The Broken Victory

Chapter 06: Making Connections

I strode down the shiny steps, making my way to the far left where the Slytherin table was situated. Sliding into the seat on the end, I stared down and sucked in a deep breath of air before steadily raising my eyes to those around me. A few of the Slytherins gave me nods and guarded smiles, some a silently mouthed greeting. It was a far more reserved greeting than the rowdy one the Gryffindors were giving to their new members. A small girl whose name I didn't catch was named one, and an ear-piercing cheer was heard as welcomers encircled her. A disapproving frown curled my lips downward, and I noticed a similar expression on the faces of the other Slytherins. I'd never been one for physical contact, most likely because I associated it by then with a fist connecting to my face. Other than that, I couldn't recall being touched at all. In any event, my body was hypersensitive to any contact, and just witnessing such displays was making me feel like hyperventilating. I supposed the hat knew what it was doing. Clearly, Gryffindor wasn't for me, I decided with a satisfied shiver. I had made the House of my choice.

The rest of the Sorting thankfully didn't take long, although it was slightly interesting to try to analyze each person who approached the stool. Once completed, Ravenclaw got the most students that year, followed by Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and then Slytherin, and I had accurately identified seventy-one percent of those Sortings. Once finished, I resumed discreetly studying the members of my own House.

All of the Slytherins seated down the long table wore robes that appeared far more expensive than mine, each decorated with green or silver accessories as if they already knew where they would be placed. They all most likely came from a long line of Slytherins, my mind whispered. Probably, they were what I had learned were "purebloods." I tested the word out in my thoughts, not thoroughly pleased with how it sat inside me. Trying to push down feelings of inadequacy that had begun to bubble up inside proved futile as my certainty once again wavered. How could the hat have placed me here? Certainly Slytherin wizards would never accept me. I didn't have any strong legacy to this House or the magical world that I knew of. A burning sensation rose from the tiny flint that always existed inside of me, sparking to a full blaze. Damien's words that I wouldn't fit in Slytherin came back yet again, but they were disheartening and didn't bring the self-satisfaction I'd felt mere minutes ago.

But, my nagging mind reminded me, would I fit in at any of the other Houses? The question spun itself about in my mind, exposing all its corners. My final answer was that it would be doubtful. Slytherin's traits were what I aspired to. I simply wasn't interested in being in another House; my mind stubbornly and determinedly latched onto Slytherin. But it isn't my desire that's the problem, I thought miserably. If it wasn't my personality that detained me from the other Houses, it was my half-life existence that barred me in isolation in the one I had deemed desirable.

Suddenly, I was shaken out of my brooding by the appearance of a supposedly sumptuous feast before me. Colorful china plates and dishes, decorated with unfamiliar artwork, sprang into existence. Goblets with the faces of magicians appeared as well, filled with a cool cider. Immediately everyone began reaching for the turkeys, rolls, and green vegetables, all shimmering in one sauce or another. I waited, inhaling the unfamiliar scents. At the orphanage, I mostly had bread and water, some porridge, and occasionally an apple or milk. The sudden shock actually made me a little queasy, but I placed some of the food onto my plate and toyed with it, using my fork. Unbidden memories tried to force themselves through--of the disgust of eating in the orphanage with its unpleasant smells, or how I'd often gone without meals as punishment, or had my food stolen. I'd taught myself not to want such things, to take away any pleasure such a punishment might give to Mrs. Blunt or the other children. The satisfaction victory brought faded as another memory filled it, one that happened when I'd smelled food in the orphanage infirmary when I'd been locked in there. Being surrounded by plates of medicine and food beside sick, ravaged, pathetically wailing bodies who didn't want my help, and whom I had no desire to help, no desire to even touch--it was a disgusting memory that was always accompanied by a shiver of revulsion.

I never really got hungry; over the years my stomach had shrunk into practically the size of a baby's clenched fist. In truth, I didn't understand the apparent joy everyone around me got from eating. A part of me wished to gorge myself from spite over how I'd been fed at the orphanage, but the thought of eating a great deal just wasn't appealing to me. Food had become something necessary to survive, but I didn't see any need to take pleasure in it, especially if it made me as nauseous as I felt now. It was far better to not become attached to it, so I would never miss it. And it didn't look like I was missing much, I thought sourly as I sniffed the cream sauce in distaste. Every once in awhile, I did eat some, praying I could keep the rich cooking down.

