What Not to Fear

Part One: Afraid of the Light

Chapter Seven: I Am Not What I Am

"But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve / For daws to peck at: I am not what I am." Othello, William Shakespeare

17 January 1943

The sun had barely risen above the horizon to turn the night sky a light and dusty pink before a shrieking scream filled the castle. Two Gryffindor students, a boy and a girl, had been found in a courtyard staring through a stained glass window, their frozen eyes wide and terrified. Sarin barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes, yet another victim to this unseen petrifying force. Sparing a glance for Tom, Sarin noticed belatedly that his eyes showed no emotion as they had for Elizabeth Heed. Curious, Sarin noted before returning her attention to the hall. They had been tasked with keeping the corridor clear while Madame Snow conjured two stretchers for the petrified students.

"Good riddance, I say. Mudbloods," A sneering voice echoed loudly throughout the corridor, Sarin narrowed her eyes towards its origin—a Slytherin third year.

"Clear the corridor," Sarin called blandly, ushering them away with a gesture of her arms. The boy who had spoken snickered and slinked off, his crony following with a smirk.

At seeing that the corridor was deserted once more, Sarin rested listlessly against the wall opposite to the window the two petrified students stood behind. Their faces were warped and shimmering golden yellow and crimson red through the stained glass, the lion of Gryffindor snarling and snapping at Sarin as if she were a threat.

"Calm down, mutt," She mumbled with annoyance at the lion, it settled into a snarl and a low growl.

"Speaking to windows now, are we?" Tom's insolent voice called from where he was standing with crossed arms a few feet away. Sarin rolled her eyes upward then deigned to ignore him.

She stood in silence for a moment, before deciding to breach the topic of the petrified students with him once more, "Why's this one different to Heed? Did you actually know her, then? Or, are you one of those people who think that just because a person was borne of a Muggle their magic is false and their blood is muddied?" Sarin sneered in anticipation that he would belong to the latter group.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarin noticed that Tom flinched at her words and she turned to stare at him in wonder, "Oh, you are, aren't you?" She scoffed, "I expected better of you...there's absolutely no proof that Muggleborns have lesser abilities. I'd prefer to have Muggle parents than come from a Pureblood family. Riddled with incest." Sarin winced, Tom looked at her oddly for the last comment, she noticed and chuckled, "Well, it is. I'm lucky I was born with all ten toes." Her laugh turned to a shudder at the thought.

Another silence befell them as Tom seemed at a loss, Sarin started again, "Why do you have such a prejudice, then. I've never heard of the 'Riddle's. Are you a Pureblood?" Just as Tom's eyes narrowed in anger and a slight flush began to rise on his alabaster cheeks, Madame Snow bustled into the hall with two stretchers floating behind her, as well as Professors Dumbledore and Slughorn rushing behind her.

"Tom, Sarin." Dumbledore greeted them genially as if he had not just been running with his robes swooshing around his ankles, "Just terrible, you've encountered victims of this being twice now, haven't you?"

Sarin narrowed her eyes at his innocently posed question, not liking his inferring that they had something to do with it, "Well, we are prefects. It's our duty to patrol the halls, as Professor Dippet dictates. I suppose that just includes a lot more discovering of petrified victims." Dumbledore hummed at what she had said, staring over his half-moon spectacles at her, pale blue eyes piercing into her own gaze.

With a light shudder, Sarin broke their stare and glanced towards Tom. He was staring at Dumbledore with poorly concealed hatred and frustration. Her gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, then found Dumbledore's once more, "May we be excused? We've been on patrol since midnight...at least it's Sunday." Sarin smiled weakly, Dumbledore's brow furrowed.

"Of course, rest well, you two." At that, Tom abruptly turned and walked down the corridor. Sarin shared an awkward look with Dumbledore, then turned to follow Tom. As they rounded the corner—Sarin close on Tom's heels—she reached an arm out and snagged his jacket, he turned and sneered in anger, nostrils flaring.

"What is it that you require from me now, you incessant woman?" Tom clenched his jaw in anger, staring into Sarin's wide eyes.

"I—"

Tom shook his head then pulled his arm from her grasp, continuing on his fast journey in the direction of the Slytherin dungeons. Shaking breaths shuddered from Sarin's throat as she leant against the harsh, stone wall behind her, heart beating strongly in her chest as she realised the inherent sense of danger Tom had projected with his glare.

12 February 1943

Beneath Sarin's feet the once pure white snow had turned to a muddy-brown mush as winter melted away into spring, a tree creaked and she shivered as a pat of snow fell by her feet and splashed water onto her stockings. With a grimace, Sarin resigned herself to buying a new pair of stockings on the next Hogsmeade weekend and trudged on.

A two almost identical heads of pale ashy hair trudged along in front of her—differing only by Gemma's hair being much longer than that of her twin's. Sarin sighed, a cloud of white smoke billowed around her mouth and froze in the air when Sarin suddenly stopped. Ahead of her, the twins had turned their heads to glare behind them; Sarin's eyes were as wide as a startled doe's until logic prevailed and she remembered the disillusionment charm she had placed over herself. Gemma and Indus Lestrange turned back around, continuing on through the tall, thin trees of the labyrinth that was the Forbidden Forest.

Breathing slowly to calm herself for a moment, Sarin looked up at the inky black sky. The only light radiated from the half-moon that hung high amongst the countless wavering stars. An iridescent, pale glow befell the pale-wood trees surrounding her, as well as the eerily shimmering hair of the Lestrange siblings ahead of her. Sarin started again, following the twins quickly so as to remove their distance from her.

