Beta: Cloudy
Additional trigger warning for suicide.
(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*
"I'll be joining you two on the train ride down," quietly muttered the exhausted werewolf. Lunar's Orchard had been selling their pain-free and instant-transformation potions over the summer so Remus's monthly issue wasn't as terrible as before; but it still drained him, and the combination of the two new potions and wolfsbane made him very nauseous the following day.
Harry stroked Hedwig's cheek as he asked, "How come, uncle?"
"Azkaban guards," grunted Remus.
"They're going to be at Hogwarts?"
"Yes. A precaution in case you two are targeted by Rookwood," Remus explained. "Horrid creatures. Make sure you both sit with me on the train, neither of you can deal with them."
Harry opened the front door to let Hedwig begin her journey to Hogwarts. "It'll be fine, uncle."
"Fine is not good enough for you two," Remus said firmly. "There's little protection on the train. It's not like Diagon Alley where there are plenty of witches and wizards around."
"But they'll be guards from Azkaban," said Harry.
"And who will protect you from them? Come along. Padfoot, we're leaving."
"WAIT FOR MY GOODBYE HUGS!" shouted Sirius from upstairs. A moment later our godfather came rushing down the steps and pulled me and Harry into a tight hug. "Take care you two."
"We will," we promised.
(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*
We arrived at the train earlier than usual so Remus could take a much-needed nap. While he rested, Harry and I quietly read through our textbook. I needed an O score on N.E.W.T.s to be licensed to own a pet basilisk, I wanted to make extra sure I studied up. Neville arrived maybe thirty minutes later and he slipped into the cart with us.
"Hello," Neville quietly greeted us as he took a seat beside Harry—I was sitting next to Remus.
"Hey Neville," Harry said with an easy smile while I nodded politely to him.
There wasn't room for anyone else to join us, sadly, so it was only the four of us in the cart when the train started up. I decided to use Remus as my pillow—he murmured something about not on the full moon, Rosie—but didn't wake up.
It was easy to fall asleep listening to the merry chatter on the train and feeling it rumble beneath me. My fluffy monster book started to purr in my arms which made it impossible not to just melt in relaxation and close my eyes. Remus was a bona fide heater too which made him the ideal pillow. Even better than Harry!
Tragically, I did wake up when the train came to a screeching halt. The sound jolted me awake.
"It's always a shame when you wake up."
"What's that supposed to mean?
"Your dreams are hilarious."
"Whoa. Tom, can my dreams make you laugh?"
"Sometimes."
"I've never heard you laugh! Please do it for me?"
"Go back to sleep."
"But then I can't hear it."
"It's the only way."
"Awww. I'll get you to laugh when I'm awake one day! I bet your laugh makes unicorns come into existence because of how beautiful it is."
"... Thank you?"
It was dark out the window, rain battered against the train. All the lamps had gone out. I could hear the nervous chatter of the students in the surrounding cabins. I sat up slowly, rubbing at my eyes as I fought the urge to yawn.
"What's going on?" asked a nervous Neville. "Think we've broken down?"
"Dunno."
Ice had begun to form on the window.
"Oh."
I knew there would be dementors coming. I had anticipated feeling something equivalent to depression when they did arrive. The ice on the window foretold their coming, and I prepared myself.
I knew, intellectually, that there was an honest chance I would be forced to relieve those terrible memories. Emotionally, I had to admit I was a little scared. I had done my best to neatly tuck away those memories. I was not ready to deal with them.
To be honest, I wasn't sure if I would ever be ready to deal with them.
As soon as that ice started to form across the window I clenched my teeth, curled my hands into fists and waited for the worst.
I had not anticipated feeling anything other than depressed.
Depressed was not how I felt.
Oh, no. Not even close.
Shivers ran down my arms and back in a soothing manner. It was chilly, as cold as when Tom's magic first entered me. I could see my breath billow out, and Harry started to shiver beside me—he and Neville had moved closer to me when the lights went out. I reached out a comforting hand to place it on both of the boys' shoulders.
No, no.
The stronger the presence of the dementors became, the calmer I felt.
It was a serene peace that soothed aches I didn't even know I had. They were a refreshing dip in a winter lake that eased the swollen joints of my soul. Cold, bitterly so, but oh so relaxing. The goosebumps were reminiscent of ASMR, really. It was a lull, a sweet, tantalizing lull that beckoned me to sleep.
