six 𖤓 Whispers in the Woods

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When I regain the remnants of my consciousness, I make a deliberate effort to keep my eyes shut for the longest possible time. Gathering my surroundings in every way other than sight, I use my senses, test out everything around me to see if I can place where it is I am.

Heaven, perhaps, given the softness of whatever it is I am laid upon. I could be resting upon a cloud, floating above the earth. My curse could have taken affect, resulting in my death far earlier than what was expected — which I should be angry about, but instead, I am so, so tired. Too tired for curses, too tired to care about anything but my own comfort on the cloud.

It takes everything in me not to drift back off to sleep, when a voice catches my attention, ringing through the echoing room I have been brought to. A voice I know, confirming I cannot possibly be in Heaven, nor anywhere but the Hospital Wing.

"She's stirring."

I mentally swear, cursing Helga Hufflepuff with all the horrible, damning words I can come up with. But when my eyes open, I manage the most pleasantly confused expression I can, glancing around at the area around me.

"Did you take your potion today, child?" Helga demands the moment she notices my shift in conscious. Hovering behind her, I notice with a bile building in my throat, is Salazar Slytherin, arms crossed and gaze dark as he observes me.

I shiver as I push myself up into a sitting position, ice rushing straight to my core, directly forming from the look he gives me. He must have been the one to find me, I realize with a bitter bile in my throat. Had he carried me all the way to the Hospital Wing, a three flight journey from his classroom?

Rowena must have attended him, I confirm as I eye him closer, the burning anger I can read in those dark eyes, so freakishly akin to my own. Otherwise, I fear I may truly be in the Heavens.

"Make him leave," I command instead of answering the question, narrowing my gaze on him.

Helga whips towards Slytherin, as if noticing him for the first time, then back at me. When understanding reflects in her eyes, she clears her throat. "Salazar, if you would..."

I do not miss the look he shoots me as he steps out of the room, one that has every nerve in my body on edge.

"Did you tell him about my...plight?" I ask when the door to the dingy Hospital Wing is shut behind him, separating him from our words.

"I would not put it past him to guess, considering both his field of study and intelligence, but I told him nothing." Helga shakes her head, a glimmer of light illuminating her face in the otherwise dark room. "Miss Greengrass—"

"—Emma," I correct before I can stop myself.

"Right, Emma." She smiles at me, though her wariness shines through as well. "Have you been taking your potions?"

I nod. "I have, I promise. Every four days, just before class."

The press of her lips tells me all I need to know, though it does not last long. Helga Hufflepuff would die before allowing someone to think themselves a lost cause, something I am beginning to understand myself to be.

"We shall up your dosage," she proclaims with a wavering grin. "Every three days instead, how does that sound?"

I am not sure why she asks me, it isn't like I have much of a choice. It is either that or burn to death in my own skin.

"Of course. I appreciate it." I pause, glancing around the dark, empty Hospital Wing, then back at Helga. "May I return to my dorms? My friends must be worried about me."

"I should like to keep you overnight for observations, if you do not mind."

I gulp, shaking my head. The night is mine to come up with a reason for my absence, I will not meet Bronwyn tomorrow empty handed of excuses.

When Hufflepuff walks away, I turn over onto my side, expecting to be able to fall asleep with the snap of my fingers, but such ideas are wishful thinking. Instead, I am stuck tossing and turning for hours, mind racing and heart clenching in my chest, thoughts swimming in pools of death and other ideas of what I will inevitably face before my time.

How is it getting worse already, I want to shout. How am I dying so quick? I haven't even lived properly, only just grazing eighteen. How am to die without ever knowing life?

Maybe my mother was right, I think bitterly to myself as I tug my blankets over my shivering body, somehow cold despite the fire in my veins. Maybe I should have said yes to Merlin's hand, and spared myself from an array of grievances.

Marriage couldn't be more painful than burning away like a witch tied to a pyre, could it? Or would the lack of freedom be just as constricting as the ropes keeping women in place? Would the endless sex, the bearing of children until my body could not withstand it, the doting on needs and cooking and cleaning without rest, be worse than the flames twisting through my bloodstream?

No, I don't think I could put up with that. I was not meant to be a mother, to be a wife, that warm nature is simply was not a part of me like it is Frida. Motherhood would be a greater hell than the curse, I tell myself, if only to feel a little better.

Yet, when I do find myself falling asleep, my dreams are consumed with flames.

The next day, I stumble out of the Hospital Wing and into the dorm room, braced for impact. Through the window, the sun shines on my face, an early morning reminder of the day I have to push through, and the detention at the end of it I dread, but not as much as I do the confrontation I can feel stirring with my best friend.

"I got ill," I say the moment I enter the dorm room, not allowing Bronwyn to have an opportunity to question my absence. Her mouth, which had been open, closed at my words, a frown forming on her face.

