Five. Birthright

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                          Regulus did not respond straight away, so Circe had to spend the next several days acting upon her own advice. Enyo, though unwillingly, agreed to spend Sunday in the library after neglecting her cousin over the first part of term, therefore after breakfast they bundled up their textbooks and found a secluded table close to the restricted section. Over their Transfiguration homework, they recounted tales from the past few weeks, including Circe's less than pleasant meetings with Umbridge and Harry. To her slight surprise, Enyo found this story highly interesting, much more, indeed, than Circe did herself.

          "You never mentioned you were having detentions! Why didn't you say?"

          Circe shrugged. "I didn't realise it was important. Besides, you're usually out of office these days, aren't you?"

          She was, of course, referring to all the time Enyo and Karl were spending with one another. Karl's first term at Hogwarts had gone extremely well: He was Gryffindor's newest chaser, he was topping his N.E.W.T classes, and he couldn't move through the corridors without a band of giggling girls treading his footsteps. Enyo had somewhat taken him under her wing, meaning that they were together almost every minute outside of lessons. The last time they'd parted, Karl bid her goodbye with a kiss to her knuckles. Enyo still held the same dreamy, faraway look in her eyes as she described the scene to Circe, who mimicked being sick.

          "He's quite interesting," said Enyo breathily, running her thumb over the spot on her hand where Karl had kissed her, looking very satisfied. "Well, maybe not so much when he's talking about Quidditch ..."

          "Are the two of you going out, then?"

          "No," she replied quickly. Almost too quickly. "What about you, anyway?"

          "Me?"

          "You. Any love in the air?"

           Circe thought dimly of her detentions with Harry, which had been the last time she'd been alone with a boy. But Harry didn't really count. He was less a boy, more of a spectacle.

          Enyo grinned, her cheeks pink. "There is! Why don't you ever tell me anything?"

          "Because you make a song and dance about it!" Circe hissed. She gestured to their surroundings, where several students had glanced up at the sound of Enyo's excited shriek before shaking their heads and returning to their work.

          Truthfully, Circe didn't know why she never told Enyo anything. Well, she did. It was something to do with the fact that Enyo couldn't keep a secret if her life depended on it: She had a lot of friends and sometimes got carried away with gossip, and whenever she returned home for the school holidays, she would answer her father's queries with utmost honesty, desperate for his approval. But Circe was now less concerned with the fact that her family might find out about her behaviour, more so with them thinking she was finally coming out of her shell. Because she wasn't, the shell was still firmly in tact.

          Now that her detentions had ceased, Circe had no reason to speak to Harry and hadn't done so. She preferred to watch keenly from afar—in the Great Hall at mealtimes, in the common room, across the classroom as Snape berated him for his shocking attempt at yet another potion.

          Enyo put down her quill. "You know, this time next year," she mused, "you'll be of age."

          "So?"

          "So ... you'll have everything." She seemed determined to keep a straight face. "You'll have Grimmauld Place. What will you do with it?"

          "I don't know."

          "You don't know?"

          "I mean, I never wanted it," said Circe nonchalantly, "so I never made any plans. I thought they'd have changed their minds by now."

          Enyo began to squirm around in her seat. "Change their minds about you? No, they wouldn't. Grandmother was clear—"

          "Clear about what? That she had no other choice?" said Circe, her voice growing stronger now. "Draco is ... well, you know what Draco is. And you ... I suppose she was still too angry at your parents for what happened. I just sort of fell into her lap."

      This was true, Enyo silently thought.

          Silently.

          For a while now, Enyo had come to believe that Circe was unsuited to the kind of role Walburga bestowed upon her when they were five. Back then, she was a firecracker of a child, with sharp wits, dark hair and a malignant hatred for her father. Enyo was rather meek after Leda died, hiding behind her father's legs, and didn't give Walburga much faith about continuing the family line. Draco was already a villain by the time he could toddle. But things had changed: Circe was not malevolent but bitter, Enyo was becoming a remarkable young woman, and Draco seemed set for Azkaban before he even graduated. It no longer mattered what Walburga wanted, but what was appropriate to keep the family in tact. And Circe couldn't do that. She was determined to smash it to pieces.

