*✧·ﾟ:* DEAD TO ME *:·ﾟ✧*
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INDIANA FELT POSITIVELY awful the next day. When she had returned to her dormitory, she could barely make out a coherent sentence to Nancy; she had stuttered so badly that she clamped her mouth shut, waved her hand dismissively, and yanked the curtains around her bed closed so her burning face wasn't visible.
She stayed quiet the whole day. She was, for once, dreading Quidditch practice; she hoped by then she'd be able to speak properly. Whilst walking through the hallways, she mumbled the vocal exercise her mother used to walk her through. It was a bit awkward, of course, because she couldn't go walking through the halls alone; Slytherins had a common history of getting jinxed while alone. It seemed that, after the war, this was more prevalent.
When it was time for Potions, it seemed that even Professor Slughorn was off-put by her lack of talking. Usually she'd raise her hand every now and again, blabbing her mouth out to Nancy or Blaise or even Draco about god knows what. Today, however, she brewed her Essence of Insanity in silence, eyes going out of focus as she cut up her caterpillars.
"Ana!" Nancy shrilled, grabbing her wrist and lifting it up. The knife slipped out of Indiana's hand and clattered to the floor with a tink! The blade had almost cut off the tip of her finger. She came back to her senses and zoned back in; heads had turned, a few people glancing over nonchalantly, a few looking shrewd. Scowling, she kneeled down to pick up the knife. "Pay attention, will you? What is up with you today?"
"Nothing," Indiana said sharply, returning back to cutting it. Weasley, Granger, and Potter were turned to look at her. Her eyes flickered across the trio and glared before she looked away.
She had dreamt of her mother the night before. Indiana hadn't seen the woman's face since her death; her cold, graying skin. Bloodshot green eyes staring blankly and unmoving up until the smoking night sky, colorful sparks of all colors flying above her head. The palms of the girls hands becoming raw against the roughness from the concrete of the Courtyard.
"Miss Jones," Slughorn was standing beside her table. She blinked and glanced up at the cauldron and saw that it was a deep green, when it was supposed to be more of a sage. "Are you alright, dear?"
"Yeah," She breathed out, nodding her head weakly. "I — I'm fine."
"Do add your moonstone powder, before it gets too hot," Slughorn told her, peering over. Nodding feverishly, she reached to grab the tiny mortar of powder, sprinkling it in and allowing her potion to turn the shade of green it was supposed to be. Nancy was eyeing her from across the table.
"Are you okay?" She asked softly.
"I'm fine!" Indiana shrilled, dropping her shoulders and glancing up at her friend exasperatedly. Potter and the other two were looking over again.
"Okay," Nancy said slowly and unsurely, going back to her potion. Indiana huffed a bit, eyes trailing over to the Gryffindors; she locked gazes with Potter, and after giving him a 'the hell are you looking at?' face, he turned away. Fucking Gryffindors.
✧✧✧
"THERE'S NO WAY," Hermione muttered that morning in Potions, shaking her head to herself. "Absolutely no way."
"Why?" Ron challenged. He then lowered his voice to an almost whisper and said, "Harry thought Malfoy was a Death Eater, why's Jones any different?"
"Because," Hermione huffed. "What would Voldemort want with her, huh? Malfoy got it because he had to replace his father in his ranks. Why would he give her the mark?"
"Her father followed Voldemort," Ron pointed out, mindlessly stirring his cauldron in the wrong direction.
"She wouldn't roll up her sleeves, and she was right, it was bloody hot in there," Harry told them, taking a pinch of moonstone powder and sprinkling it into his cauldron. He knew it was the wrong amount, but couldn't find it in him to care. "And she saw me looking at her arm and hid it from me. Why would she hide it if there was nothing there?"
"And so what if she did have the mark?" Hermione said. "Voldemort's dead. It's not like it means anything."
"It means she was a Death Eater," Harry said blatantly. "It's confirmation."
