To sleep is like a replenishment of the mind, an incessant durability of nothing but comfort and well resting to the operator of our bodies. Sleep is not only something our bodies flourish in the midst of craving but a way to restore events of the past, deep within the memory box of our minds.
Alora was never the type to have a "wonderful" sleep, she had always tossed and turned throughout the night; haunted within her dreams, what shall be so little, yet flaunt her mind with such toxicity and brittle? What betrayal of the mind leads sickly sweet dreams to be infused with twisted vines of ferocious branches, that wrap around the life surrounding them; pulling tighter, and tighter, and tighter.
Until they just stop and let themselves breathe.
That's usually the time when you wake up, but Alora already knew that she doesn't dream. It's absurd, disgusting and plainly quite bland. Dreams are a distraction; she would say it until the day she dies.
Yet, that night Alora felt like she had experienced something like a dream. It wasn't, of course; but it was something like it. It didn't feel real, nor did it feel fake, but something about the scenario that played within her mind caused the girl to wonder.
It was the same, the same one from before.
The graveyard. The hollow branches of broken wood pieces scattered across the floor like crumbs from an eaten dessert. The tinged mist of a deep haunting green intertwined with the incessant breaths of panic, which flooded through the air.
But they weren't her cries. They had a deeper twang to the rasp and an outwardly screaming masculinity as opposed to her everlasting waves in denial of emotion.
What was so significant about this graveyard? She asked herself, staring into the mirror of the bathroom of her dorm. She was careful not to wake anyone else up as it seemed to only just be sunrise. Alora wondered if the Great Hall would be serving breakfast already; not that she was hungry or desperate to eat, she just wanted to get away from much human contact.
Taking the matter into consideration, she freshened herself up and made her way towards the Great Hall; seemingly knowing the way as, this time, she didn't get lost.
She opened the large doors to be met by a few students dotted around the hall, mainly from Ravenclaw, who were enjoying bowls of what seemed to be cereal. Also accompanying the hall was two teachers sitting along the large table at the front.
Sat in her seat beside the Headmaster's was Professor McGonagall who was indulging in a conversation with Professor Snape, a greasy-haired male with a build of a larger quidditch player. She had seen him before, not just on her welcoming day yesterday. Something about his face was familiar.
The door squeaked as she pushed it open further, making a large clanking of metal as she pushed it completely open. This caused all the attention to fall onto her and the door. While she bathed in attention, she knew she shouldn't be making such a statement. For once she agreed with the words that fell from Lucius' cruel tongue, she hadn't yet been identified, and she knew that she had no plans to fulfil that risk. So, she lowered her head until her eyes met the floor - swearing herself to secrecy from then until it was safe to not do so.
Her eyes drifted to the concrete slabs that were engraved into the ground, noticing the twinge of rays being shadowed across the surface. The warm tones were painted over the sky, through the large romanesque windows, as the newly rising sun rose from the depths of space, and marked the blossoming of a new day; one that held new beginnings and an array of memories previously and not yet formed. Alora's second day was surely not one she would forget.
Sauntering her way towards the Slytherin table, Alora took a seat around midway through the large table, the side that faced away from the students, an act that she didn't fully register until she sat down and lifted her head. Once she lifted her chin, however, she locked eyes with the dark-haired man that sat opposite the table she was sitting at. His eyes were deep and filled with mislead sorority, a look she knew all too well from the man she left behind. Back at that building she knew to refer to as 'home', though, it could not be further than the truth.
Her eyes shot through the Professor's eyes like a bullet through the skin. They pierced and seared their way through his mind and slashed a hole through his heart, flipping it - allowing her to see it inside out. If looks could kill, Severus Snape would be beyond a dead man. He knew that too. The skin on his neck rose into goosebumps, as a wave of cold sweats erupted throughout his body. His lips pursed into a pathetic line of authority while his left hand had a small tremble. He crossed his arms, still eyeing the girl intently. His right hand cradled his left forearm subtly, but he was unable to hide this action from Alora.
She smirked, perfect.
Now, he knows who she is, and judging by his reaction it seems like he will dare not to cross her. She is now sworn to secrecy. If suspicions are raised, Snape couldn't bare to support the idea of him being back, so he will shut them down. It's a win-win, in reality. Secrecy for serenity.
Their eye contact was broken as the door of the hall opened sharply, making many people hiss in that direction. Alora snickered to herself, quietly, as she shook her head. That seemed like a very off-putting sight, thankfully for the students, they hadn't been looking at the girl whose back faced them. Instead, they were staring at the boy in the doorway. His hair was sticking out in all different directions, North, South, East, West, you name it; it was there. His cheeks were red and flustered, and his eyes were the size of golfballs as they searched through the hall frantically.
