What Connected Us All

My Unnoticed Loyalty

She watches the window lazily as the remaining leaves fall from a large oak tree, Professor Binns's low monotone washing over her.

A thestral glides over the Forbidden Forest, spinning in mid-air with a flutter of black wings. She wonders who else in Hogwarts can see them or if they get the same sensation Farren does at their appearance. Is it strange that she wishes to pet them; to stroke what she is sure would be scaly coldness? Farren is almost positive others must feel the desire too.

Her gaze shifts downward to a boy sitting near the bleak view outside. The bored expression on Sirius's face does not detract from his attractiveness. He is leaning back against his chair, feet propped on the desk.

Farren has an urge to kick the chair from under him, for no other particular reason than her own boredom.

As if in response to this thought, Sirius glances up at her and smiles slowly.

A note appears on her desk before she can respond to him:

Snape is staring at you

- Celia

Farren turns around. For a second it indeed seems as though Severus is staring. But then he scribbles something on his paper and looks back up at the Professor. He is only taking notes.

Turning the paper over, Farren writes:

No he wasn't. He's such a git though. Why were you looking at him anyway?

- f

When out of close proximity of Snape, Farren tends to forget how or why she is so infatuated with the hooked-nosed boy. So she isn't precisely lying to Celia when calling him a "git".

Extracting her wand, Farren charms the note to Celia in the row of desks closest to Professor Binns.

A few minutes later, it slides back:

Because I want him. Rolls eyes. Honestly, Ren.

- Celia

Farren smirks.

Well there's no denying his sexy voice. And that nose...

- f

This is why she likes Celia best. No one else could understand her crude humor.

Celia grins then writes a response. But just as the paper begins to float up to Farren, it zooms away in completely the wrong direction.

A rather large and tanned hand catches it. Sirius leers wickedly as he begins to read.

Farren swallows.

His face grows steadily stonier with each passing second. Those hands bawl into fists around the paper and his body tenses, as though braced for a battle.

Fuuuccckkk, is Farren's rather eloquent thought.

After a few minutes the note is magiced back to her, wrinkled and slightly ripped. She rereads the conversation, perceiving it as Sirius would. It makes her squirm with guilt.

Celia has added a new part:

Yes, Snape is doubtlessly a mind-blowing shag... Probably bigger than Black too.

- Celia

Farren knows instantly that Sirius will not understand their game-- rash to come to conclusions as he is. He doesn't get the humor, and how dreadfully funny the girls find this pretense of "sexy Snape". This isn't due to some sort of insecurity or any rubbish like that. No, it is because it's Snape, who Sirius loathes beyond reason.

After what seems to be an eternity the bell rings. Farren rushes to reach Sirius before he can escape.

Shaggy dark hair looms into view.

"Sirius!" she says in a rather unladylike shout.

He turns grudgingly but waits.

Farren hopes the smile she gives is winning. "Sirius you can't honestly be cross with me."

His teeth are clenched tight. "Of course not."

She is almost taken aback. She'd expected annoyance, perhaps even anger. But this... he is furious.

"It was a joke! We were having a laugh." And in an attempt to lighten the mood she adds, "I'm sure you're larger than--"

"It's not about that!" And Sirius looks so horrified at being compared with Snape, that it's all Farren can do not to laugh. "He was staring at you."

"No he--" a realization cuts her short. She steps back, considering him. "You're jealous!"

Farren finds the idea quite fanciful. Never having had a protective father, part of her yearns for male jealousy. The desire is vain and idiotic but also very strong.

"Ren, I'm being serious. Snape is a git, but he's a powerful one. He's been up to his eyeballs in the Dark Arts since his first year. And he has many friends willing to do horrible things. Not just willing, eager!"

"Sirius, breathe!"

He takes her advice, finishing more slowly. "Just don't lead him on."

Farren blushes in embarrassment and surprise. "I don't lead anyone on," she mutters.

He lets out a startling laugh. "Ren, I'm not a moron. But I don't mind it. Whatever gets you through the day."