It was exactly like that moment when I had ki—
I stopped that thought process there, a new sickening sensation crawling into my stomach as I realized what exactly the dementors felt like.
Was it a coincidence?
It—it had to be, right?
Or... no, maybe not.
Not a lot of concrete information was available about dementors. Exactly what caused some people to feel depression, apathy, or relive painful memories couldn't be explained as anything other than what they are. For thousands of years witches and wizards had been trying to recreate the effect dementors had as spells, potions, or protection wards, but none have succeeded.
There was a fundamental difference in what the dementors were, and what people perceived them to be.
Research about them was considered Dark and highly regulated. Even the Black library had only a single chapter about them in their Dark books.
I had not placed much interest in the dementors previously, but now—
Is the aura not one of depression... but rather one of death, or near death?
For most death was a terrifying thing and it could likely trigger traumatic memories, or regrets they have. Death was hard to face, and the fear of the unknown was even harder to deal with.
What if the dementors were not depression demons, but an iteration of death itself?
Then for someone like myself who did not—
Dumbledore.
Dumbledore, despite his own traumas, did not fear death. He did not struggle with dementors, but still held them in disdain.
Tom Riddle and Voldemort most definitely feared death, yet dementors did not bother them.
So then, perhaps not iterations of death.
But I could not think of anything special about me aside from reincarnation.
Or...
Maybe it's not a matter of how they view death... but how one has already died.
If reincarnation was a thing, then everyone was a reincarnation of something. I simply retained my memories, and consequently I remembered my death and how it affected me. I remembered that exact moment of death, and it was that moment that I felt when near dementors.
That moment of utter peace and freedom.
Maybe they are related to death somehow. Those who do not remember their deaths can only see the dementors from one life's perspective... and those that do remember their deaths...
Or... maybe...
What if Dementors fed on happy thoughts to encourage departed souls to move on? Iterations of death, but more specifically the reapers who severed earthly connections. Those who can accept death and let go of their memories find peace with them... and those who have no connections to sever in the first place would be unbothered.
Tom Riddle wasn't afraid of losing happy memories, he was afraid of the unknown and powerless specter known as Death. That would explain the lack of depression felt from the Dementors (or why Voldemort could be around them without a Patronus).
Dumbledore had things he didn't want to forget, but he was able to accept his death whenever.
Then there was me. Someone who...
It would require further thought. Indeed, my academic mind was intrigued by dementors. I had a thirst to sate the curiosity. I would need to find a dementor and begin testing the exposures. For the moment, at least—
"This is nice,"
"Odd."
"What is?"
"I had encountered a dementor previously. They were cold, but I had no sense of peace like you're currently feeling, nor the common symptoms of depression."
"When did you meet a dementor?"
"I've never heard about anyone enjoying the presence of a dementor," Tom observed, ignoring my question.
I have to say I'm really interested in dementors now. Will this feeling go away with prolonged exposure?
I mentally made some adjustments to my bucket list.
The train was dead silent. Our compartment door slowly slid open and a skeletal hand with long bony fingers poked in.
The dementor wore long black tattered robes. It was similar to the movie, but the movie did not convey how dark it was. The robes were blacker than the darkest night and radiated a type of shadowy aura. Its hood was pulled over its face as it looked around the cabin.
"I shall name you Booboo," I whispered to the dementor who turned its head to me. "We shall be the best of friends, Booboo."
Booboo the dementor did not react in any way, but tragically Neville and Harry fainted which woke Remus who bellowed out, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
"Fare thee well my lovely Booboo."
"I'm gonna find that dementor and make him my best friend."
"I wish I could say I was surprised."
(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*
Remus took Neville and Harry to see Madam Pomfrey while I was told to head to the welcome feast. I took my spot at the Slytherin table in between Daphne and Theodore. The sorting wasn't as long as last year's, and when it was over Professor Dumbledore stood up to make his usual speech.
Professor Dumbledore, though very old, always gave an impression of great energy.
"Welcome!" said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his long silver beard. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast."
The talk completely died down by the end of his opening.
Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."
He paused.
"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," Dumbledore continued, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises—or even Invisibility Cloaks," he added blandly, and my babeh snakes glanced at one another.
"It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors," he said.
"On a happier note," he continued, "I am pleased to welcome three new teachers to our ranks this year. "First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
"That's my uncle, clap," I ordered and the Slytherin table clapped so loudly the Gryffindor table felt instantly challenged and they started hollering, stomping, and clapping to be louder than us.
