i hate this chapter
status: unedited (it's shit)
and if God made Adam and Eve,
she wears the façade of Eve equally
with the one of a snake
CHAPTER NINE
Midnight black hair, almost perfectly straight adorned the petite head of Dolce Bagshot as the Slytherin Girl bounced in the corridors of Hogwarts. Hazel irises with a glimpse of intelligence and cunning nature observed everyone and everything. Her heart-shaped head and sweet British accent were enough for her to be distinguished from other students.
Dolce Bagshot was by all means a fallen angel; too mesmerizing and yet too twisted in her way.
Dolce means soft and sweet, and also a way to describe a musical tone that caresses your ears sparingly and leaves you with mellow a foretaste. Her mother was a famous soprano back in her time in Italy, and while Pricilla Moretti stood next to all the known ones, as Rosa Ponselle, infant Dolce started her very few steps in life.
When she was younger she had everything that a person could ask for. A family, parents to love her equally, a home to call her own and generally she had grown up with a childhood away from misfortune and next to the wealth her parents provided her.
But sometimes, we have to be grateful for what we have. Dolce had lived since yet eleventh year in a mansion in Florence, with several creatures as servants, luxury life and she had everything she wanted in front of her own feet.
World War I had already begun to fade away, remaining in the minds of most people, as well as wizards, as a tasteless memory that had been obscured over time. It may have left behind pain and misery, but the human brain learned to bury for good what little remained of it.
Only for the wizarding world, the evil did not take long to strike and destroy everything from scratch again. When the first rumors began to circulate that Grindelwald was preparing for a new war, a global one moseys likely, most laughed and ignored the danger the Dark Wizard would cause. And when chaos fell and with the Second World War, obviously more devastating than the first, to looming, everyone prayed to God not to live through such horror again.
Her father was a wizard and he was Grindelwald's first cousin, on his mother's side, Bathilda's Bagshot, a distinguished author who had written dozens of books about the history of magic.
Now that Dolce thinks about it, her grandmother constantly said that if you do not respect the history, do not be surprised when the same pattern follows you, recycling the lost time of war again and again.
Her father was murdered after a clash with members of the Alliance, a group that had rallied around the name of the wizarding world, with the goal of global domination in both wizarding and Muggle spheres. Magic was intrinsic to the world's existence, so it was a grave mistake to underestimate it.
After her father's murder, everything changed in her life. Her mother, being a Muggle, left the opera and Italy, a widow and alone with a child. How was she supposed to raise her?
This job all these years was taken care of by nannies that were highly paid for this.
Her late father had a house in England, not as grand as her mother's in Florence, but it was familiar to the girl, as she had spent many holidays there.
The years passed, her mother remarried a man, and now she was living with her stepfather in her father's house. However, when he came into their lives, everything changed.
According to Dolce's own words, she could have grown up much more normally than other children her age. She did not like her stepfather for many reasons, he was also a wizard, but it did not make him any more likable in her eyes.
What to comment on first? His nationalist views regarding the superiority of pure blood and the empowerment of wizards as the only correct force in the entire universe? (that is what he said).
In short, he was a follower of Grindelwald and followed his ambitions relentlessly. Apart from that, he always tried to impose himself on her as her father, forgetting who he was. There were countless attempts to approach her, and just as many times that she pushed him away, making their relationship increasingly irreconcilable.
Her father's absence caused her to withdraw into herself, shattering her soul like a mirror that has been cracked, giving her, as usual, seven years of bad luck. She had a year and six months left to finish all of this.
Through this marriage, their way of life changed, like her mother's. She needed her, like the earth needs the sun, especially when Dolce was in adolescence. She had lost a father, and the last thing she thought about was replacing him with another man. Her mother closed herself off to her character and became a woman more like a slave, just as the customs of the time dictated, forgetting that she was once independent and proud of who she was.
Finally, Dolce Bagshot changed with time and her soul was no longer as sweet as her name. Her existence was marked by a bottle that read "Dolce," but its contents were rotten and rusted, with a smell of dried laurel and cinnamon.
Her life was affected by her mother's wedding, something she never forgave and did not think she could ever do. It was just lunatic, and as much as she did not want to admit it, immoral in her own eyes. She needed to leave her home and stay away from everyone. She needed peacefulness.
She grunted and dragged her feet with a heavy gaze that revealed nothing but absolute disgust. On the opposite aisle, golden hair formed crystalline curls like those of light's gorgons, and eyes with the most sparkling color of pearls, and a steady step approached her direction.