Often during the meal, I sneaked quick glances at the professors' table, finding my eyes drawn to Dumbledore. He seemed deeply involved in a conversation with Headmaster Dippet and an elderly man to his right. My gaze then narrowed in on this third member with whom he was conversing. Startling black eyes were the first things I noticed, and they matched his moustache and longish hair. He was dressed in a green robe with a silver snake emblem on the left corner of his chest, so I surmised that he must have something to do with Slytherin. Thinking back, I remembered reading somewhere that each House had a faculty member placed in charge of it. I couldn't recall any other details than that; I had been too preoccupied learning several spells to truly pay attention, but I was now determined to finish reading the book before classes began tomorrow. With that resolution in mind, I found my spirits rising slightly. I resumed my private battle with the food, engaging in slight bits of conversation around me. I remained mostly silent, gauging everyone carefully.

Immediately following the meal, the dishes magically disappeared, as did the leftover food. Scarcely a beat went by before we were told to follow our House prefects to our new living quarters. I heard a commanding voice at the far end of the table and turned my attention to it. A tall boy who looked remarkably similar to Damien stood and announced himself.

"Welcome, new Slytherins. My name is Dashell Malfoy, and I am one of the prefects here. Welcome to the finest House at Hogwarts. Please follow me immediately." We all stood on cue and rather sedately made our way after the elder Malfoy, who strode gracefully yet confidently out of the room with his robes swishing perfectly behind him. I noticed that he had not given so much as a glance at his younger brother, and Damien looked a little hurt through his façade. He caught me looking and tightened his face back into a sneer as we proceeded towards the exit. As we were passing through the doors, the rowdier Gryffindors tried to push many of us out of the way in their haste to follow their energetic prefect. I cringed as one young Slytherin girl got knocked down.

All commotion around us stopped, as the guilty Gryffindor scurried to help the girl up. She accepted his hand, muttering a low, "Watch where you're going." Craning my neck, I realized that the Gryffindor perpetrator was that Weasley boy, and he was now hiding next to his prefect as Dashell came over.

Each prefect stood facing the other, arms crossed. After a beat, Dashell spoke first. "Grover, can't you keep your charges in order? Perhaps if you set a better example, they would know it isn't appropriate to run throughout the school."

The other prefect--Grover, I expected--immediately spoke up in hot defense. "They're kids! I prefer to have some with a little life in them, as opposed to the upper crust stones you have."

Dashell smiled, not pleasantly, but kept his voice even. "I know why you hate me, Grover. And never worry; I don't much care for you, either. But let's not let that get in the way of our duties, shall we?"

Grover's face flamed, perhaps from the authoritative, almost patronizing tone in Dashell's voice. Still, I didn't think Dashell meant it as anything more than what was said. Grover countered snidely, "Oh, a change of heart, Dash? What, is a teacher nearby you need to suck up to? Teaching them right from the start how to betray friends and manipulate people."

At that, Dashell's voice hardened. "Let's leave the past out of this, shall we? Honestly."

Grover said, "I'm not talking about the past. It isn't always about you, you know." He pointed at the girl who had fallen and said accusingly, "She fell down on purpose!"

Dashell raised his eyebrows and said in a drippy, sarcastic voice, "Yes, because she would gain so much from doing that. The evil mastermind." He seemed to struggle for a moment; then his voice lashed out to match Grover's petulance. "If anything, your little Gryffin-ape pushed her down on purpose! I should go and report both of you to Dippet."

I looked at William, feeling slightly bad for him, but by far I was simply more annoyed with the entire ordeal. "I personally don't think either of you is correct," I said.

The moment the words came out, both of them turned around to face me, giving me a look that made me certain I should have phrased that differently. I added quickly, "I mean, I was walking right behind her and saw everything. You both were leading and couldn't possibly have seen, so I thought I should tell you. He tripped and fell into her, and she wasn't even looking. It was an accident." I turned and tried to give William an encouraging smile, but was met with anger on his and several other Gryffindors' faces.

William flushed and sputtered, "I did not trip! Everyone was pushing everyone else. I've heard about you Slytherins, so I'm not surprised you won't take the blame for your doing!"