Her eyes widen in shock. Apparently Sirius can read her better than she'd thought.

"But not Snape," he concludes with vehemence.

"I can hold my own, you know," Farren counters. "I'm not a defenseless--"

"I am well aware of the fact that you are a competent dueler. But I still don't like the idea of you meddling with him. Our mutual hate doesn't have to involve you."

"My hero," Farren says, rolling her eyes. "So who do you think would win in a duel: me or the giant squid?"

"Giant squid," Sirius says without hesitation.

"You arse! You just said I--"

"Well you must consider the Giant Squid is probably fourteen times your size," he says fairly.

"Touché." And Farren kisses him, her lips still holding the ghost of a smile.

Most of the students have already gone to either lunch or their next lessons. But a few still remain to witness the couple's kiss and many girls shoot Farren disgusted glances. This makes her want to pull away from Sirius and make vulgar gestures with her tongue and hands.

But she doesn't.

No, what makes Farren pull away is a sudden glimpse of marble pale skin and billowing robes.

"What is it?" asks Sirius.

"I... nothing--" and she kisses him again.

Luckily, that is enough of a distraction. Severus leaves, unnoticed by all but Farren, who recognizes the extra tightness to his jaw.

The fork Farren had been using to play with her dinner rests poised in her hand, completely forgotten. She stares blankly in front of her. She is thinking of how, in a few hours time, she will close her eyes; only to wake to her own sweating, trembling body. And the panic, of course. The panic is always there.

And she is thinking of this dangerous game she plays with not only Sirius and Snape, but with herself as well. There is no way for things to end well. That is very clear. But what is clearer than anything else is the fact that Farren is trapped... There is no backing out now. And whether this acceptance of her fate is weakness or intelligence, Farren cannot determine. All she knows is the future is set out before her: bleak, beautiful, tragic, and unchangeable.

"Are you alright?" Celia asks her softly, knowing not to draw attention.

Farren hesitates for a second. She envisions herself telling Celia everything: the dreams, their cause, of Snape and Sirius--just as she had done with Lily before obliviating her. Would it really be that bad to tell her? To release everything that she has bound so securely to herself.

She could do it. Right now. A lifetime of silence won't matter as much if it is ended, finally, by a hoard of trust and truth.

But then Farren remembers Celia's fragility and what a burden the truth would be. She cannot do that to Celia. Given the choice, Farren herself would love nothing more than to forget her past. Why trouble another with worries that would know no avail?

There is that loyalty again. The loyalty that won't ever be known and that passes wholly unnoticed.

"No, I'm fine."

Farren sees Lily Evans's head suddenly look up at her from several seats down the Gryffindor table. Is it possible that the girl still had remnants of the memory? It had been a reckless thing to do--

"Miss Parkinson," the distinct voice of Professor McGonagall says from behind them.

"Yes?"

"May I have a word with you?"

Celia nods, looking apprehensive.

The moment they are outside the Great Hall, the gaggle of seventh-year girls at the table lean in to discuss precisely what wrong doing Celia might have done. Farren does not join in. Something is wrong, she senses it in the way McGonagall's voice had been slightly softer than the usual snap.

Her suspicions are confirmed when a sudden cry sounds throughout the stone walls. Farren bounds from her seat, gliding -- running -- to the large wooden doors.

Celia is there, crumpled on the floor. Professor McGonagall is attempting to assist the girl back to her feet, but Celia's legs do not appear to be working properly. She is whiter than Farren has ever seen her, the shock in her brown eyes giving the impression of a mad man.

Farren goes to her, simultaneously pushing McGonagall's hands away and placing her own hands upon her friend's face. She rests Celia's head onto her shoulder, stroking the thin, wispy strands of hair. The girl remains stiff, blindly allowing the embrace.

They stay there for a while on the cold ground, unmoving. Farren is hardly aware of the spectators that have gathered to witness.

And though she wishes she hadn't, Farren catches the whisper from a nearby boy.

"Her parents just sent an owl... Her brother's been attacked by a dementor. They got him... He's been kissed."