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05 - Domino Effect
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Sugar quills trapped between pomegranate lips, both same saccharine yet gave different thrills for Martin's eyes. The crystallized pineapple between his tongue tasted bland compared to her alluring side profile. He quickly shook his head, noticing the witch's furrowed brows as she caressed her owl's wings, Verity. On its feet, tied an azure box full of delicacy and a small note. The owl stretched her wings before she took off to the Owlery.
"Nana just arrived home." her voice came in a huff, a hint of bitterness glossed her placid features tenaciously. The disappointment was apparent in her tone, while he peered at the apology note.
It was the third time in a row, Martin counted, the Irish witch had opened her Christmas presents alone. Fidelya had hoped her little box of delicacy would make up for the time she had left the young witch in the manor. In which Gemma wittily uttered, "I should have given her time-turner for a present."
"Don't be like that." the blond elbowed her on the arm, cast a small smile. The rationale of her frown was explained, albeit, the blond's intuition said otherwise, there was something more.
Because one; Gemma's eyes lacked its beams of jewel she usually had in the morning. When they were usually bright sapphire against her peach face—tired lines had emerged, cast of greyish patch right under her eyes. The blond suspected it was from the amount of caffeine dopping and lack of sleep. Two; The Merlin's heiress hardly found her Switzerland sweets package from her Nana interesting. His eyes shifted to trace the frown on her face, it nested there since Saturday. Three; she didn't touch his messy hair or fixed his loosened tie.
Martin was profound, something had been bothering the witch's conscience that she decided to nearly poison her gut with coffee, as if she had seen something so terrifying. Like a ticking clock, his silence fished out the truth from the girl.
"I lost the book." The witch's declaration made the blond froze, McKinnon blinked as he discerned the confession. Tilting his head, her unattentive eyes radiated guilt as if she had commited a murder. He remained silent, watching the girl sighed. "I'm sorry, Marty. It's just my mind are really everywhere—I hardly sleep with ugh—I forgot where I put it . . ."
Martin blinked, lips drawn into a line. The girl translated it as disappointment, then continued her ramble. Yet the boy pursed a small smile, "Is that what's bothering you, Sherlock?" he teased, timbre light as the summer breeze. "Because you forgot where you put your book."
There was a small pause before she gave a faint nod. "Well, sort of. That's—that's one of the domino effect."
A relieved gasp escaped her lips, followed by a disbelief look plastered on her face. It had been their internal jokes, Gammaliel insisted she was Sherlock, while the blond was the partner, Dr. Watson. Two geeky Ravenclaws, but rather than that, the witch was a walking enigma. So open, welcoming, but she was made of secrets, layers of it within her patched soul. Often, it was hard for Martin to peer and predict what was bothering her mind. And yet, what kind of men who doesn't like a mystery?
"Domino effect?" Martin echoed with an arched eyebrow, cyan eyes inquired for more. The witch nodded, darting her azure eyes up to the clock. Her hand swiftly shoved the box of sweets inside her bag, taking a mental note to share it with Evan Rosier. He went on, "What's the initiating event then?"
"Yes, uhm—." she began with a hitched throat, doubt clouding her mind as she pursed her lips. She emptied eight cups of coffee during the weekend. A yawn escaped from her lips, the only time she could close her eyes these days was when the blond took her to bask in the remaining sunshine down the courtyard. She would sleep on his shoulder, other than that, the rhythm of Gymnopédie would haunt her. His eyes lingered on her like an eagle gazing at its prey, in need of an answer. "It's about my—my mom."
Martin's eyes followed her squirming gesture to leave the great hall. Her body reeked an escape for the said matter, he knew it was a mundane reaction when it involved the witch's mother. His bag slung across his body, the blond followed the witch to exit the great hall.
"Care to tell me about that?"
Her steps sped, pacing and inanimate. Polished mary jane was harsh against the marbled floor as he followed her pace. Gemma shook her head briskly, "No, not now at least." she answered, beckoning him to climb down the lower east floor. "Come, Marty, we're going to be late."
The first period was Transfiguration.
McKinnon did not continue with Dr. Watson's twenty questions that he adapted from his mother's psychologist career—she thanked High Merlin for gracing her an understanding friend. Relieved sigh escaped her mouth as she settled her bag by her side. The room smelled of blotched ink, old parchment, and cat hair. Imperfect goblets were placed on each table, half mouse half chalice. Some had a tail, squeamish pair of feet, or even snout.
Gazing away, the witch cursed herself for her Merlin's curiosity, and now, it tormented the cat. Memories twirled at the back of her mind as if a magical dam that was built for years was leaking bit by bit. It was a matter of time before the memories dam broke and tormented her soul. She bit on her sugar quill, her mind marveled.
If there was an archangel inside her skull, she wished for one thing: to see her death.