It had been almost a month since the last attacks had taken place, and the school had calmed in the meantime; the threat of the school disbanding to protect its students no longer loomed menacingly over their shoulders. Despite the lack of a conviction, or even evidence of any suspect as far as Sarin knew, the curfew implemented after the Gryffindors were petrified had been lifted and life returned to its usual banality. Sarin was not as lax as her classmates, nor her professors. She had overlooked the secret meeting that the lotus flower on Abraxas' parchment had shown, but after seeing similar notes a few times since, Sarin could no longer combat her curiosity.

Earlier, a tiny furl of sketched green vines had unfurled to show two tiny ones standing side by side, to dictate that the meeting would take place at eleven. What had caught Sarin's attention was not the fact that the time of the meeting had changed, but that she had seen this message amongst another's belongings—Gemma had lent Sarin her potions textbook and the note had fluttered out. The vines lay limp as if they had been hacked in twain, likely by Gemma's incantation, and revealed the message.

So, Sarin found herself ducking between trees as she followed along behind her closest friend—the thought of which made her wince and lament her being sorted into Slytherin—and Gemma's twin. Ahead, Sarin could see a dull, pale white glow illuminate a small clearing. Five people were gathered in a haphazard circle, Gemma and Indus joining them to make their numbers seven. Sarin pressed herself behind a tree with her disillusioned face peeking around to examine them, she recognised her fellow Slytherins: Abraxas Malfoy, Mulciber, Avery, Lucretia Black—sister to Orion, her second-cousin that was overly fond of Walburga.

Her gaze drifted to the final person standing beside Lucretia and her fingers clenched hard to the bark of the tree she was leaning against, Sarin's sister Walburga stood with Lucretia, their heads were together and both were snickering. With a low groan, Sarin let her head fall next to her hand on the bark of the tree, wincing as she felt it scrape over her temple.

Startling, Sarin realised that the seven people gathered in the clearing before her had turned when she had made that low sound, she quickly glanced at her hand to see nothing but bark—the disillusionment charm still held. There was a sharp crack of the twigs on the forest floor and Sarin whipped her head around to see another figure approaching from behind her, the figure that the group had been staring at.

Tom's expression was blank, he did not seem to see Sarin. She ducked to the side just in time to avoid the tail of his cloak as it whipped around in the low night wind. Her heart thumped so loudly in her chest she was almost certain they would hear it.

"Mulciber," Tom's clear voice rang loudly in the clearing as he came to a stop by the gathered group, "Was I unclear in our last meeting?" His brow furrowed slightly, as if he was confused; the sharp edge to his voice and coldness of his gaze undercut this. A shiver ran through Sarin and she could see that Mulciber felt the same way, his skin paled and a light sheen of sweat became clear on his forehead in the moonlight.

"I—"

Tom raised a pale, long-fingered hand and Mulciber stopped speaking with a gulp, now visibly shaking, "I asked you to arrange for a Mudblood to be in the fifth floor corridor by midnight. Was this too difficult a task?" Sarin sneered at Tom's use of the favourite curse of most Purebloods, Mulciber began to tremble further as he tried to manage a reply.

A short sigh escaped Tom and he stood tall in front of Mulciber, "It was obviously too much to ask of you. I'll just have to arrange it for myself." Mulciber nodded jerkily, eyes glinting with wary hope, "You understand, of course, that your actions cannot go unpunished?"

Sarin's heart continued to beat loudly in her head and she suddenly wished she had not followed Gemma and Indus, that she was back in the Slytherin dungeons snuggled in the emerald covers of her four-poster. Tom stepped forward, his arm raising and all eyes were drawn to the long, severe pale-wood wand pointing in Mulciber's direction. A muttered word came carelessly loose from Tom's lips, "Crucio."

A piercing scream shattered through the otherwise still night, Mulciber crumpled to the ground and writhed on the snowy forest floor, Tom stood above him with his wand trained on Mulciber's figure. Sarin's eyes widened and she took a decisive step back; she had never seen the Cruciatus Curse performed before. When she was young she would lie awake at night and had heard her parents use it on House-Elves and on some unnamed man once; the screams had been muffled through the halls of Black Manor. The screams were not muffled in this moment.

Above the screaming man, six smirking faces looked on in mirth and Sarin hated every one of them. She could not believe that Gemma and Indus, even her sister Walburga could be so cruel. Sarin thought that she might stop this torture, but the cold fear ran too deep in her veins. Mulciber had curled into a ball and tears were openly streaming down his face, the screaming suddenly stopped and he gasped a breath; Tom had lowered his wand.

"I suspect you shall endeavour to do better in the future?" Tom's flippant voice sounded quiet in the wake of the screaming, Mulciber shuddered on the ground, head shaking up and down where it lay on a pile of soft snow. For all the screaming, Sarin thought the snow should have been dyed a stark red with blood, the Cruciatus Curse was made more terrifying for its lack of physical effects.

Sarin backed away further, turning and walking swiftly away from the circle of cruel monsters, collapsing on a snow bank when she was far enough away that she could neither see nor hear them. Her hands rose in front of her face and she could see them trembling in the pale moonlight, her arms dropped to tighten around her stomach and she felt as though she was holding herself together; that, if she faltered, she would spill out onto the snow and succumb to the chilling cold that seemed to seep into her skin.