          "Maybe it should've been you," she suggested, leaning across the table in order to gauge a reaction. "It was your birthright, after all. I only stole it."

          Enyo remained stony-faced. "It was yours to take."

          "You don't really believe that, though."

          It always went like this: Circe trying to drag the words out of her, to get her cousin to say that she regretted how things were, that she craved power. But Enyo never took the bait.

          "Sometimes I think I never wanted any of it," Circe confessed quietly. "When I was little, the only thing tying me to any of this was my name. I didn't understand."

          "Did you ever think about giving it up?"

          "Once." It was second year, when people were trying to find the heir of Slytherin. Circe got the brunt end of it despite being a Gryffindor. Her father's bad blood couldn't be scrubbed away, they said. She was him through and through, they said.

          She thought she saw Enyo's expression twitch.

          "You'd give it to me?"

          "Would you want it?"

          Never before had Circe put it across so directly.

          "Would anyone?" asked Enyo dismissively. "This family sends everyone mad. Look at my father ... look at yours ..."

          "We're not like them, though."

          "Really?" She took a moment to think about what Circe said. "I like to think so, but sometimes I look in the mirror and see him—and his shame. Or maybe that's just me."

          Circe wanted nothing more than to tell Enyo it wasn't her fault, everything that happened, but found that the words wouldn't come. They stayed stuck in her throat until she covered her mouth and dislodged them with a gentle cough:

          "I wouldn't say he blames you. He wouldn't say it, either."

          Enyo gave a weak smile. "He doesn't have to."

          She buried her face in her textbook, leaving Circe to stare out window at the school grounds, namely the Quidditch Pitch where people were whizzing around on their brooms. She checked her watch: twenty-past-two. The Gryffindor team would be out there now, preparing for the first game against Slytherin next week.

          Fred likely invited her out of pity. Circe struggled with making and keeping friends, even now when Sirius had been found innocent, and found herself the victim of several campaigns to make her part of some sort of group. Over the summer, the Weasley twins made an effort to find a shared interest and discovered only one thing: She rather liked Quidditch but because she wasn't very good at it, she feigned disinterest. Even now as she saw the red cloaks billowing in the wind, she couldn't help but imagine how freeing it must feel to be hundreds of feet in the air with nothing stopping you from falling but your own tight grip and a piece of enchanted wood. The last time she'd been on a broom was first-year flying class, almost four years ago now, before Sirius came back but after the nightmare had already begun. Somewhere in the midst of all the horror.

          Regulus talked about Quidditch from time to time, whenever he felt like it. He'd been a Seeker in his day but hadn't flown since he was eighteen; there were a lot of things he hadn't done since he was eighteen. Circe only knew that he was good, that he loved it, that he gave it up alongside everything else when the depression set in. That day in the cave leeched everything out of him, which was probably why his niece found so much comfort in him, because she barely had anything left either. Her autonomy was gone when she was five, her happiness when she was eleven. What else was there to take? Her anger? Nobody wanted that. Like Regulus, Circe was a budding soul stuck in a vessel with no end destination in sight. He saw it in her what he saw in himself but it didn't matter, none of it did. Walburga, his mother, had her say. And it was steel.

          She wanted to talk to Harry. Not for any reason to do with him, but because it was the only time she could say how she really felt, when they were arguing. He didn't judge because he'd had it a thousand times worse, and he quite liked hearing about somebody else's bad news in the middle of reading piles and piles of hate mail from the wizarding community. He didn't necessarily understand, either, but that was okay: she hardly believed Voldemort was really back and wouldn't until she saw him with her own eyes. Though by that point, it would likely be too late for Harry to say I told you so.

          "I have to go," Circe announced, though she'd begun packing up her things moments earlier. "I just remembered—someone invited me somewhere."

          Enyo said, looking sceptical, "Thought you didn't have any friends?"

          "I don't. I'm going to go and make some."

          And she left the library without another word, leaving Enyo by herself in that corner close to the restricted section.

          Leaning back in her chair, the front legs tipping precariously off the floor, Enyo thought about what Circe said. She was right in the sense that they weren't like their fathers: this time, honour and duty would prevail and the family would be strong again, just as it was before Voldemort tore it to shreds. But Circe didn't believe in duty. In fact, she'd shied away from it so far. And she wasn't all that honourable either. Would she sacrifice herself when the time came? Enyo severely doubted it. Really, Circe was an unwilling participant in the game of chess Walburga had begun before her death, only they were all pawns. The role of Queen had yet to be decided.