She craved death. It was the unquenched thirst that remained since she was seven—when her logic had unraveled the deceits her family poured on her. White lies, numerous of them, that Gemma could put them down in a list; That one-time Fidelya told the girl, her mother was sick, that her mother was sleeping. That her father missed her mother.
Gammaliel was seven when demons had started whispering it was her fault. Though, Alphard and Fidelya had been clinging on her since that time she misused the double-edged blades. The Merlin's heir was merely an empty collar, a caged soul with pairs of hands wishing her to stay—when all she wanted to do was to return where she came from.
Hell.
Azure eyes darted down to her sugar quill as she put it back between her lips and bit on the rock solid candy. Fear, out of everything in the world Gemma wished the said subject was not a mixture of her sweetest memory and darkness. Some feared spiders or cockroaches—something mundane, self-explanatory, and unrelated to major trauma. The witch stirred on her rationale, trying to find a way to separate the essence of happiness out of wickedness. Because she didn't want to forget her mother's image by the time she turned 30. She twisted her sugar quill as she pondered for a solution: she had to find the pianist.
Distracting her plan, the blond swatted her sugar quill out of her hand. "Marty, stop!" the witch's voice boomed, "Give it back!"
"Girly!" a snicker came behind her, swallowing her drowsiness she twisted her jaw to follow the voice. A smile adorned her face, knowing there was only one person who would call her that way.
Evan Rosier's grin was apparent, and witches began to whisper when the said boy was walking towards her. Gemma gave him a weak wave, he marched towards them taking a seat right behind the Ravenclaws. The witch's previous smile burst in a snap when her gaze landed on Rosier's friend.
The arrogant twat—Regulus Black, scoffed at her presence. He paced in like Hades, every flower would rot in his path, that was how asphyxiating his charm was. Although, his face was stoic, vacant of expression as if a man-made machine, his dislike towards her was glossed on his steel eyes.
Refusing to pay attention to the Black's heir, she peeled her gaze to Evan, "Evs, I have something for you," she declared excitedly and twisted her body. Soon enough she fished out a box of chocolate out of her bag and handed them to the french boy.
Rosier's hazel eyes light up at the sight of the box, it was as if the witch was offering a precious jewel for him. He shot up at her as he received the box. "Oh, is this what I think it is?"
The Irish witch gave him a nod, she completely ignored Regulus's gaze at her. With a smile she said, "Nana just finished her Scandinavian tour, she told me to share it with you."
Without a warning, Rosier crouched closer and landed a kiss on the side of her face. That gesture surprised both Regulus and Martin. But the girl was grinning as if it was a mundane interaction between the two of them. "Merci beaucoup, Girly." he spoke in his southern france accent. "Oh, can you meet me tonight? I have something to show you."
"Sure," The Irish witch said with a heartland smile, stolen from the core of venus. "Usual spot?"
Evan nodded. "Usual spot."
"Good morning." in walked McGonnagal, strode in her emerald robe with a stern expression. A choir of 'good morning' was heard, after examining their last lesson she flexed her wand. "Before you, there are goblets of failed transfigurations." eyeing at the goblets, "The incantation that we can use to fix it is reparifrage."
Rosier shot a faint snicker, while Black was staring holes on the brunette's head. His lips sealed, yet his mind was spindling around the pure-blood witch. Embarrassment came first, because what in Merlin's name he didn't know about the said witch when he self-proclaimed as observant. Annoyance next, since Regulus was sure, the Merlin's heiress had jinxed his hand the other day. Last, disgust, because why on earth she would read muggle author.
"Well done, Miss Zygo." McGonnagal's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He darted his silver eyes to the grinning witch, she was the first one to change the chalice in the class. "Ten points to Ravenclaw."
"Ravenclaw and their teacher's pet habit." He cursed under his breath, huffing to himself. Regulus peeled his gaze down and swished his wand in his effort to fix the chalice before him.
"Speak for yourself." came a saccharine voice, his eyes shot up akin to viper eyes, annoyed. Before him, the girl flashed a sardonic scoff, "At least, I'm not morally problematic."
Raven brows furrowed. "What did you say?" his voice escape rather loud, Evan's eyes ping-ponged between Regulus and the Irish witch. Receiving no respond, the wizard kicked the edge of her seat.
Her brunette hair swayed as she twisted to face him, azure irises narrowed in annoyance. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Regulus gave a sneer of satisfaction. "I'm just acting out of your statement. If I could quote from you; I am morally problematic?"
"Oh, pardon me." Gammaliel's timbre was dulcet, crossing her hands over her chest. "I was referring to your nasty insult."
"I was referring to your mannerism, didn't they teach you back at your manor?" his voice was calm but poking the right button for Persephone's limited wrath, his lips twitched into a smirk. Gemma's lips curved upward unamused by Regulus's repulsive demeanor. Martin pulled at her robe from the side, whispering to let it go, Rosier on the other hand was smirking. But then, Black went on. "Perhaps, having no mother made you lack of manner."
That did it.