I stood stupefied for a moment, wondering if this was the same silly, warm kid I had met on the boat. Could he really be embarrassed enough to lash out like that? My mind was incredulous over his accusation and found looking at him anymore distasteful, to say the least. Glancing around, I noted that several of the Gryffindors were giving me sympathetic looks, but most of them appeared as uncertain as my fellow housemates. Equally unsure, I didn't even react when Dashell put his arm around me and warned Grover, "Let's just forget this. Grover, get your herd out of here, before I really get bothered." Eyeing each other down, Grover and the Gryffindors finally exited, and Dashell turned to face me. His expression was guarded. "What did you suppose you were doing?"

"He's a Mudblood!" Damien said loudly, waving for his brother's attention.

Dashell briefly shot him an annoyed look and then refocused on me. He stared at me intently and said, "I understand why you did that, then. You didn't realize how futile it would be." Straightening up, he continued, "The Gryffindors...well, most of them rather dislike us Slytherins. More so than the rest of the Houses. And I can't say the feeling isn't mutual." His face dropped into a frown as he continued. "Grover certainly doesn't help that. But you have to understand that this is your House. This is where your loyalties must lie."

"I didn't think I was being disloyal," I responded evenly. "But seeing his reaction, I certainly won't try to help him again." My eyes remained on Dashell the entire time, struggling not to show that I was still slightly unsure of him.

Giving a slight smile, Dashell said, "I wasn't going to get anyone in trouble who didn't call for it. Grover was asking for it--I only threatened that other child to put Grover on edge and make him step forward, apologize, and leave. If he hadn't and had let me turn the kid in, that would be his fault, wouldn't it?"

I paused to think. It had been a long time indeed since I'd dealt with an ethical question of any merit. Finding no fault in his argument, I said, "Next time I won't be so quick to stop you. I haven't had much experience with people who think and plan outside the level of a toddler."

A genuine smile stretched Dashell's lips, and it was fuller than his last. "I'll take that as a compliment...Riddle?" I gave a quick nod, and he went on, nodding back. "Riddle. Well, I think you'll be a fine addition to our House." And with that he swept away, his long cloak swirling behind his tall frame, leaving Damien glaring icily at me. Right then I couldn't have cared less, as I was watching the back of the first person I had ever felt any measure of real respect for in my life. Silently I fell into step behind him as he led us down the winding corridors of Hogwarts.

The Slytherin rooms were apparently located in the dungeon, which I personally found to be fitting. They were remote and secretive and had the only staircases that didn't move leading down to them. That was a relief to note after dismaying at the many levels of stairs changing before me as we made our way to our House. I wondered frantically if there was a pattern to the changes, even more determined to read everything I could before classes began.

I looked about everywhere, genuinely intrigued by sights I'd only read in fantasy before. On the walls were pictures that literally moved, and I stared in fascination at them, at every one of them I could until we paused. A smile came to my face as I realized we had stopped in front of yet another one. In this picture was a young woman dressed ravishingly. She spoke in a low, seductive voice to Dashell. "Password, please, my lovely young suitor, in order to enter my abode."

Dashell rolled his eyes and said, "Hello, Ms. Tress. Lavishious."

Ms. Tress responded to the nonsensical word, swinging the barred jail doors open. In a sultry voice, she crooned, "Right again, my dear Dash."

As we entered I breathed in musty air, cold and with a hint of wax. The dark stonewalls dripped, leaving small puddles on the dark green carpet. A brilliant silver snake was curled on the center of the rug, and around it were pieces of black furniture. A comforting fire was blazing in the fireplace, rimmed with carvings of serpents and dragons. The furniture was trimmed with silver edgings of a similar nature, and there were paintings of famous magical history scenes covering the windowless hall. Two separate staircases led downward in the far corners.

Dashell turned and said, "Remember the password to get in here, and don't give it out to anyone. Ms. Tress - well, just put up with her. Smile and be polite, or else she'll think you're coming on to her by playing hard to get. Anyway, the boys' dormitory is to the left down the stairs, girls to the right. You'll find your belongings down there as well. Once you all are settled, come back out for a brief meeting, and then we'll call it a night."