Her breath was catching, the oxygen in her lungs was decreasing, and her heart was beating at a slow pace, one that you could only feel by placing your finger on her carotid artery. If she collected a Galleon every time she faced the girl, she would be a millionaire now.
She had met her when she was in her first year at Hogwarts, when Dolce had broken her nose and magically, like a distant god, Cassiopeia appeared in front of her and with a spell fixed her nose, putting it back in place. She had never seen anyone perform such spells, and when her name was called for the selection, she was not surprised that before even touching the hat it shouted the name of Ravenclaw while brushing her blonde hair.
Their friendship started like this, which developed into something stronger after years. They tried to hide their relationship from their surroundings, as it was not something widely accepted, and especially they wanted to avoid it reaching their parents' ears.
But this became tiresome after a while and both girls had reached a point where they could communicate with each other. One was afraid of public outcry and her family's reaction, while the other wanted to shout about their relationship and not hide it as if it was something to be ashamed of.
The relationship lasted for a year, and another year passed when the two girls did not exchange any further conversation beyond formalities.
Dolce regretted asking Cassiopeia not to see each other again, neither as friends nor something more, but there was no other solution. Even if Cassiopeia was the only person who brought a little joy to the garden of her heart, watering the strings of her soul playing melodies she had not heard since her childhood, the slightest misstep would cause more trouble than she already had.
She walked past her, but before she could forget her scent, the girl turned to her and said, "You know, Bagshot, sometimes I think about how much more ridiculous you can get."
Dolce closed her eyes tightly. The hallway was full of students, but no one seemed to pay attention to them. Her words sounded like a whisper and the dark-haired girl turned to look at her.
"What is your problem?" she asked.
"My problem is everything related to you. And I can not control it when I see you in front of me so unaffected and with an air of arrogance as if I am not there, Dolce," the last words had more intensity, gaining the attention of a small group of girls passing by at that time.
"Shut up, you nag. For Merlin's sake, leave me alone. And if you can not stand seeing me in front of you, at least try to mimic me. I am not particularly happy to see you either, but I am not whining like a crow," of course, that was a lie, and she was glad to see her as much as she did not want to admit it, and she equally loved to see her furious.
Cassiopeia muttered, "You're terrible," and turned her back on her, with her locks bouncing up and down with her nerves like a quick dance.
She closed her eyes tightly one more time wheezing, and when she opened them again, her gaze fell on the same group of students whispering, who fell silent when they noticed Bagshot's stern gaze.
'Perhaps, you want to interview me now, no?'"
Insomnia was not the best thing Althea Lynch had ever had since she could remember. The clock on her wall showed three in the morning, and Dolce Bagshot and her other roommate were sound asleep.
Her feet touched the hard and icy floor, sending a shiver through her body. The dark circles under her eyes had not gone away, and her skin looked worn out. She had left the half-finished letter she was supposed to send to her father on her desk. Her inkwell was probably dry by now; she should have capped it.
She sighed heavily and closed it as she should have done hours before, then wrapped herself in her gold nightgown and headed to the Common Room. The emerald flames cast shadows in the room, and the girl felt grateful that the fireplaces were still lit at this hour. The school at night seemed eerie, especially the Slytherin wing, which was in the dungeons. She did not expect to find anyone there, so when she saw Dorian Nott's slender silhouette standing like a bogle in front of the fire with a book in his hand, she was startled.
The Common Room of Slytherin was enormous, with dark grey being the dominant color on the walls, along with a plethora of paintings by various wizard and non-wizard artists. The chandelier above their heads was elegant, with bright hues shining to adorn the room.
Dorian turned his head to the girl and a kind smile appeared on his lips. "I did not expect to have company at this hour of the night," he said, with a gesture of his hand, he checked the time. "Ah, splendid! It is three and something. You know, muggles say it is the time when witches come out and snatch little children."
"Yes, indeed, they say a lot of things," she replied.
Nott comfortably sat in the armchair, stretching out his long legs with the book on his stomach. "They are hilarious with so much superstition, I wonder if these people will ever progress," he shook his head disappointingly.
"I don't know if we ever met, Dorian Nott," he flicked his hand and she shook it joyfully.
"You know my already Dorian," she teased and the boy chuckled, his curls bouncing.
