Serpentine [T.M. Riddle]

Interlude I: Nemesis

Cw: Strong self hatred/deprecation as well as casual misogyny. The usual from Wizards.

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Every morning she is the first girl in her year to rise. She makes sure of it. She draws back the drapes on her bed once she's secure and ready to emerge: a moth from its cocoon. It's behind these drapes that she transforms every morning into something beautiful--Presentable. It's behind these drapes that, every night, she returns to being uninspiring. Let her guard and magic down as her eyes close and she wanders into slumber.

Cold feet into slippers, the patter patter patter of her steps down the stairs and into the bathroom, the barely there light of the morning fluttering in through the high windows. In the mirror, the echos of her father's scolding yesterday stay singed into her delicate skin--Figuratively, of course, father would never harm her like that (dear mama, on the other hand, is another story entirely.)

Nemesis begins to brush her hair: a ritual of vanity. One. Two. Ten. Twenty-three. Fifty-seven. Eighty-nine. One hundred. It's silly, made up, and absolutely unnecessary, but oh how she loves it. When she was a child (more of a child than she is now,) she had an uncle acquire her a lovely book of Muggle stories (courtesy of his, then unknown, Muggle mistress), and her absolute favorite tale spoke of a trapped maiden in a tall tower with long hair as golden as the sun...Nemesis chooses for her hair to be like starlight instead, because stars are so much lovelier than the sun[1]. Sailors find their way with them and lovers preach their love under them. Stars are ancient, people have told stories with them for millenia. It's just the right connotation she wants associated with her.

She wonders how long it took for the maiden to brush her hair...Did she have help from the old crone keeping her hostage? Did that dashing prince, once they were reunited, acquire endless servants to keep his wife's hair shining and healthy?[2]

She hums as she brushes, some of that splendid jazz that Adam was playing in the Great Hall the other week...How wonderfully absurd it all sounded! With instruments she's never even heard of and rhythms her body can't follow. It's so dreamy! It's the kind of sound she imagines plays in fairie courts. Mysterious and playful. Wonderfully foreign. (She would like to acquire a wax cylinder[3] of some...Do Muggles have wax cylinders? Or do they only have that strange disk-shaped object to play music from? They look so flimsy, do they break easily?) Her voice, soft as the light in the girl's bathroom, resounds atop the tile and mirrors and iron pipes. She'd hum a more familiar melody, like a lullaby, but alas, she did not grow up with such a luxury. Mama made sure of that. Nothing but her steady breathing lulled her to sleep every night.

The brush is set atop the sink as she splashes her pale face with cold water (good for the skin, her second eldest sister always told her), and proceeds with the rest of her morning ritual. A beautification of the self. Not a single hair out of place nor speck of dirt on her person. When she looks back into the mirror and sees a face that would make her mama's blood curdle with anger, she smiles and changes into her robes.

As she puts on her contraband jewelry (smuggled to her by her fifth eldest sister), Hedwig joins her in the bathroom, yawning and scratching at her head.

"Good morning, Hedwig."

The girl curses back at Nemesis--At least, she thinks it's a curse, it's mumbled so lowly, "Good fucking where?" Looks like she's in a better mood today. Must be improving on her potions for the competition--Yami's always been a sharp witch, so much that Nemesis has been intimidated by her since her fifth eldest sister first told her about her. If being the youngest of seven was horrible, she can't possibly imagine only having one sister's shadow to sulk under. She's never had the pleasure or misfortune to meet Yama, but just uttering the name around Yami freezes her on the spot. Not even Nemesis' sisters had power over her like that. Not individually.