"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continued as the applause for Remus died away. "Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."
Harry stood up and started the clapping war again, but Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw felt the need to challenge them.
Hm. You know, wasn't Hagrid supposed to be exonerated before becoming a teacher?
It was common knowledge in the Slytherin House that I had access to the Chamber of Secrets and met a basilisk. I had told Dumbledore, and Harry... Harry probably told his friends, so it was a good bet that Gryffindor knew the truth.
I suppose Professor Dumbledore could have pressed for Hagrid's name to be cleared after I told him about the Chamber. But he never asked me to prove it.
I hadn't followed the politics pertaining to it, but it wouldn't be hard to look up the past Wizengamot debates.
Do I care enough to research it? Nope.
"And our last new appointment is Professor Torte who will be teaching our new Language class. Professor Torte is fluent in over thirteen different languages and will be able to provide instruction for any chosen language from the dead Latin to the ever-popular French."
(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*
First class of the day for me was the new Language class. Professor Torte was young, bubbly, and quite the eye candy. She had wild curly black hair, dark skin, and big almond eyes. She seemed very fond of headbands. Her classroom was near transfiguration, so us poor Slytherins had to trek up three flights of stairs to reach her.
"A very good morning to you all," said Professor Torte as the third year Slytherins came into the room. "I understand everyone here wants to learn Latin?"
"Fluently," I agreed.
"It'll be a walk in the park under my tutelage," she said confidently. "Let us begin, shall we?"
(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*
Hagrid was waiting for his class at the door of his hut. He stood in his moleskin overcoat, with Fang the boarhound at his heels, looking impatient to start.
"C'mon, now, get a move on!" he called as the class approached. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!"
Hagrid strolled off around the edge of the trees, and five minutes later, they found themselves outside a kind of paddock. There was nothing in there.
"Everyone gather 'round the fence here!" he called. "That's it—make sure yeh can see—now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books—"
I had already pulled out my fluffy flufferkins the fluff and started to stroke its spine. A fair few of the other students were doing the same—the manager at the bookstore had likely told everyone who had purchased it how to handle it.
Everyone had their books opened within a minute.
"Right. So—so yeh've got yer books an'—an'—now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I'll go an' get 'em. Hang on—."
He headed away from us into the forest and out of sight.
As he strode away, I quietly told my classmates, "Everyone better be on their top behavior. If I wanna take that basilisk from the chambers home with me I need an O in my N.E.W.T.s for this class. Anyone disrupting it will find their elbows swapped with their knees."
A few of the students shuddered. Harry rolled his eyes at me.
"Oooooooh!" squealed Lavender Brown, pointing toward the opposite side of the paddock.
Trotting toward us was a dazzling herd of hippogriffs.
"Gee up, there!" he roared, shaking the chains and urging the creatures toward the fence where the class stood. Everyone drew back slightly as Hagrid reached them and tethered the creatures to the fence.
"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"
"Hippogriffs for a first lesson?" Tom was intrigued. "My third year we weren't even allowed to see the animals until after Christmas."
"Gotta compensate somehow for Lord Voldemort's temper tantrum on our DADA post."
"Mm-hmm."
"So," said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, "if yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer—"
I eagerly moved closer.
"Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' hippogriffs is, they're proud," said Hagrid. "Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do. Yeh always wait fer the hippogriff ter make the firs' move. It's polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed ter touch him. If he doesn' bow, then get away from him sharpish, 'cause those talons hurt. Right—who wants ter go first?"
"I will!" I volunteered enthusiastically.
"Do you have a death wish?"
"Maybe a little one."
I climbed over the fence as Hagrid praised me. "Right then—let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak."
Hagrid untied one of the chains. He pulled the gray hippogriff away from its fellows, and slipped off its leather collar.
"Easy, now, Rosie," said Hagrid quietly. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink. Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much."
My eyes stung as I struggled not to blink them.
Buckbeak had turned his great, sharp head and fixed a mild glare at me.
"Tha's it," said Hagrid. "Tha's it, Rosie. Go ahead and bow now."
I bowed.
The hippogriff did not respond, its gaze narrowing further.
"Ah," said Hagrid, sounding worried. "Okay—back away—easy, easy—"
As I took my first step back the hippogriff suddenly bent its scaly front knees and sank into what was an unmistakable bow.