For a moment, we simply stand there, a face off in which I cannot fathom breaking myself. It is her play, her turn to move the chess piece across the board.

Her lips twist. Then, she asks, tone oddly pleasant, "Are you feeling better?"

I nod, stomach untwisting from the knots it had formed. "Much, thank you."

"Derian and I were worried," she continues, as she folds the blankets over her bed, neatly patting them down until there's not a single crease visible. Hogwarts has an array of house elves prepared to do our bidding, yet she finds comfort in doing chores herself. I questioned her on it once, many years ago, of which she blew me off.

"I am sorry. Madam Hufflepuff wouldn't let me leave until this morning. I came as soon as I was dismissed." My eyes flicker towards my trunk as I speak, the wood concealing the vials I so desperately need. One every three days, starting today, Helga had said, clamping down on my hand with her own as though I might forget otherwise.

My stomach churns.

She says nothing on the matter, no protests, no seeking if what I speak is or is not the truth. Instead, she turns to her bed, finishing what she had been occupied with before my arrival.

"Shall we go to breakfast?" Bronwyn suggests once she's wrapped up the fluffing up of her pillow, beating it with her forearm until it takes the shape she desires of it.

"I'll meet you there," I answer as I turn towards the mirror, hoping to signal that I still need to get ready. The rats nest that my hair has become suggests this is the truth, my friend giving me a sheepish smile as she observes it.

"I care little for being late," she tells me with a genuine smile that has guilt pooling in my stomach at my lie.

"Go," I assure her, trying to keep my voice light. Running fingers through the snarls to make my false plight more clear, I wince as it sends aches through my scalp. "This will take a while, no doubt. I don't wish to keep you from the good food. It might all be gone."

Something I cannot quite catch flashes over her expression, but she is back to normal before I can inquire on it. "Right. I'll see you there," she says before pulling the door open and shutting it behind her.

As the sound of her footsteps grow further and further away, I lunge towards my supply of potions, digging through them until a blue vial is entwined between my fingers.

I down it in one gulp.

Breakfast doesn't appeal to me, my stomach still aching from the anxieties of last night, so I take my time stripping out of my robes and pulling on a new set. The moment the ones I'd had draped over my body hit the ground, I frown, feeling as though something is missing, though I cannot place my finger on what it is.

No matter.

I have lost weight, I observe with a grim note as I eye my now naked body in the mirror. Not a significant amount, but enough to notice. Maybe the fire burns not just in my veins, but eats away at my flesh too, my breasts smaller and hips more condensed than prior to the curse only just recently inflicted. How long, I wonder, before I am nothing but skin and bones, with legs only just able to keep myself upright? I wonder if that was a happy accident, or a goal of Merlin's, to make me less attractive, to make it so if he cannot have me, no other man will.

Not that I care much for the touch of a man, but lack of choice in the matter feels like a gut punch.

Heat burns in my cheeks as I force my gaze away from the mirror and towards my robes. Pulling them on and concealing my body from my eyes is the only thing giving me relief, though I refuse to glance at that mirror again, the monstrosity that is my hair be damned.

Just as I am about to leave, I spare myself one final glance towards my bed, before I frown. Gaze settling upon a folded up piece of parchment seated atop my blankets, part of me wonders if it's worth going back — perhaps it is from Bronwyn, with another potion in mind to aid in Edward's alleged fevers. That wouldn't be unlike her, to go above and beyond to aid my family.

It can wait, I tell myself, but even so, I find myself tugged by an invisible string towards it, my mind repeating the same mantra over and over, that this is more than it seems. Breakfast can wait instead.

Struggling to keep my hands from shaking, I unfold the note, straightening the parchment, old and wrinkled against my skin like the flesh of an elder.

Emma,

The forest sings, and so do I. Meet me where the grass meets the trees tonight, as the moon hits its peak. We shall see what else we can make scream.

- A friend

I do not realize how tight I am holding onto the parchment until I feel it tear beneath my fingers.

A friend, it reads.

I have a friend — two friends, in fact, neither of which would call themselves something like that. Neither of them would invite me to something through a note on a bed, rather than face to face.

Neither of them would request a meeting in the Forbidden Forest of all places, but as I feel the heat rising in my blood, I am certain of someone who would.

𖤓

"You mean to kill me, then?"

Slytherin actually looks up at my arrival, due to either me storming into his office without knocking, or the words I carelessly spout at him, I am unsure, but it is an accomplishment I already take pride in.

"How do you gather that?" He asks, not seeming shocked by my outburst. Perhaps he is used to it, the children of men he killed accusing them of targeting their pretty necks next. He has little reason to be surprised, not when he left me such a note.

