Shadows Where I Stand: Fishnet Moon

Chapter One: A Mask In Hell

Niamh hated the man on sight. Cruel and malicious people she was familiar with; they always ended up being easy to handle and work around.What Niamh could not stand were overly kind people, the ones who oozed sympathy for any and everything. Exactly what the Headmaster showed. Hatred she understood, pity she refused to tolerate. "I'm sure you will be very happy here." Dumbledore smiled with disgusting saccharine.

Grey eyes focused on the world outside the window as she ignored him. Underneath the black trench coat Niamh shivered, the cold racing up her spine. The horizon had been growing steadily darker all afternoon and the heavy rain that began to fall just after sunset came as no surprise. The pouring water had been frigid, adding no ease to the already tiring journey. Damn broomsticks.

"Miss Necis... Miss Niamh?"

She settled back into the conscious world: exhaustion clouded her mind and senses. "Ms. Not Miss." There was something that hovered beneath her words. The voice of one weary and beyond ready to end the day and prepare for another.

Dumbledore leaned forward. "Forgive me, you must be exhausted, and I am prattling on." For a moment, the Headmaster paused to study her gaunt features. "It is late, but if you are hungry I can send for something?"

"I am fine." Her veins stood out like purple vines against her skin and betrayed her words.

A slight frown appeared at his blue eyes, but next vanquished itself, almost too swiftly to follow. "Very well. We still need to go over your transcripts."

"Yes."

Several rolls of parchment found themselves materialized and then flattened across the Headmaster's desk. "I just want fill in a few sections and make sure everything is correct. You know how these things get rattled." Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles and smiled at her. "Full name?"

"Niamh Necis. I- I don't have a middle name."

"Your age and birth date?"

"17, born October 31, 1977."

He nodded as if approving. "And your place of birth," he finished.

"Saileach, Ireland."

Dumbledore rolled up the parchment.

"I believe that is all the information I require." The woman nodded, her movements slight, a harsh result of cold-stiffened joints. "Now, it is our general rule to have students placed without bias, but with your circumstance I," he stopped on glimpsing her expression, however vague. " I- err- I feel there is a certain professor I believe might be able to help you. And, well, shield you from the prying of certain students. You did profess a certain want of privacy."

"I do not wish to draw attention to myself by having exceptions made for me, Headmaster. Nor do I wish for exceptions to be made for me at all." Her eyes narrowed slightly and her lips pressed together, thinning out.

"Well-," he began.

A young woman's voice cut him off. "We'll take her." Unabashed, she threw open the door; strode over to Niamh with hand extended. "Gwenhwyfar Trevalean, but I go by Gwen. And you are Niamh Necis." She even said the first name right.

Niamh raised her brows at the girl's sudden entrance. "You've been there for a while I suppose."

"Don't be so touchy, I do this to everyone and I'm blackmailing half the school."

"I would hardly consider it prudent to announce that in front of the Headmaster."

"Oh, would you?"

Dumbledore leaned forward. "I do believe it would be best for all concerned if I followed through with what I originally planned to do."

Snickering, Gwen rose to her full height, topping Niamh despite the thick-soled boots she wore. "Oh come on. Why not Slytherin? I mean, look at her. How much more Goth can you get?"

"So now you are determining the next year of my life based on the way I dress?" said Niamh.

"I think it would be better if-."

"Great! So it's settled." Gwen grabbed Niamh and attempted to haul the other woman out of the chair. Twisting her hand away, Niamh detached Gwen's grip, snarling faintly. For a moment, Gwen went still but returned to her normal self swiftly. "Hey, come on. I'll take you down to the kitchens for some food and then you can crash."

"Miss Trevalean," the Headmaster did not sound so friendly now and Niamh liked him more because of it. "I do not think it would be wise to put Ms. Necis in Slytherin House."

Gwen protested. "Well wh-"

"Why don't you Claim me?"

"Claim?" asked Dumbledore

"Oh, you must call it something else. It is where you decide what House one is put into. You do call them houses, correct?"

He smiled. "Yes. That ought to 'sort' things out." From the desk behind him, Dumbledore retrieved a tattered wizarding hat and handed it to Niamh. "This is the Sorting Hat, put it on."

She did so, jumping when it hissed in her ears. Well, it said to her, a transfer student. You did not pick a good year to come. But let us find your place. It stopped to -what? - think? Bitter and cold, so young though mind's old, it rhymed. You're intelligent, I'll give you that, ambitious too, a bit vengeful, but nothing overly extreme. Slytherin or Ravenclaw? I suppose it is a matter of choosing between power and intelligence.

Erm... can't I have both? thought Niamh.

Well, perhaps. But with all that ambition, I would put you in Slytherin!

The Hat came off her head, clearing Niamh's field of vision. Next to her, there came an embittered muttering of "I told you so." The Trevalean girl did not sound happy about the Headmaster's rebuke. Is she like this all the time, or is it the result of some stupidity inducing potion, Niamh wondered.