           "Careful, don't think too hard. Your head might burst."

          Shocked, Enyo lost her balance and felt her chair begin to tilt backwards, but an invisible force stopped her before she hit the floor.

          "You owe me for that, by the way."

           Draco swiftly sat down in Circe's abandoned seat, pulled the textbook towards him and said, "Transfiguration? You're wasting your time with stuff like that?"

          "Why, what would be a better use of my time?" asked Enyo, bored.

          "Helping wizardkind." He reached into a hidden pocket in his robes and revealed a Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean. He popped it in his mouth. Liquorice. "Trust me, you won't be doing that sitting in Charms class."

          "If you want to say something to me, just say it rather than speaking in riddles."

          "I was listening earlier." Another bean. Earwax. "Circe—she's a lost cause."

           Enyo looked Draco squarely in the face. Sitting across from each other now, with their blonde hair, they looked like twins. 

          "What would you know? The only time you speak to her is to argue."

          "Like I said, I listen."

          He went on to explain how Circe was unreliable, while Enyo sat there expressionless. He was talking about when he picked up another jellybean—rotten egg. Draco's face turned green and he began to heave. Enyo began to smile, but only when he was finished did she take a deep breath and say:

          "Think how you'd feel, growing up thinking your only tie to this family was your murderer of a father, and they make you the Head of it to prove a point. Then you find out he was innocent all along."

          "I'd be thanking Merlin they gave me a chance at all."

          "Circe thinks it's a punishment."

          He intruded dully, " What for?"

          Enyo had never heard him ask that question of anything in his life. She admired the leap.

          "I'm not sure, something about Sirius being disowned... She thinks Grandmother wanted her to be as miserable as possible, I guess. And she's been thinking about passing it to me." She frowned.

          "How do you feel about that?" Draco asked her. Good God, her cousin had asked her if she understood the homework; he had asked if she thought the new Nimbus would fly as well as the last one. He had never asked what she felt.

          "But what would my father say? Honestly, there are some days," Enyo looked balefully out of the window, "I wish he would remarry and have a son, but that might be letting myself off the hook."

          "Surely, you don't blame yourself?" Though, if she did, he didn't want to hear about it.

          There was a little knock against the bookshelf. Karl was standing patiently, hands deep in his pockets, waiting for them to turn and notice him. 

          Enyo stood up at once. "Oh, hi!"

          Her cheeks were bright pink. Draco looked from her to Karl, noting every small detail: a Gryffindor tie, a little bit of dried blood beneath a scratch on his eyebrow, dirty blonde hair rather than the almost-silver Enyo had. He wasn't pristine like she was. No, he'd been defiled with non-magical blood, Draco thought.

          When she rustled with leave-taking motions, packing up her quill and parchment, Draco looked annoyed. He must have recognised that the cosy library chat was over, and maybe late at night, unable to sleep, he'd think of all the answers he would've gotten out of her if they'd had more time, all the poison he'd drip in her ear. Because, really, Draco was never on anybody's side but his own.

          "You'll be in the common room later?" he asked her.

          "Oh, er..." Enyo appeared sheepish. "I'm not sure. Don't wait up for me, will you?"

          Karl was cordial, of course, giving Draco a nod goodbye and ensuring not to touch Enyo's waist until they were out of eyeshot. But it needn't have mattered; Draco had gotten up and followed them out of the library with a bit of a frantic gaze.

          "One last thing." He touched Enyo's arm at the door, and once again asked the kind of question he'd evaded most of his life:

          "Do you understand why it can't be her?"

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          "Do you understand why it has to be you?"

          They were the only two spectators in the stands. Circe and Mika were watching the last few drills of the Gryffindor Quidditch practice, from which Karl had been removed after threatening Cormac McLaggen, the team's reserve keeper, with a broom in an unspecified location. It was mostly just shooting practice now, meaning that Harry was milling aimlessly around the edge of the field, tossing the Snitch in the air with one hand and catching it with the other.