"What? So you can send her to Azkaban?" Hermione hissed. He blinked and removed his glasses, wiping off the steam. He had forgotten about that; all of Voldemort's Death Eaters had been sentenced to life in Azkaban... if she was found out... she'd be sent, too. "Look. Don't go meddling around in her life, Harry, she probably doesn't want anyone seeing it. And, on a separate note — you need to learn how to go a year without thinking that she's out to get you."
With that, Hermione picked up the empty vials of her ingredients and brought them to the back of the class, washing her hands and throwing her trash out. Harry glanced back over to Jones; she had zoned out again, fiddling mindlessly with the handle of her knife.
"I still think you should go through with it," Ron said from opposite him.
"Hermione'll know I've snuck out," Harry shook his head.
"Uhm, hello, you have an Invisibility Cloak," Ron reminded him. Harry's mouth opened in the shape of an O as though he had remembered. "The locker rooms are always unlocked, even the girls'. Her plays will definitely be there, at least a copy of them."
"If she sees that they're missing —"
"I'm not saying steal them!" Ron shook his head fervently. "No, just look at them. See what she's got in store. I hate to say it, mate, but. . . that team's getting good. Like, really good. There's a chance they'll beat us... that Nott kid is really fast —"
"Fine, I'll go," Harry muttered. "If you're so bloody stressed about it."
✧✧✧
HARRY WAS USED to sneaking across the grounds at night, especially underneath the Invisibility Cloak. He would have had Ron come along with him, but they both had gotten so tall that it wouldn't cover both of them completely. Harry had grown so much that he had to slouch a bit so his trainers weren't visible.
Ron had been right, the girls locker room doors were unlocked. He was amazed with how clean they were, the sparkling tile floor void of even a speck of dirt. The lights were on, so Harry could see how there was no trash on the floors, the locker doors free of graffiti or wads of gum. . . he would much prefer to change in here. Not that he would, of course, but still.
Walking through, he realized it would have been smart to have figured out which locker belonged to Jones. Each one looked identical, except for the few that had green or blue locks in comparison to the silver ones. But as he raised a hand to see if one was unlocked —
"How long you gon' take in there?" said a voice he didn't recognize. It was coming from the far end of the locker room, and if this one was anything like the boys', it was coming from the showers. Bracing himself, he silently stepped deeper into the room, making sure his footsteps were as quiet as he could make them.
Outside one of the stalls, was a girl he knew as Nancy Woods; he had seen her around Jones a few times. She had been the one that stopped said girl from cutting off her finger during Potions earlier that day.
"It's already dark as hell outside," Nancy groaned, throwing her head to rest against the wall behind her. Her lips smacked together and Harry saw that she was chewing bubblegum. "If I had known you were gonna take so long, I wouldn't have waited for you."
"Fuck off and be patient," Jones was the girl in the shower. Harry wanted to combust. He stepped back and put a hand over his eyes. Why didn't school showers have curtains? The water flicked off, and Harry could feel the steam of it fogging up his glasses. "Hand me the towel, please. Do something useful instead of complaining, why don't you?"
He heard a scoff from Nancy and a bit of shuffling; he assumed that Nancy complied. He stepped back so his back was pressed against the wall and he wasn't in the center of the hallway. After a long moment of not looking, he reluctantly removed his hand from his eyes.
Her hair looked much, much longer when it was wet. The edges of it seemed to frizz up a bit, but it seemed darker and it reached the top of her waist. Her white towel was wrapped delicately around her body, her left arm holding it up. He held his breath as she moved closer; the towel kept slipping.
"You gon' tell me what your deal is?" Nancy asked accusingly from her spot as Jones moved towards one of the lockers; Harry took note that it was the three from the end with a silver lock. He was an idiot, he thought. On the bottom, there was a tiny metal tag that read CAPTAIN.
Jones pursed her lips. "Don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, yes you do," Nancy nodded to herself. "Quit playin' and talk to me."