Of course he isn't shocked, I think with a laugh rising in my throat, one I only just manage to choke down with thoughts of ripping his head clear from his body. Instead, I wordlessly reach into my pocket, stomp over to his desk with steps loud enough to echo off of the stone walls of his office, and slam it down on the wood.

From his position in his chair, his eyes glance upwards, then back down at the note, which I realize my hand still resides upon. "May I read it, or will you strike me for daring to reach in your direction?"

I scoff, retracting my hand from its spot atop the parchment. "I have not been violent. Perhaps you could learn from that — that not all problems can be solved by usage of a fist. Or a knife."

He releases a breath, the only sign of irritation he will show, as he reaches over and opens the note. I watch as he scans it, a frown etching onto his brow, before setting it back down. "You believe I left this for you?"

"You killed my father. Why would I not be next on the list?"

"If I willed for the Greengrass line to end, I would start with the boy, not you," he answers quite plainly, folding his hands in his lap.

"My brother has a name."

"The boy is of little concern to me."

"Edward," I hiss with the same vigor in which I had informed him of my own name the night prior.

"It matters not how many times you tell me. I will forget again, just as I have before." He drums his fingers atop the desk with one hand, as he uses the other to thrust the note back in my direction. "I did not write this, and while I doubt you would consider my council, I would suggest avoiding the Forbidden Forest at any time, but especially tonight, given such a note. I doubt whoever sent it truly views themselves as a friend of yours."

I make a mental note to do exactly the opposite of his suggestion, just because.

When I am silent, his head tilts to the side, a silent observation of me. "I did not kill your father, Miss Greengrass. Nor did I send this note, nor do I have any intention of killing you."

I suck in a breath, snagging the note out of his hand and tucking it back into the pocket of my robe. "Emma. My name is Emma, as I told you yesterday."

The careless sort of half smile he wears tempts me into tearing my hair out.

"I had already forgotten, and will forget again. When will you comprehend that you truly matter this little to me, girl?" He rises from his chair, circling around his desk until he is inches away from me. I knew Slytherin was tall, seen his height several times before, but with the proximity he has to me, he appears massive in comparison.

It takes everything in me to maintain my stiff posture, to not shrink under the cloud he engulfs me in.

"All I care to know about you is your father was a thorn in my side for years, and now, I have nothing to worry about from him. All I know is you are his foolish spawn, who apparently has very sticky fingers."

I glance down at my hands for a moment, not comprehending his words and the metaphor behind them, until my head snaps up. "You—"

"If you are going to steal from my potions supply, next time make sure you do not faint in the process." He steps away from me, backing up and providing a few feet of distance between us.

Only when the heat of his body is no longer radiating against my own do I find myself capable of breathing again.

"I had assignments prepared for your detention this evening," he begins as he moves to sit at his desk again, folding his hands together. "But I think I have a better idea."

My eyebrows lift.

"I am going to teach you how to make that potion, properly, this time. The instructions you wrote down were lacking in a few steps. It would not only cure a fever, it might freeze your blood as it swims through your body."

"Those instructions were not mine. They given to me by my friend," I try to explain as heat rises in my cheeks, but he waves a dismissive hand.

"How many times do I have to explain the fact that I do not care? Go, girl. Get the supplies needed." He nudges a chin towards the cupboard.

"No."

For a moment, I do not take in the fact that I had spoken, freezing as the words leave me.

He cocks his head to the side, silent. It takes a moment for me to realize this is intentional, he is keeping quiet for the purpose of seeing what I will say in lieu of responding to him.

If he were Alfred Greengrass, I might bow my head, apologize and rush to do as he asked — make sure it was done quick and properly, as well. If I had the chance to do so without getting struck for disobedience, that is.

But perhaps Slytherin was enemies with my father for a reason. Perhaps the feud that had begun with Slytherin's banishment from the castle and subsequent replacement with my father went beyond the simplicity of exile and in with the new.

Because even in my silence, even in my refusal to do anything but oppose him, he's yet to retaliate in the way Alfred so often did.

His youth combined with his wisdom, perhaps. It could be a sedative to him, a bit of reason in a world where fists reign over thoughts in a moment, but mind prevails in the long run. He's older than me, yes, but certainly not old enough to be my father, a ten or so year difference between the two of us.

Slytherin, it seems, knows how to balance a tightrope my father did not, teeter on the edge of violence and wisdom, of mind and fist, war and peace. Perhaps he doesn't see me valuable enough to risk the fallout of raising his hand on me.

There is an opposite to that, I suppose, that I am so valuable he is opting for peace, but a deep part of my gut deems it unlikely.

More so, I want to push against him in a way I never could before. I want to break the boundaries and put up with consequences well deserved, rather than have them thrust upon me by forces out of my control.

If I can only feel pain in this life, it might as well be from my own hand, or the result of my own tongue. It might as well be a pain endured willingly, not without intention.