          "No," Circe answered. "I mean, yes. But I don't think it's right."

          Mika frowned, looking forlorn. "It is. I've seen it."

          Dreamwalking was next to astral projection. Legend had it, those of the purest magical blood could enter a different plane of existence, far beyond other mortals. They would hear things others could not, speak in foreboding riddles, force others to do their bidding, make sacrements with the dead ... if you believed in them, they did. Circe hadn't heard about Dreamwalkers since she was a little girl, when her mother would tell her stories about a time long passed, where witches would tamper with the fate of the world, setting it on the correct course. But here was Mika insisting she'd been blessed (or cursed) with the very same ability. 

          Circe gave a noncommittal shrug. "You've got it wrong," she said stubbornly. "My family think I'm the wrong person, I think I'm the wrong person, but here you are—a stranger—"

          Mika cut her off by placing a soft hand on top of hers, and Circe looked at her, unsettled.

          "You know nothing."

          "Actually," Mika mused, smiling, "I know everything."

          Circe's stomach, already uncomfortable, clenched as she continued to stare at Mika; she knew that her fair, round face was the spitting image of Marlene McKinnon, even though Circe never met her. She'd seen enough of Sara's old photos. It was a delicate kind of beauty, but one that permeated all of her misery and all of her grief. 

          "All right... What about him?"

          Mika turned to where Circe was pointing: Harry was sitting restlessly on one of the benches, his back to them, repeatedly running a finger over his lightning-shaped scar.

          "There isn't anything I can say about him that you don't know already." She pursed her lips, contemplative. "I can't just drag it out of myself, it has to come to me. If they want me to see something, I'll see it. Why him, specifically?" she asked, genuinely curious.

          Circe shrugged once more; the very idea of telling Mika her worries about the future and Voldemort was laughable. 

          "I'm scared." Her voice was quiet, as though she hadn't meant to say it. Mika frowned at her—Circe thought, for a second, that she was going to laugh and call her stupid—but didn't respond. So, Circe added, "My family say they're on the right side now, but I worry about Regulus... about what they'll expect of me."

          "What have you done, other than what is expected of you?"

          At this, Circe had to take a deep breath and look away so that Mika couldn't see the fresh tears welling in her eyes. Her voice became quiet and paranoid, as though the Ministry was going to overhear her:

          "I have no taste for it. Not to rule. No wish, no thinking or not thinking."

          "Then what do you have a taste for?"

                    Blood. Her own.

          For one glorious hour, she believed her family would be together again, because Sirius offered to reconcile with Sara and Regulus once his name had been cleared. But the chance had been snatched away from them; Sirius had to flee for his life and spent the winter living as a hardy, saw-toothed mutt. It had been doubly hard to return home with her mother, knowing that she'd been so close to having Sirius there with them. The home Circe might've had if Pettigrew had not escaped still haunted her, for when Sirius arrived at Grimmauld Place, he was more of a ghost than he had been the last twelve years.

          As a child, she imagined Sirius to be this great, hulking monster with scars and ashes of the dead in his pocket. She thought he was probably once very ordinary. Ordinary, mundane, banal, commonplace—normal. He was once very ordinary. But he was ordinary no longer and would grab at her feet if they slipped from her bedsheets, lie in wait in cupboards and around corners, threaten her housemates with a rusty blade...

          She remembered everything that happened to her after the escape. Everything. To remember an hour would take an hour. To remember a month would take a month. To remember the pain she would have to pick at her skin like a crow.

          Her teeth gnawed at her nails. "I didn't ask for this," she whispered between bites.

          "Neither did he." Mika continued to watch Harry. "You were chosen. And what I know, what everyone in the world knows, in their blood and in their bones, is that one day you will be the ones to see victory."

          Circe watched him too, only this time she felt lighter. Her burden had raised from her shoulders to a place in the sky she couldn't see. 

📿 𝕹ote.

     as u may have noticed, draco's just kind of an evil presence in this fic. he's a little eugenics freak but we'll get to that later, think of lord larys in hotd, a snake among the flowers if u will .... and circe, my dear circe, i will fix you soon. things just have to get harder before they get better. next chapter is christmas and basically just an excuse for me to infodump about this au!black family so stay tuned .