Jones didn't respond for a long time, her face buried in her locker. Harry stepped over so inside of being behind her, he was seeing her from the side. She was blinking furiously, brows drawn together. Pulling up the towel, she sniffed and wiped her hand over her face to get rid of the water droplets.
"I had a dream bout' my mum last night," She mumbled, pulling her folded skirt and another smaller piece of cloth out of the locker. Harry's eyes bulged and he quickly squeezed them shut; the sound of the towel dropping only confirmed his thoughts.
"Oh," He heard Nancy say, her voice softer this time. "I — I didn't know, I'm sorry —"
"No, s'fine," Jones said. More shuffling. "It's just been bothering me."
"Was it — was it another nightmare?"
This was followed by silence. Then, a faint zip!
"Yeah," Jones said quietly. She sniffed again. "It was, uhm... of that night. The battle."
Harry hadn't known Jones had been having nightmares too.
"Oh, Ana," Nancy said gently. "I'm sorry. How — how have you all been holding up?"
"Oh, you know," Jones began sarcastically. "My father hates me for existing, my little brother has mild depression, and I most definitely have PTSD now, along with the return of my ever-so-charming stutter," More silence. "Oh, and I have this lovely thing!"
He heard Nancy draw in a sharp breath. Harry riskily cracked open his eyes, his face growing a deep crimson when he realized she wasn't wearing a shirt, a black bra perfectly strapped over her chest. He had been so distracted by her lack of clothing that he hadn't noticed that she was showing her inner left forearm to her friend. He blinked twice and felt himself purse his lips; he had been right. She had the Dark Mark. Apart of him had been hoping he had been wrong.
It looked different than it had on Malfoy. On Malfoy, it had stood out from his pale skin, the details of the tattoo clearly visible, even from a where he was a distance away. Jones' mark was less intricate and looked as though someone had drawn it on with marker and smeared it; the inkiness of it had turned blotchy, and the skin around it was a raw reddish-pink as though she had been clawing at it, trying to tear it off.
"And there's no getting rid of it," Jones muttered, reaching her arm into her locker. "I get to live with this botched tattoo for the rest of my bloody life."
"We can cover it," Nancy suggested in a weak voice. "I thought you were using glamour charms on it?"
"Yeah, they haven't been working," Jones told her, pulling out the top of her uniform and unfolding it. He watched her slip it on, the white sleeves of her shirt covering up the black mark. She buttoned it up, the water of her wet hair dropping over the back of it. "So... back to long sleeves, I guess."
"I'm sorry, Ana, I wish I could help you," Nancy looked close to tears. "Have you spoken to McGonagall — ?"
"No way!" Jones shrilled. "About the mark? No, she'll send me right to Azkaban! I am not going there, no fuckin' way!"
"Right, sorry," Nancy said quietly. Jones paused, blinking into the depths of her locker before leaning forward and resting her forehead on the metal door of it.
"Sorry for snapping," She muttered. "Quidditch is stressing me out."
"Why?"
"Because fucking Potter, that's why," Jones rolled her eyes and brought her towel up to her hair, scrunching it up. Harry rolled his eyes. "It fuckin' sucks having someone you know never missed the Snitch on the other team. And someone who actually knows what they're doin'."
"Oh?" Nancy sounded less upset and more amused, now. "Someone who knows what they're doing?"
"You know what I mean, Nance," Jones huffed, slipping her green and silver tie around her neck. "He annoys the ever living shit out of me, obviously —" Harry had to hold back a laugh. "— but... you know..."
"What?"
Jones dropped her shoulders, sending Nancy a look as though she didn't want to say what she was thinking. The other girl blinked, clueless, to which Jones muttered, "He's a good flier."
Nancy let out a loud laugh, to which Jones crumpled up her towel and pelted it over at her. Nancy caught it and threw it back, but it only hit the floor in a tiny, wrinkly ball.
"Quit laughing!" Jones was laughing too, though. "You know I hate saying it!"