"Let me guess, Althea Lynch, our new classmate from the northern suburbs of the country. You must have loved Hogwarts,"
"You all are a bit macabre here, I have to admit. But I like it, it feels like home," Althea replied.
"Perhaps you are talking about Warren's death, right? It was a tragic event, and the boy who was accused was innocent, but he was also quite graceless and galoot if you ask me. Bringing a spider to school as a pet was just weird. He should have seen the tragedy coming,"
"And now? What happened to the boy?" she asked to know.
Before Nott could utter a word, the lid of the piano at the top of the room slammed shut with force, and a man looked in their direction. Since when was Tom Riddle there? He was wearing a gray sweater and black pajamas underneath. He was not very elegant in these clothes, but his face had a strange magic that made Althea want to look at him more and more. His face had sharp edges, and his skin was taut in it, pale like the color of the moon, his hair was thick, and the curls were mixed. His eyes now looked black, similar to the darkness that spread in the Forbidden Forest.
"Expelled and distanced from the school. And his disgusting spider is dead," if Tom had said that he was not terrified by Lynch's curiosity, it would be a lie.
Althea corrected her bust and felt like she wanted to punch him so that he would remember her for the rest of his life.
"Satisfied now?"
Her hair did not have a specific length, so whenever she had it tied back, its shape was peculiar with some tufts protruding and her roots falling on her forehead. Her eyes were glossy from sleep and her lips had a strange cherry color.
"Where did you come from?" Tom Riddle and the shadows were one thing, almost intertwined, because whenever the boy was there, the darkness welcomed him with hilarity as its leader, and the shadows could perfectly embrace the pitch that surrounded his soul.
He raised his eyebrow and approached, with his hands behind his back, his two classmates. "I have been here for so long, but it seems that the lack of sleep not only makes you paranoid but also dreamy."
A crooked smile sprouted on her lips and she spoke with irony, "Always the jester, aren't you Riddle?"
She gave Nott a sideways glance and signaled to him "You Nott, to your room," the boy was a year younger than them, so he always obeyed what the rest of the Knights, and of course, Tom Riddle told him. Dorian nodded and rested the book under his elbow, murmuring a small goodnight.
"With what audacity do you talk to him like that? Is he your subordinate or something?" Nott seemed quite friendly and had a good sense of humor, from what little she knew of him.
"You could say that,"
"You are unbelievable,"
"Thank you, I have heard it before by many people,"
A sardonic smile was enough to reignite Althea's anger once again. She crossed her arms and made a circle around him with her hands.
"Do you think I will just give up that easily?" she said defiantly, and the boy simply spoke to her with his back turned.
"No, but have you heard the phrase, curiosity killed the cat?"
Althea ignored him and approached the piano where the boy had been sitting just a moment ago. She sat on the chair and opened the lid, gently touching the keys.
"Do you know how to play?" he asked her, standing on the opposite side of the instrument.
"Enough to play at least half a song without any mistakes. When you are stuck at home all day, you tend to pick up a lot of hobbies," she replied, noticing a paper in front of her which, from the notes, she recognized as Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. "Do you know how to play the piano, Riddle? Or do you just bang on the keys to cause a disturbance?"
The boy flicked his fingers and sneered. Oh, he would love to hit her pretty head along with the keys on the lid. "I know how to play. It is the noblest of all musical instruments," he said, adding curiously, "But Lynch I have a random question. Why did you take lessons at home instead of at Hogwarts?"
The girl played a note she saw on the paper and then answered while scrunching her nose, "My parents are overly protective. Generally, I have not lived like all of you, with friends, school trips, or anything significant to remember from my childhood,"
Either Tom Riddle, but now was not the time to talk about himself, "So, what brings you here?"
"My father is a close friend of Dumbledore's and he asked him if I could be a student here this year. Of course, most of what we are doing this year, I have learned maybe two years ago. You see, the curriculum came out faster, plus I also did some summer courses,"
He had forgotten that her family was closely connected to that useless Dumbledore. The chances of being spied on increased and the temptation to burn her head in the fireplace as well. She was a clever witch, though, and it showed. It would be a shame to waste such talent for nothing. Dumbledore was very foolish if he believed that this girl could bring his downfall to him.
If she was playing a game, he had to participate too and follow the rules. "And what about your obsession with Warren?"
She simply shrugged her shoulders. "I just want to kill my time."
A macabre statement. She was probably playing Russian roulette with her life, there was no other explanation.