concern. Severus got concerned easily—over smeared stains, ripped textbooks, broken quills, fucked-up potions. He gripped her arm. "Do you want to go to the Hospital Wing?"
"No!" Meredith said immediately. Hospital Wing would raise questions. Questions like what was she doing outside in the first place. Answers would trace back to her midnight expediture with a werewolf in an imaginary forest and the remnants of Felix Felicis in her system. She can't let anyone know she stole from Slughorn's apothecary. "Just—get me to a quiet place."
Severus had a quality. He expanded and contracted to fit into spaces. When it was quiet, he was loud. When it was loud, he laughed quietly. He never made anyone feel overwhelmed or left alone and Meredith believed that was precisely the reason why he was able to smuggle her to the staircase leading towards the boy's dormitory, without anyone truly noticing. The party was way too chaotic and dark anyway.