Calm had come to an end. When Black swayed his wand. One, two, a shockwave of azure flashed in the room. The goblet before him exploded, chalice pieces streaked red as the witches screamed. Mouse organs splattered before the Black's heir, its limbs flittered painting the table red.
An invisible dome was shielding Evan, Martin, and the witch—leaving Regulus's robe coated in nasty mouse blood. It set alight the burner of his anger, bubbling and boiling inside of him. With gritted teeth, he knew it was the witch's doing. "Yo—"
"Mr. Black!" McGonnagal's voice came before the four of them. Her nose scrunched at the view of bloodied table, "I am well aware how you don't find my class interesting but explosive is not included in Transfiguration!"
Defiance washed over him, Black pointed at the Irish. "It was her, Professor."
"Me?" the Irish witch scoffed, shaking her head as the Irish turned to face McGonnagal. "Professor, can you believe this madness?"
Regulus's brows furrowed. "It's you! I know it!"
"You have no proof."
McGonnagal's eyes twitched as she exhaled, and after series of scolding, two of her students were sent out of the class. The wooden door was shut tight, exposing them to the deserted corridor. The brunette was groaning, while the Slytherin cast a cleaning spell on his robe.
"This is your fault." The witch's eyes shut for a second, hands crossed over her chest. "I despise you, Black."
Silver eyes narrowed, "Feelings mutual, Zygo."
Turning her head, her gaze sharpened from the half illumination from the lack of light. "Now that you know me, you speak with respect." she shook her head, watching Black dusting off his cleaned robe. "Pathetic."
"I do not respect you, Zygo." Black thundered, towering closer to the witch. She darted her azure eyes to meet his pair of steel; peals of two thunder in the same sky. Mahogany and cinnamon poked her senses as he leaned closer. "My respect is earned, and certainly it is not for a selfish brat like you."
"Nice coming from an arrogant twat like you." the brunette leaned closer to the wizard, darting eyes tauntingly at him. They shouldn't be left alone, not in a circumstance when they had their wand in hand. A girl like her, who reeked for freedom of soul, mind, and forged from hell's fire with Persephone's garden charm. Left with a boy like him, who sought for order, control and subordination, birthed out of Hades's territory and fury. It was akin to the moon and the sun fought for the sky.
Peony and ocean coated his nostrils, it lingered, Hades was taken aback by how he surprisingly liked the scent. He darted his gaze from her daggering eyes to her mouth, such a venomous piece. Black raised his hand, azure eyes widened at the view of a familiar book on his hand.
"Familiar, Merlin?" Regulus waved the book in front of the Irish witch. Her eyes wide, transfixed to the book she treasured a lot.
"Strangers don't call me Merlin." replied the witch coldly, which was true. The two barely talk, one another except their debate in brewing.
The tense dropped between them, the observant boy remained with his stoic expression. Cocking an eyebrow at the witch, "Why do you own this trash?"
"Really?" Gammaleil scoffed, shaking her head at him, "Did your mother teach you to call someone's possession a trash now, Black?"
"She didn't but this." Regulus paused, his eyes daggering to the book, "This is muggle's. Why would someone like you own this? Changing the cover too, being discreet are you not?"
Gemma's jaw tensed from his remark, she knew so well how the Black family viewed muggle. It was no surprised the younger Black would comment such harsh words. Mustering her annoyance, she stretched her hand, asking for the book.
"Just give it to me, Black." said Gemma sternly, there was a soft flicker in the boy's eyes, "It's mine and it's none of your business for what I possess."
Regulus smirked at her, scoffing, "Pity."
By that, the boy outstretched his hand to hand the Irish witch the book. That moment the witch touched a milicentimeters of his fingertips. Then her eyes went black, a sudden pain coursed to her chest. Like a silver dagger stabbed through her chest, Gemma screamed at the pain.
The view got clearer from pitch black, it was slowly turning white. A hand, a nearly rotting fingers that the scent stung her nose, was holding her neck harshly, choking her, and her limbs and body. She squirmed trying to free herself out of the grip. But the grip only got tighter and she could see more was coming.
A wave of pain surged her body, something was pounding from the inside of her chest urged her to open her mouth and breathe. But as she opened her mouth she was attacked by a powerful wave, coarse salty water entered her palate. She tried to discern the situation. Salty water: the sea. She turned her head to the side. A boy was floating in the pitch black water, his eyes were shut peacefully.
She heard a familiar scream, "NO!"
The book dropped down the floor, eyes jotted in full awareness. Gemma's skin was ice-cold, she inhaled and exhaled rapidly. Her lungs were filled with air again, she touched her chest feeling the pain faded away and felt her heart hammering.
Gemma shot her head up to find the grey-eyed boy was looking at her with eyes narrowed. She was back from whatever vision she was having. And with that sight, she realized one thing.
Regulus Black would die soon.
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Author's note:
This will be the turning
point for both of them.