"Well done, Rosie!" said an ecstatic Hagrid. "Right then! Yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!"
A splitting grin broke over my face as I eagerly—not too quickly as to not startle Buckbeak—rushed forward. Buckbeak lowered his head enough for me to pat his beak.
"I love you already," I whispered.
The hippogriff closed its eyes very similar to what Iris did when I pet her favorite spot.
"Righ' then, Rosie," said Hagrid. "I reckon he might' let yeh ride him!"
"Yay!"
(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*
After Hagrid's class was Slytherin's DADA lesson with Remus.
"Good afternoon," Remus said once everyone had entered the classroom. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands."
There was a murmur of pleasant surprise among my babeh snakes as they did so.
"Right then," said Remus, when everyone was ready. "If you'd follow me."
He led them along the deserted corridor and around a corner, then down a second corridor and stopped right outside the staffroom door.
"Inside, please," said Remus, opening it and standing back.
The staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty.
"Now, then," said Remus, beckoning the class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As Remus went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.
"Nothing to worry about," said Remus calmly because a few people had jumped backward in alarm. "There's a boggart in there."
The babeh snakes were intrigued.
"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces," explained Remus. "Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks—I once met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice. "So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a boggart?"
Tracey Davis put her hand up.
"Miss Davis?"
"A shapeshifter that turns into your worst fear," supplied Tracey.
"Well said. So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears. This means that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Mr. Malfoy, care to venture a guess on that advantage?"
"There's too many of us for it to decide which form to take?" Draco guessed.
"Exactly. It's always best to have company when you're dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake—tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening. The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing.
"We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please: Riddikulus!"
"Riddikulus!" said the class together.
"Now, who will volunteer to tackle the boggart first?"
Daphne stepped up. "I will."
"Excellent. Do you have an idea what your fear is?"
"Yes. Spiders."
"And a joke to turn it into?"
"Yes. Theodore's life."
The Slytherins snapped at Daphne's easy insult. Theodore snarked, "Take a closer look in the mirror, Daphne."
Remus cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow at Daphne who sighed and said, "I have a proper image in mind for the spider."
"Very good, then why don't we all form a single file line and each of us takes a turn at the boggart. When you're ready, I'll open the door."
I had moved to second, but Remus gave me a look which made me think I ought to go last. Indeed, Remus had timed it in such a way—making other students go more than once—so that way when it was my turn to go class was over.
"Miss Potter, stay behind for a moment," Remus advised and I nodded at my friends to go on ahead without me.
"Yes Professor Lupin?" I folded my hands in front of me. He may be my uncle, but I would respect his authority at school as I would most of the other professors.
"I thought it might be best if you saw your boggart in private... in case it turned into He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
"That's fair," I agreed. "I honestly have no clue what my fear is. Should be fun!"
Remus smiled thinly. I readied my wand as Remus opened the cabinet. The boggart began to whirl into many shapes and forms. After ten seconds it morphed into me.
Or, well, a dead-eyed version of me.
I stared at the boggart-me in confusion. Perplexed as to what it meant, I hesitated to use the spell.
Then it pulled out a knife, slid it along my wrists, and said in a monotone voice, "What's the point?"
The blood pooled out of the slit wrist, falling to the floor in an almost slow motion. It raised the knife to its neck.
I froze, cold shock slamming into me as the echo of my death teetered in my mind. It was locked deep in my castle, further than even the Horcrux, so Tom could not see it, but I could. My hand curled tightly around my wand while my mind went blank.
The scalpel was sharp, it didn't even hurt gliding across the skin. There was a pause before the blood came, as if the skin had not yet realized it had been sliced open. The summer air was hot and sticky, and the sound of the chirping birds in the forest were loud. All I could hear were the birds singing and the harsh pounding of my heartbeat in my head.
Slicing the arteries would make it quick. I got two easy cuts, then I lost the strength in my fingers as a wave of dizziness made me sway.
There, in that forest, where no one would find me, I greeted death like a dear, dear friend.
How did I make that funny?
Prickly anxiety poked at my heart and stomach, shame and guilt quickly accompanied it. I did not dare look at Remus, did not dear to see the look in his eyes—the pity that I knew would be there—
Remus stepped in between me and the boggart. It whirled into a moon and he banished it into a balloon that went flying back to the closet.