Everyone scattered sedately to listen to his orders. As I walked down the stairs, I kept noticing the odd looks people gave me. They seemed torn between hating me because of what Damien had said and approving me for Dashell, who was in charge and seemed to accept me. I found their uncertainty less than appealing, not desiring to be accepted simply because of someone else. I swallowed an angry pang, telling myself I could care less if they all hated me, but they might at least have had the courtesy to speak with me and find out if I really was as dreadful as they thought. Chances were, they would be right anyway, at least in the mood I was falling in.

Deciding to indifferently ignore them, I silently found my bed, empty except for my pillowcase, books, and Snicks, who was now curled up on my pillow. He gave me a nodded greeting, flicking his tongue around excitedly. I smiled back, a rush of relief that he was here filling me. "We made Ssslytherin," he remarked proudly, and I nodded and then motioned for him to be quiet. He rolled his little, black orbs at me and slid off the bed, muttering a quick, "I'm going exsssploring; sssee you later," and then he slipped out through a crack in the wall. I stared after him, half-relieved one of us felt secure here, but a bit angry and anxious to be suddenly left alone again.

Everyone else was busy unpacking, and the noise made me begin to do the same. Malfoy was on one side of me, trying to pretend I didn't exist. To my other side was the wall; at least I would have privacy. I tried to look inconspicuous as I alphabetized my books on the small shelf and then hid the remaining money and letters I had taken from the Blunts' safe under my mattress. Having nothing left to do, I exited the dormitory and made my way back to the common rooms.

Dashell was already there, seated in a large, pillowed chair covered with a velvety green draping. He was looking intently into the fire and only turned to look at me when I paused across from him, my motions uncertain. "Well," he said, smiling slightly. "That didn't take long."

I shrugged and then replied tentatively, "I don't have many things."

"He doesn't have any things, he means," a familiar and unpleasant voice said behind us. I whirled around to glare at Damien, who had framed himself under the arching doorway. Clearly striving to appear superior, he strode over to face me, glaring. "Not surprising that the first one to sell out our House would be the poor Mudblood. They have no sense of loyalty, the lot of them."

"Ah, leave off him, Minnie," Dashell said, looking more amused than anything. "He didn't know any better."

Damien flushed angrily. "Don't call me that!" He glared at his brother. "And of course he doesn't know any better; he shouldn't be here. There are plenty of other first years who need a prefect, but you're going to waste all of your time on him, aren't you? Father would be furious, if he knew."

Dashell's eyes flashed, but he said indifferently, "I imagine he would. But unless you want me to report to Father with all of your stunts over the years, I think you'd best leave this alone, don't you?"

Damien folded his arms, still glowering. "I have never done anything against Father's wishes."

Dashell let out a small laugh. "Even if that were so, you think that would stop me? Please, simply exploiting the truth would be beneath me. No, keep pushing me, and I'll come up with something more interesting to tell him." They stared each other down as I stood in between them uncertainly. The family picture by Crevanti back at the Blunts was apparently as much a myth here as it was there. Damien finally stomped off, and I turned back to Dashell. To my surprise, I didn't see triumph or anger on his face, only a trace of sadness. He caught me looking and quickly covered it up.

"Well," he said, trying to give me a natural smile. "No one said this was an easy House. Only the best." He must have seen the embarrassment on my face as I fingered my chain, tracing the torn strips of my shirt. His eyes looked me over, as I stared down, unable to meet his eye. Normally when people examined me in such a way, I stared right back at them, but, for some reason, in front of Dashell, I couldn't call up any heated façade, only the shame I felt. I waited there, watching the worn tops of my shoes, until he finally spoke.

"I'll say one thing. You must really have wanted to come here." Hearing his quiet words, I looked up, praying he was not mocking me. All I saw was a glimmer I hoped was respect in his eyes as he continued. "Most who come here don't have to work for it--especially in Slytherin. But to drop everything and just come here where you knew nothing, that decidedly takes something. Damien said, though not admiringly, that you never even heard of magic before, nor had anyone to guide you. But you made it here." His focus was centered on my eyes, and he did not appear to notice the ancient clothes or dirt caked skin that clothed me. Directly to me, he said, "I respect that."