"Miss Trevalean," said the Headmaster, "Please go back to your dorm, I will send Ms. Necis along in a minute. Oh," he called as she left, "and five points from Slytherin, for being out past curfew." She left. Dumbledore now addressed Niamh. "I will arrange for you to meet with Professor Snape, your Head of House, tomorrow morning at, say, seven' o'clock. Will you be up by then?"

"Yes, Sir."

A cloy-soaked smile returned to his face. He took her black-gloved hands in his, a grandfather speaking to an apathic child. "Wonderful. Now hurry to your dormitory, it is late. And I dare say Miss Trevalean is waiting." She hardly looked over-joyed at this news, but his eyes twinkled anyhow. "Good night." In answer she nodded, and then left, suitcase in hand and trunk floating after.

_________

"Okay, food!" Gwen seized Niamh when she exited and refused to let go.

Nyamh paused; turned to look at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"Food," she repeated slowly, fiddling with her hair, and speaking like one would to a child. "It's what you eat."

"I know what food is." She snarled at the other woman, the only expression full shown so far, her bloodless lips pulled back over sharp teeth.

"Oh, bite me!" Gwen snapped, rudely.

Yanking the trench coat around her self, Niamh said in return, "Fine! Come here." Her sharp shoulders stiffened. "What's your wanking problem? You have no right to just barge into the middle of what could have been a private conversation."

"Well its not like you wanted to be there." Her eyeballs rolled as emphasis to the sarcasm. " And what 'private' matters were you talking about? Your secret love affair with Cornelius Fudge?"

Niamh's glare narrowed further. "Fudge can go die, it would be the only thing he has ever done to help the community. And who do you think you are, to have the right of knowing everyone's secrets?"

Opening her mouth to speak, Gwen's throat closed before anything came out. Then she found her voice. "Snake!" Gwen backed up several paces, hands raised defensively, azure eyes opened wide, like a doll's.

Niamh crouched down, hand and arm extended to the black serpent. It slithered its way up her forearm and onto Niamh's shoulders, draping around her neck. The creature's gorgeous, she thought. Niamh rubbed underneath its jaw with her long fingers as she rose and turned to face Gwen once more. "Whom does she belong to?" Niamh inquired, letting her shoulders relax again. Obivously more at ease with the serpent than the girl.

A sound like water being gurgled rose from Gwen's throat. "Uh, it's uh, Snape's. Our Head of House, uh Slytherin, you know." She backed away more. "I don't like snakes. I really don't like snakes, or anything else that slithers around and has huge poisonous fangs."

Those pointed lips twitched upward in silent and cruel laughter. The reptile twisted back down to the stone floor and once more blended with the shadows.

___________

Gwen regained her control and tried to ignore what the dark haired woman's obvious ease with anything not natural. The last thing Slytherin needed (in Gwen's opinion) was another case of insanity. Another case of anything to bring on more hatred and taunting from the other houses.

Flexing her fingers, Gwen told Niamh to follow her to the Slytherin dormitories, well aware she had won no battles this night, but there was always later. As she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind, Gwenhwyfar realized the woman had to be hiding something. If not the Headmaster would not have objected to her being in Slytherin. Because Slytherin was the only house that was ruthless enough to find out. But he had overlooked their loyalty to their own kind. At all costs.

Slytherin kept secrets, if only to protect themselves.

____________________________

A scroll popped cheerfully out of the fireplace, jumped onto Snape's beside table and demanded to be read. He ignored it, adjusting his reading glasses, putting down Exqusite Corpse, and reaching for his familiar. Dumbledore's voice leapt from the parchment.

"Severus, please note that our transfer student has been Sorted into your house. I have arranged a meeting for you with her at seven'o'clock in the morning. Good night."

Scowling, Snape turned back towards the silver-bellied serpent at the foot of his bed. "Now, Keres, what were you going to tell me?"

___________

Green embers still lingered in the Common Room's fireplace. It had not gone out long ago. Faline flicked a piece of dust onto the glow and watched as a small bit flared up. Her orangey gaze switched from the door to her watch and back again while one foot tapped quietly. She was good at being impatient.

It was taking far too long for the new student to get here, Gwen (so exasperating!) had left an hour ago; the clock moved towards 1:30 in the morning. Somehow, Gwenhwyfar was convinced whoever it was would be a Slytherin. Grating noises, the sound of stone rubbing against stone, rumbled from the hidden doorway, but for a moment, Faline saw nothing in the cleared pathway.

A figure appeared in the space her features obscured by torch-cast shadows, but the fire's shine danced briefly on her hair, illuminating the reddish-black. This took a moment to register within Faline's mind. Dizzyness twirled in her head as she stood up rapidly; she had to pause before she could think clearly. "Niamh? Niamh Necis?" She called out to the figure.

"Well, Faline Malfoy, isn't it?. Yes, I remember meeting you at your uncle's." Niamh dropped her trunk onto the sofa, rolling her shoulders with a sigh of relief. "Goddess, that thing is heavy."

Starting the flames once more, Gwen turned to look back at the others. "Do I dare ask what's in there?"

"Yes," Faline jeered, "what is the current body count?"

"Ask your uncle," concluded Niamh. ("Ah, must have been a bad night.") "Now, I want to begin unpacking, then try to sleep a bit." Her voice left no room for frivolous argument.