Once he spotted his bushy-haired friend, he rushed to her side immediately- taking a large stride to get there quicker. He took no notice of the plethora of eyes that were glaring in his direction, but rather directed his attention to the pair of eyes that lacked to turn towards him. He furrowed his eyebrows to the girl sitting behind Hermione, hypnotised in admiration for her lack of engagement. He loved that someone didn't bother to acknowledge his presence, not in a toxic way- he just... was happy to feel some normalcy.
Alora, however, felt his eyes staring into the back of her head. His mouth had opened ajar in an act of shock, something that Alora could sense. Typical, she thought. The Boy Who Lived, is so full of himself, to the point where he is begging everyone to look at him. It's sad really, she thought, feeling a pit of anger churn in her stomach.
"Stop staring, Potter," she spoke, nonchalantly.
She could feel the shift in his mood, It went from shock to discomfort in a matter of milliseconds. Internally smirking, her mouth twitched at the change of dynamics. She heard his breath stutter for a moment, struggling to form a response to her. "I- er..."
"Save your breath, Potter. I don't want your apology."
"Sorry," he muttered, still not moving from his position.
Alora was confused, did he not hear what she just said? or was he still as thick as he was at the tournament? She turned her head over her left shoulder, avoiding the large cut across her right eye to be concealed as much as it could. Her eyebrows furrowed as she locked eyes with him, his green melted into hers and she found herself losing track of time.
They just stared at one another. Silently.
Hermione looked between the two, one eyebrow arched as she thought. The way they seemed like two normal teenagers, blinded by a power stronger than them both combined, was alluring and nothing but a wish made by the heart. Harry was the first one to look away, he directed his gaze to the floor, shuffling on his feet until he felt like he was ready to speak up.
"I didn't mean to-"
"Say it again, I know." Alora finished, alarmed by the feeling that came with talking to someone like him. He killed my father, she thought. Her features turned Stoic again, turning her head back to the front for a moment before abruptly exiting the hall swiftly. Her lips were pursed as she ducked her head down, not allowing others to see the strange hotness that started to caress her cheeks. The sun had risen into a high arch in the sky, bringing the heat along with the light. That's why her cheeks were so flustered. It was hot, and her body wasn't accumulated to feel such temperatures.
She walked quickly through the large corridors of Hogwarts, so quickly that she didn't notice a group of Slytherin's walking her way. Until she stumbled into them, that was. Someone grabbed her by her forearms and steadied her as if she was going to fall, she didn't nor was she going to, but they did it anyway. She diverted her gaze towards the intruders and scowled at them, ripping her arms from the person's grip. "Tosser," she mumbled under her breath.
"You wound me, Alora, you wound me." spoke the arrogant voice of Draco Malfoy, though he seemed to be quite tolerable unlike his father. The thought of Lucius gave her shivers.
"I stand by what I said Malfoy, don't touch me again." she looked at him, meaning every word. He had the same eyes as his father, cold and lifeless, she couldn't stand a branched relative touching her in such an intimate and revealing way.
"You really are strange aren't you?" asked either Crabbe or Goyle, both as daft as the other. "Girls love attention from Draco, how come you don't?"
Alors scoffed at the idea of girls wanting Malfoy, if only they had seen what his 'home' was like. "Because I am not like other girls, I have morals and they don't agree with love."
Draco gave her a strange look before speaking to his friends. "What she meant is that we're almost like family, it would be strange for either of us to do so."
"I wouldn't go that far," she intervened, not agreeing with his words at all. He gave her a questioning look, seemingly confused about something.
Did she not remember their life the way that he remembered?
"Anyway, the more important question is why you're practically running away from the Great Hall..." asked Blaise, standing beside Malfoy.
"Well Zabini, your either early or you're not and I chose to be early."
"What is the supposed to mean?" asked Pansy, from beside Blaise.
"Take it however you wish to, I however, wish to leave now." She tried to walk away, but Crabbe yanked her back by the skin of her arm.
"We haven't finished talking to you yet." He spat, looking at the girl with disgust.
"Oh, I see what you meant yesterday Zabini," she said while looking at Crabbe. "It really isn't appealing, no wonder no girls fancy you Crabbe. You're personality is utter shit."
"Oh, and if you don't remove your hand from my arm right now, you'll have much bigger things to worry about than lack of conversation." Alora said darkly, taking her arm back from his slipping grip. Thankfully, his nails hadn't pierced the skin but a rash of redness coated the area.
"Don't any of you ever touch me again, understand?" her voice laced with authority and made everyone nod. Good, she thought.
She can be very persuasive.
Published: 08/07/22.
Word count: 2011.