"How do I know you won't kill me with the potion, if I have you teach me it? I trust my friend far more than you."

"A wise worry," he admits with a shrug. "I have no way to prove that I wish you no harm. You have undermined me, physically assaulted me—"

"—pushing you into a lake is hardly physical assault—"

"—and falsely accused me of a crime. Why wouldn't I wish you dead?"

I am silent, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I stare at him through the dimly lit dungeon, struggling to hold the intense eye contact we have.

His nose twitches. "I asked you a question. Answer me, girl."

Until his final word, I had been floundering, baffled by what it was he wished for me to say. But I do not miss a beat with my answer, in which his last word tells me everything I need to know. "Because you don't view me as an equal."

"Clever." A smirk slides onto his lips, perhaps the first physical sign of amusement he's ever shown to me. "I don't kill people I think of as below me. You are no equal, Miss Greengrass, nor was your father."

Part of me wishes to hit him, make him feel a fraction of what I am, the shattering in my heart, the twisting in my stomach, the shaking of my hands and the burning in my veins. Another part of me longs to burst into tears.

The part that wins is the ringing voice in my mind, shouting at me to put as much distance between me and Slytherin as I can before the latter occurs.

I decide, as I turn around and storm out without so much as a word in retaliation, I much prefer the simplicity of girl to horrible weight of Miss Greengrass.

𖤓

Bronwyn's snores typically lull me to sleep, but currently, they are the only thing keeping me awake. I cling to them, repeating the sound over and over in my mind as I use them as a clutch for my conscious. Any other night at this time, I would be out like a candle in the wind, but just like those snores, I cling to the concept of the friend in the woods, watching and waiting for the full moon to hit its peak.

In my hand, I use the bit of moonlight that slips through the window to scan the letter over and over again. Slytherin had warned against it, but he had little reason to keep me alive. Maybe I am not equal enough to kill, but am I on a level high enough to save?

Doubt sears in me. His reasoning, though unsure the specifics, behind telling me to refrain from the forest was most certainly a self serving one, and whatever served Salazar Slytherin goes against what aids me. Like two opposites of a coin, like a sun and a moon, we are never destined to do anything but oppose each other. I may not have inherited house Greengrass on my shoulders, but that part of my father's legacy I will carry with grace.

It is nearly midnight when I slide out of my bed, careful not to wake Bronwyn as I do. Every subtle sound I make as I step through the dorm causes me to cringe, though her snoring does not subside, signaling my attempts at silence have been successful.

The dark greets me with arms open and ready for an embrace as I shut the door behind me, stepping into the vacant Ravenclaw common room. In the hallways, they are no less grim, the chipper mood that typically accompanies the days of Hogwarts vanished alongside the sun that shines above us.

I ache for it, despite it all. Clutching the note in my hand, rubbing my thumb along the crease in the parchment, I cannot help but wonder why this mysterious friend couldn't meet me in the light, in the sun.

The sun has become my only constant, in a way, and even it has the time in which it vanishes, leaving me alone. Best I get as much sleep as I can, sliding into bed before the sun can full leave, and making sure I am awake once it has risen on the other side of the earth. It is a kin to me of sorts, something that burns and burns and burns with no end in sight.

Will the sun someday burn itself out like I will, or will it continue to be aflame for eternity, I wonder to myself as I slide down a corner after confirming no Professors or Prefects linger about at this time of night. Another detention might just do me in entirely.

Part of me wishes the sun to cease its flames, for it to burst out and explode like I soon well, if only to show a further similarity to it. If only to not be fully alone in my curse.

But as the thought hits me, so does the realization of my selfishness. The sun deserves more than my admiration alone, it deserves a true, undying love, not something as feeble and draining as my own. It deserves to thrive for eternity, and be loved as it does. After all, who could ever love something destined to die?

The wind slaps me across the face as I step out into the starlit night, a specific type of September chill unique to the British Isles. I do my best to keep my hair as presentable as possible, but this proves to be an impossible task as I begin my short trek towards the forest.

Heart hammering with every step I take, I hear Slytherin's voice echoing in the back of my mind, his deep, smooth voice ringing in my ears, the warning that comes with it only an afterthought.

I doubt whoever sent it truly views themselves as a friend of yours.

They do not have to be a friend of mine, I determine, shaking off the shudders the reminder of his voice so close to mine brings upon me. All they have to do is oppose Salazar Slytherin.

Author's Notes

I'm sick so the edits for this chapter are quite lazy, I hope I didn't miss anything!
Emmazar are...developing, but we've left off on a bit of a cliffhanger :) the next chapter will be up according to the usual schedule, aka 12/26, the final chapter of 2024!
Hope you enjoyed <3 thanks as always for reading!