My heart, which had been caught somewhere between my throat and stomach all this day, all my life actually, finally beat with enthusiasm. Warmth rushed to my face and limbs, not from humiliation or anger, but for once from happiness. I couldn't tell him that I had had no choice in coming, that I could not go back--I needed that look in his eyes to stay, at least for the night. The gaze of respect not forced from fear, nor cased in disgust. Respect and approval from someone, the first one, about whom I felt the same.

I muttered a small, "Thank you," as the others filed in. Sitting awkwardly down on one of the sofas, I tensed as four other people crowded in next to me. I tried to focus ahead, ignoring the chattering around me. Finally, when everyone was settled, Dashell stood and began his speech.

"As I said before, my name is Dashell Malfoy, and I am the prefect for Slytherin House. I am a fifth year here, which means that come time to take the O.W.L.s, you will not want to annoy me. I am also the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, so if anyone has any questions about that, just see me later. No first years on the team, sorry, but you'll have enough to deal with." At that, his expression grew serious.

"As most of you know, the magical community is in the midst of a very difficult time here. With the rise of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, London's entire branch of the Ministry is on defense. Hogwarts is a place of constant concern, because we hold some of the finest upcoming magicians, as well as the likes of Dippet, Dumbledore, and the other teachers. I won't go on with the details now, because I'm sure many of your families have talked about this to death with you. Just know that at certain times, places within Hogwarts and the surrounding areas will be prohibited, like the Forest. Please obey that rule; it is for your own protection. In light of this difficult time, I will always make myself available to anyone who has any concerns. Unless, of course, it's close to O.W.L.s time."

A brief titter rang out at that, to try to alleviate the tense conversation. Dashell smiled, but his eyes looked worried. "Also, I just want to say that being in Slytherin House is a very big honor." He waited for the cheers to die down before continuing. "This House and its founder have proved to be outstanding wizards, as well as valuable members of society. However, there are always the few who will proclaim that Slytherin produces nothing but Dark wizards; even here at school, I am afraid. Please ignore these insults, as they are unfounded. If anyone gives you a hard time, please remember they are uneducated. If that doesn't work, zap them." He grinned, as the first years all laughed and clapped. "You know you can; you are the best of them all, because you were placed here. So welcome again, have a great first year at Hogwarts, and win us some points!"

With that rousing ending, we all cheered again, only to groan as he sent us to bed. I waited, letting the crowd head in before standing to follow. Dashell stopped me. "Riddle?"

I turned around, hoping I hadn't done something wrong already. But Dashell only said, "The best way to prove yourself to them is to be better than them. It never fails."

I nodded. "That's been my motto all of my life." Then I turned back and headed for the dormitory to finish reading.

~*~

I felt cold seeping through me, but it seemed to be starting from my insides... slowly spreading down my limbs, sliding through, pulling my attention to it. I turned, only to find my pillow dripping with an unidentifiable liquid. I tried to push myself up, but my limbs weren't controlled by me anymore. Panicked, I looked around frantically for a face, anyone to call out to. Darkness surrounded me, and in the black I heard a hissing sound. I cried out, hoping it was Snicks, but then orbs of red began to glow, creeping closer, inching their way towards me. I struggled back, pinned against the wall, my arms flailing. I held my hand out to ward them off, and then, in the red backlight, I saw throbbing objects pumping up my arm. Terrified, I yanked off the blanket only to find the same long, sliding objects crawling throughout my body under my skin. The pain was incredible, filling agony with every inch they crept. I tried to pull my skin away, to expose the creatures welling up inside me, inching towards my head. The red eyes drew closer, as large snakes with dripping fangs plunged them into me. As the creatures in me reached my head, I screamed for help that never came. I began retching, vomiting up snake after snake that then proceeded to bite me, injecting venom further into my veins. I was paralyzed, though a voice was constantly telling me to run, that I was letting it all happen to me--the voice was accusing me, refusing to help though I pleaded, as I never had before. The voice was familiar, and in my agony I called upon it to reveal itself, which it was about to, if I could hold on, but the pain was too great, and I disappeared into it, submerging under the violent attack, my shaking, sweaty hand still reaching upwards--