Oppressively dead silence drowned everything in the room. I could only hear the sound of my heart hammering in my chest as sickly chills crawled up and down my spine.
Remus was kind as he turned to me and pulled me in for a tight hug. His voice was mild, showing no overwhelming concern or judgment, but I knew better. Oh, yes, I knew better. From the ever so slight tremble in his arms as he held me, to the way I could hear his heart quickening, and how firm his grip was around me as if he was concerned what woud happen if he let go of me.
He was afraid.
Shame, that horrible nauseating burn seared itself in my stomach. White, hot, and terrible it made me tremble.
"Rosie," came Remus's gentle tone. "It'll be okay. If you want to talk, I'm here."
The unspoken question of why hung on his lips.
His kindness only made me feel worse.
How did I explain to him the life I had before? The way I saw the world then was nothing like I saw it as Rosie. In that life, I only saw my days in a wash of grays. Mother's bitter tone was the only sound that clung to me like a toxic fog. The expectations since childhood, and the unexplained fears I struggled with on a day-to-day basis.
Why are you so afraid of the ocean?
I didn't know.
Why are you so afraid of being in a crowd?
I didn't know.
Why are you so afraid of fire?
I didn't know.
Why are you so afraid?
I didn't know.
Terror and apathy were the only things I could recognize, and even then the horror ebbed away until there was only the gray. Only the monotone; the listlessness; the lack of motivation. Food was ash, water hurt, and everyone was muffled.
Death did not scare me, and so it became the preferred option.
I don't want to go back to that life. I don't want to lose the colors.
I had no words for him. It took everything—everything—I had to force my lips to turn up into a fake smile I had practiced so well for two lifetimes. I looked up at him, stretching that smile wider and used what little strength I had to pull back from him. He resisted, but let me go.
I stepped back.
I turned away.
And I ran.
He tried to stop me, but I avoided his grasp and broke out into a sprint.
"You are... afraid of suicide?"
I did not answer him right away. I fled all the way to the dungeons, to my room, then I locked the door tightly behind me. I placed a hand over my heart and focused on feeling its beat.
One-two. One-two. One-two.
My gaze slowly slid down to my wrists, pristine and devoid of the lethal cuts.
Tom's magic was static. He held no pity for me, nor did he feel alarmed on my behalf. There was only detached curiosity. A clinical question made it easier to give a blasé answer.
"I am afraid of losing my emotions," I whispered quietly to the room.
There.
That fear.
It was the first time I had ever given it a voice. I had no one previously, and it felt like I could not dare speak of what I had done. How dare I? How dare I take my life when others had theirs forcibly taken?
How dare I speak of such things when I had born witnessed to Lily, a woman I wished to God I had a chance to experience her as my mother more, was murdered to protect me?
How dare I...?
How could I?
Iris yawned from her bed. I stumbled over to my own bed where she slithered up to me, curling in my lap and nuzzling at my neck. I held her tightly, kissing the tip of her nose.
Tom did not offer judgment, I could feel only cold curiosity in his magic. He did not understand how anyone would willingly go to death. Such a subject would have been even more taboo in his time period than my own, so it was unlikely it was even discussed.
That made it easier. There was no kindness or pity from him that would make me feel ashamed. I asked him instead, "What's the point of living if you can't be happy?"
"Happiness is fluid. It comes and goes," Tom's voice was fakely kind. His magic told me he was dismissive, he did not view that as a genuine option.
"Are you happy?"
His magic stilled.
"You've felt me happy. Have you felt it?"
"Yes," Tom lied. His magic quivered in quiet alarm.
"Once you've tasted it, letting go is that much worse. Knowing about the high and losing it forever—no. Death is better."
"You can't mean that. Death is the end. You've no way of knowing you'll never be happy again in life."
"So it is better to suffer through it in hopes that one day you will be happy?"
"Yes."
"Tom Riddle, you have far more strength than I ever could."
Tom's magic twitched. "Strength is different for everyone, Rosie."
(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*
Bucket List Completed:
40. What am I actually afraid of?
44. What do dementors ACTUALLY feel like? I need to know.
ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ
Tom was unaffected by dementors because he had no happy memories to give.
Rosie is calmed by dementors because of spoilers spoilers spoilers.
Answer: Griffin / Gryphon. Get the soft feathers and fur AND it can purr like a cat. Best of all the worlds.
Question: How would you use Riddikulus on your boggart?
Reviews are love!