Laughing, Faline and Gwen helped Niamh carry her luggage up the stairs, which led to the girl's dormitories. There was not anything amusing to Niamh. Already she could taste blood on the back of her tongue, bile would follow soon. Shite. When they reached the sixth-year girls, Faline bid them good night and left for her own dorm room, though neither she nor Gwen gave the impression of being at all tired. Niamh did not understand most teenagers, she never had. Their sense of humour escaped her entirly.

The door found itself shoved open by Gwen and the first thing Niamh saw was a pair of indigo-green eyes, black hair, and vermilion lips arrange on the face of the woman who fell into her. "Sorry," the girl laughed sheepishly, seeming abashed at having fallen into Niamh's face. "I'm Tamsin Lestrange."

"Lestrange?"

Tamsin braced herself for the inevitable response; the shying away at learning her parents had been Death Eaters.

"You don't look very much like your mother."

This was the opposite of what Tamsin had expected. "My mother, you know her? How? I mean-"

"No, I've never met her, But Lucius Malfoy has a few old school pictures with her in them. I asked who she was." Niamh shrugged, setting her bags down on the only free bed.

"Oh. Her name is Bellatrix." That was all she said.

A hand was placed on Niamh's shoulder. "Hello," its owner said, "I am Winter, Winter Petisis." The syllables of her last name twisted around the girl's tongue. "But don't worry about trying to pronounce my last name, even the teachers call me Winter." Her golden face broken into a laughing grin. "My dad is Egyptian, but Mum's from Bath." The irony of this seemed to amuse her. "Where are you from?"

"Ireland."

Sitting down next to her, Tamsin replied, "Really? You don't have an accent."

"Well, it's just that I travel so much that I only have an certain area's accent when speaking that language. It's a bit easier like that, I suppose. Too many countries aren't very fond of forieners."

"Too true." (What would you know, wondered Niamh.) "What languages do you speak?" Gwen sat next to her.

Niamh thought for a moment. "Let's see." She pushed bits of shorter hair out of her face, then gave up and took the bun out entirely. "Err, I speak English, Greek, Latin, Irish, and that's it. For the rest I use a translator spell."

"Fasinating. You will have to show me some." Then sighing, Winter realized, "I'm sorry, you must be tired and here we go, chatting your ears off. Do you need any help unpacking?"

Pulling a tunic out of the trunk, Niamh shook her head; she could do it in the morning. As the light faded, she wondered what this year had in store, and if this would be the school she could feel right in. But there were places that felt right, sneered a little voice in her mind. And you didn't stay. You can not even give a reason for not staying. Face it, things are going to be just the same here.

___________________

Dawn had just begun to steal over the moor's horizon, hardly giving enough light to see by, when Niamh fell off the four-poster and curled up against the pain shooting through her body. The taste of blood and bile reached up to claw her tongue and melt enamel from her teeth. Breathing deeply, she stumbled over to the toilet, locking the door and falling to her knees. She shoved up the lid, vomiting crimson. The bleeding lasted for a shorter time frame than usual, perhaps a minute.

Niamh used coarse words from several languages as her head swam from the loss of blood, sending her stumbling and realing acroos the stone floor. Shivers of agony tap-danced down her spine as she slipped into the wall, but Niamh ignored them, walking back over to flush the toilet and starting the shower to wash the stains from her face and neck and hands.

The heat took immediate effect on strained muscles the instant Niamh stepped in. The stiffness in her back loosened slightly, yet not enough to remove most of the pain. She reminded her self to take the painkiller in her suitcase. Sodding four hour broomstick ride. In the rain. A bit of wood shoved against her privates would have been bad enough, but the storm went over the top. Life tended to be sick, especially when it came to its sense of humour.

Scrubbing away her shivers, Niamh silently reviewed her impressions of the three women she would be spending at least part of the year with. Tamsin certainly showed charisma, and the elf-boned girl knew it, too. It showed in her stance, if not in her speech. Niamh did not doubt that, and remained unaffected: charm only worked when people did not know it was being used. And Tamsin obviously felt respect for something one wished to keep hidden; she did not ask a lot of questions.

Gwenhwyfar seemed like a prying little sneak who would do anything for another sliver of gossip. Or something to use as blackmail. Niamh wondered how long it would be before Gwen decided to break into her files. That girl might go to any lengths, and certainly find her money's worth.

But Winter appeared to be another story. It proved impossible to tell whether the woman's kindness the previous night had been genuine or not. Niamh's thoughts trailed off here and she paced as much as possible within the shower's small space.

Rising the remnants of soap from her skin, Niamh shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, and yanked a green and silver patterned towel from its hook on the wall. She pulled herself up to sit on the sink toying with the wooden ring on her left hand. Running her fingers through her hair, she spelled it dry and then leaned back against the mirror, towel and skin rubbing a clear area into the heat-induced fog.

Sitting there, wrapped in a ridiculously thick towel, with her thighs crushed against white ceramic not so very paler than her skin, it seemed hard to resist the pessimistic thoughts of leaving this place like she had so many others. Niamh wondered how long it would be before she found some other place to abandon.