I gasped, jerking upright in my bed, my white hands shaking as they grasped the history book so hard my knuckles cracked. My breath heaving, I twisted around, searching for the red eyes, the menacing voice and cackling of my own shrieks. All I saw was the cold dorm room, filled with just-rousing students. I swung my legs around and sat up, placing my aching head in my hands. The book fell to the floor, to the page I had gone over again and again the night before. A pale man towered in the picture, his dark eyes cold and commanding--the caption under it read "Salazar Slytherin"--the founder of my House. His face drew me in, and the name I recalled hearing somewhere important. I tried to think it through as I had pondered last night, to forget the dream still pulsing through me--then I quickly realized what I was wearing and flung the covers back over me again. I had no change of clothing, and I had planned on waking earlier than everyone else and quickly throwing a work robe over my old outfit. Unfortunately, I had fallen asleep sometime after five, and then I'd had the terrifying dream I could not rouse from, even though I remembered trying.

My mind circled frantically, wondering how I would now accomplish the clothing feat. More importantly, how was I going to do this every day? Surely I would need additional garments, more for hygiene's sake than fashion. Growing up around dirt and filth, I had acquired an intense dislike for anything unclean. It had been torture to go through these past weeks, living on the streets and saving the money, but it had been necessary to get here. Still, the memory made me cringe. I couldn't even rinse anything I'd worn, because I didn't have anything else to wear while they dried. I wouldn't live like that, I decided firmly, biting my lip. Perhaps there was a spell?

As I worried over this, the other boys had all finished getting dressed and passed by me without a word. A few gave me nods of greeting, but most appeared too wary or too sleepy for words. The exception of course was Malfoy, who sneered, "Lazy Mudblood," to me as he passed. I watched, making sure all had left for the dining room, then stood up, slipped the thin work robe over me, and hurried to follow the group.

The dining hall was just starting to wake. Most of the Ravenclaws were already seated, reading ahead in their textbooks and talking excitedly about classes. The Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables were still fairly empty as the Slytherins ambled in. I sat again at the end, so I wouldn't have to be surrounded by others, and tried to avoid any unnecessary contact. Food magically appeared before me, and again, it was smothered in some gravy or butter. I toyed with it, absently fingering my chain, when a voice next to me spoke.

"You're not from the magical community, are you?" The voice had a musical lilt to it that was faintly familiar, but the words still froze me. I turned my face to its owner, who saw my expression and quickly added. "Neither am I, actually. I'm a Muggle-born, as well." It was a short, thin girl who wore the markings of a Ravenclaw. I stared at her, wondering what she was doing at my table.

"What makes you say that?" I responded as the girl--incredibly--took the seat beside me.

She pointed at my chain, which I was wearing outside my robe. I quickly stuffed it under, blushing, as she said in a normal voice, "Don't see many of those markings around here. Don't worry; most people here won't even know what it is, unless they take Muggle Studies." She tossed her hair back, revealing a Star of David on a chain around her throat. I recognized it from a book I'd perused at the library near the orphanage. Occasionally I'd sneaked away there at nights, the sole benefit for having windows with no glass and trees growing outside them to climb down.

My focus drifted from her necklace back to her face. I found her smiling at me, a toothy smile that grew as she spoke again. "It's good to take something from home with you, don't you think? Something to remind you where you came from."

"No!" I found my voice rising as I quickly denied her statement. "This cross means nothing to me. It never meant home for me--and I--I don't wish to be reminded where I came from!" I was almost trembling at this point, embarrassed by the crowd my outburst had drawn. The hysteria fading, nerves rattled from my nightmare and the current scene I'd caused, I hastily moved to take off the cross when the girl's hand gently prevented me. She looked apologetic.

"Please don't take it off because of me. Symbols like that, and wearing them, mean something different for everyone. Home is just what mine reminds me of--you must have a good reason to keep yours on, too. Even if you don't know it right now."

I stared at her, as the voice of Dashell called across the room, "Baker!"

The girl turned and gave Dashell a smile, then said to me as she rose, "That's my name, Gail Baker. I have to go sit with Dash--he's my boyfriend, and we haven't seen each other all summer! Take care, and again, I'm sorry." She flashed a smile and was off to the other end. Dash greeted her warmly with a kiss, and I noticed the disgusted looks on many of the Slytherins' faces, as well as on those seated at the Ravenclaw table. All the while, my hand never left my chain, fingering it uncertainly as owls began to swoop over my head.