Serpentine [T.M. Riddle]

Interlude IV: Ximena

Sundays are her dominion. In the mornings, she rises early (having not slept much of anything the night before) and walks the empty halls of Hogwarts like a ghost: silent and graceful. It's when her thoughts are at their most quiet. When her self is at its most grounded. When her mind is clear and stable. Lucid.

Usually she'll wander up into the Astronomy tower on Sunday mornings (it's cold, it's devoid of people, a perfect spot for reading), but today she is heading to the library: her second favorite place in the castle. Where her heart is free to swell up in her ribcage and her breaths can come out shaky in excitement.

--Oh, she's here! Black eyes run greedily over the titles of tomes, drinking in the information available to her. Such choices! Her surroundings melt into each other until they're far, far away from her current list of concerns. Hands come out from her sleeves and hover hesitantly over the shelves, unsure of what she's looking for. Is she looking for anything today? She thought she heard the title of an interesting publication just the other day, but that might have been a dream. Someone else's dream? What was she doing in someone else's dream--

...The dull, aged jewel tones of the books soothe her thoughts. She's not a dreamwalker, that's silly. It must have been her own dream. A dream of digging her fingers deep within the folds of these pages and devouring all she can. Consuming the words through her eyes as she feasts on flesh through her mouth. A gruesome, violent, image, but oh such is her passion! Fueled by her need to know. Her eyes focus, then, the anticipation of touch too great for resistment...

Finally, her fingers dare to breeze over the spines of the leather bound books, and oh, she is at peace. All is well. When she pulls out a book on magical languages and sits down to read, there is only a buzzing in her brain. Radio static or distant bees or the sea crashing outside one's window. She charges through half of the book before mid-morning--

--Someone's talking to her? Who? Her ears process the voice: matter-of-fact and orotund. That's her partner in Charms, is she in Charms? Her hand runs over the surface of the table she's sat at (how long has she been sitting down?): glass topped. She's in Charms class--How long has she been in Charms class? When did it stop being Sunday?

A blink, she looks at her partner. Her partner is thirteen, like she is. Her birthday is in a week. She likes apple turnovers and has five younger siblings. When she's nervous, she plays with her long brown hair, and when she lies, she picks at her nails. She first talked to Ximena on the first Thursday of classes their first year, asking if she could borrow a spare quill. Ximena did not have a quill, she had pencils. The girl asked if she was Muggleborn as well. Ximena said she didn't know. Ximena likes sitting next to her because she smells like pine needles. What was her name...?

"...and he's so dreamy and on velvet[1], Ximena, but he's such a wanker!" The girl huffs, still practicing the wand motion as Professor Alder instructed her to (Alder. He has a low, smokey voice. A smokey scent. That's right, he told Ximena to practice as well, is she doing it?), "You're so lucky you bagged Riddle, he's such a gentleman--and so smart!"

Ximena moves her wrist the way Alder showed her to--Yes, she remembers now: clockwise and a tap. Clockwise and a tap. Clockwise and a tap. Clockwise and a tap. Clockwise and a tap. Clockwise and a tap. Clockwise and a tap. Clockwise and a tap. Clockwise and a tap. Clockwise and a tap. Clockwise and a tap. Clockwise and a tap. Clockwise and a tap. Clockwise and a tap. Clockwise and a tap. Clock--

"Martha, do you think it's strange?" The words are coming out of her mouth, but Ximena doesn't remember thinking them, "That we're practicing right on our wands instead of something else? Something safer?"