"You are so fuckin' petty," Nancy shook her head, giving her a toothy smile. Her two front teeth had a rather large gap in them.
"Am not!" Jones protested. "I just... hate that he's good. Like, if he was bad, that would make things so much easier," She paused for a moment, and then said, "If he was a Slytherin that would make things so much easier..."
"What do you mean?" Nancy was still smiling, but she furrowed her brows a bit. Jones rolled her eyes and rested her hand against the door of her locker, drumming her fingers along the side of it.
"I mean," Jones paused before continuing, "I hate him. That's — you know, we know this by now. But... I was thinking the other night after practice —" The practice with Gryffindor, Harry reminded himself. "— if Potter was on the Slytherin team and played Seeker for us..."
Nancy was staring over at Jones, who Harry was shocked to see had a tiny, barely noticeable smile on her face.
"Just think about it," She said after a moment of silence, turning over to Nancy excitedly. "Maybe he'd be less of a prat, and — and we'd win! Every game! We'd be positively unbeatable. Let's be honest, here — Bletchley is a much better Keeper than Weasley. And Draco and Blaise and Quinn are brilliant Chasers. And Goyle's been getting better, and there's me, obviously."
Harry scoffed silently and shook his head.
"And I love Theo, really, I do. And he's a great Seeker," Jones said earnestly. "But... as much as I can't stand him... Potter's a lot better. A hell of a lot better. And with his Firebolt, too...! Why couldn't the prat have been sorted into Slytherin? Dick!"
"You are unbelievable," Nancy stood up, her hair bouncing. Jones rolled her dark eyes. This was the first time Harry had seen her without makeup. Her skin was so clear he almost thought she had used a sort of charm to make it that way.
"What?" Jones shrugged. "Just the facts. Still hate him."
"Yeah, okay," Nancy scoffed. "Let's go, I have homework."
Jones shut her locker closed, not touching the lock, and flicked her wand over towards where her towel was on the floor; it levitated and flung into the hamper at the edge of the room. She shrugged her bag over her shoulder as Nancy walked past him towards the door. Jones followed, strutting along in that same runway fashion she always did, but halted after a few steps. He held his breath; she was right beside him.
"What is it?" Nancy called, hand on the door. Jones inhaled, turning her head. Harry pressed his lips together to prevent any noise or air to come out, pushing himself further against the wall. From the close proximity, he could smell the floraly-sweet aroma of her shampoo, mixed with what he thought to be a musky-vanilla perfume.
"Did you or Greengrass bring someone in here?" Jones asked aloud, turning her head. Wow, were her eyelashes naturally that long? "I smell cologne."
"Uh, I don't think so," Nancy called back. Jones inhaled again, blinking.
"You should find out. They smell good," Jones said, stepping backwards from where Harry was hidden and moving over towards where Nancy stood by the door. He felt his face flush. "Smells like broomstick polish too. Did I spill some?"
When the girls left, Harry heaved out a sigh, his face feeling hot; he wasn't sure if it was from the steam of the room or the way Jones had been complimenting his flying, wishing he was on her team. He had been so distracted with thinking about what would be (and what she'd look like) if she was on his team, but he hadn't even entertained the idea of him playing for Slytherin. In the past, Slytherin had gone for size rather than skill, but it seemed Jones had gone for strategy.
He hesitated before stepping towards her locker and ripped the cloak off of his head so he could breathe properly. He rested a hand on the lock, glad it was unlocked, but seriously contemplated opening it. After fifteen seconds of debating, he swung it open; just his luck. Empty.
SHE SPEAKS!
in case it wasn't clear, ron and harry had the stupid idea of sneaking a look at slytherins plans for quidditch to give themselves an advantage, which is why harry went down in the first place.
anyways, lots of foreshadowing in this chapter... any guesses on what that is??
i really want to write a james potter/marauders era fic. like so bad. do any of you have any ideas??
thank u all so much for reading!!!!! sending lots of love to u all :))
- s <3