She refused to show her rage in front of Nikolai and her crowd. For obvious reasons, mainly of keeping propriety, she whisked away her plants, corroded the dirt wall, grabbed the frills of her dress and strutted away from the scene, her nose high in the air. With all her might, she kept poised until her swift exodus from Hogsmeade. And by swift, Lysandra talked to no one, only gazed directly in front of herself with an outward look of tunnel vision, surrounding herself with an air of rigid repellence.

A sore loser, indeed. She had felt alone, yet again, and this uncontrollable rage ate at her, climaxing to an overflow. There was no reason to fight the urge to cry, or to conjure a fake pride, for the real pride had been severely wounded. Nor was there reason to face all those who cared about Lysandra, where their obvious responses would be unobtainable words of comfort. The recurring upheaval of grief was beyond bearable at this moment, and ironically Lysandra had directly, yet randomly, found herself at the Asphodel cemetery. Maybe her subconscious had taken her there, or, as silly as the thought was, perhaps it was Calumina's inspiration.

Once she had realized where she was, she went around the cemetery, daring not to actually go in it, for she knew if she even saw Calumina's grave, she might lose it completely. In response, Lysandra occupied her mind with something else; that something else could only be the forefront of her thoughts, which could only be the consuming thoughts of her defeat against Cassius Lestrange.

She distinctly recalled the disappointment on Nikolai's face regarding her apparently flawed, nay, failed performance. The feeling of disgust overcame her to the point of nausea. The choking of her corset was inviting. She could not do anything but revel in her produced emotional anguish, unable to free herself from the hindering fetters that cast her into treacherous anxiety.

Her sister had been so brave to do the one thing she could not. She could not succumb to the level of committing her own demise. In reality, she was very scared of death, despite how beautiful or horrible it could be on the other end.

Embarrassed. Failure. Never truly good enough to make a mark on the world, despite her vain efforts. If only she could turn back time. If only she could have practiced more. If only she had been powerful enough, precise enough, pleasant enough to accept defeat, then maybe she wouldn't feel this way in the first place.

Lysandra sat against a large tree overlooking the cemetery, pondering...

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Merry was starting to get tired of the summer hollidays. She couldn't use her wand because she was underage and nothing ever happened in her house. Her father was always at work and her mother was doing housework around their house, not that there was anything important to do. The Galateas lived in a small house with only two small bedrooms, one for her parents and the other for Merry. Her bedroom was nothing special, just a small room which could barely fit her bed. She didn't need many furnitures anyway. She didn't have many dresses to put in a wardrobe nor many books that needed its own furniture. Her little belongings were kept in a trunk in the kitchen, which was also the sitting room. They rarely had any visitors, so the room was mostly used as a kitcehn and a room in which they ate breakfast, lunch and dinner.<p>

Because of the size of her bedroom, Merry tended to read books outside the house. They didn't have a big yard and the Slums were always noisy, so she preferred to go to the cemetery, which was near her house. She could sit with hours then, near the graves, knowing that nothing would interrupt her unless the dead came back to life. Merry was never afraid of death, or at least when it was caused to others. She was not afraid of corpses and spending a day in the cemetery would be the same as spending a day in Padmore Park. The dead had no reason to hurt her, after all, they were dead and unless someone casted incredibly dark spells to make them attack her, it was completely safe to stay near their graves.<p>

With a large book in her hands, Merry headed to the cemetery and smiled when she saw that it was empty... Well, almost. There were no people in the cemetery, but she could see a blonge figure sitting among the trees outside the cemetery. Merry frowned, sure that she had seen that particular blonde girl again, and she kind of smiled when she finally recognized her. "Sutherland, what brings you here?"


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What was it worth being agitated? Lysandra surely was by the appearance of Merry Galatea, a slummy classmate of hers that enjoyed sinking into dark books. Lysandra had always placed herself above the plainly dressed girl without much conscience, above both the girl's magical prowess and financial station. But what did Lysandra really know about the mysterious girl? Lysandra had remembered Merry blasting bludgers at her during practices. There was now the realization that the two had always been quite to each other, even in those instances of quidditch intimacy. Or the time when Lysandra found Merry in the potions room where they had that awkward conversations and daggers between them. Now Merry was approaching her. Furthermore, Merry had opened her mouth, now awaiting a response. Lysandra did not feel like wasting the energy to answering the girl, but the moment felt ethereal, not real, intangible. Lysandra had been lost in thought, and Merry's alien words weaved themselves into the surreal sight in front of her. The cemetery was beautiful and glistening in the after noon sun, the beams of light blazing through the trees, the grass pulsing and tickling from the rays and the winds. There was nothing sad about this day but Lysandra herself, trapped in the virtual torment of her mind.

Lysandra stared blankly forward, as if dazed in thought, only seeing Merry in her blurred peripheral vision. Her voice sounded soft, unlike the usual harshness of her normal tone.

"Allow me to ask a question, if I may. Why are we here? They say that God has a plan for us. Such rubbish when you see the egregious treachery of this world."

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Merry was never a religious person. Her father was a pureblood, raised by wizards so he was never a particularly religious man. Only her mother seemed to believe in a greater power, but she was a muggleborn and all muggles seemed to believe in a God. Although she respected other people's religion, she herself could never take it seriously. It was just a different thing for her, since she was never raised closed to the church and whatever Christians believed in. Various books said that religion was a dangerous thing, often the cause of wars so Merry was rather cautious about it. Muggles were hunting and hurting wizards because of their religion, after all. For all the religious muggles, wizards came from Hell, so really, what was the reason for her to believe in whatever the believed?<p>

Lysandra's question was a surprise for Merry and she couldn't really find the answer for it. She had no idea what plans her God had about them. She could agree with Lysandra's despriction about the world, though, and it rather made her wonder why someone like her would have such thoughts. Lysandra Sutherland was always a perfect little princess surrounded by wealth and happiness. Unlike Merry she didn't have to listen to her parents fight about money because they didn't have any. Merry had a difficult childhood and she had often went to bed hungry because her parents couldn't even afford a loaf of bread. Although Lysandra was treated terribly by the purebloods of their house, she was free of worry when money was concerned and Merry was rather envious of her for that.<p>

"I do not know what plans your God has, but I think that it is not his fault that the world is full of treachery. It's our own fault, we made the world that way because we only care about ourselves." Merry replied to the girl, picking careful every word. She was not good at making speeches and finding the right words, not like Sutherland and most of the upper class people. She could sound threatening, yes, but not poetic or whatever one could call it. "Why do you ask me? I suppose something terrible happened to you, because someone who has no reason to worry isn't really concerned about such things."</font><div align="right"><font size="1" face="georgia" color="#51575d"><i>Template by Lola</i></font></div></div></div></div>[/dohtml]

One could tell Lysandra was ramping up for something, asking her question in a way that was hauntingly nonchanant, almost as if she knew the answer. If she couldn't challenge Cassius anymore, she needed to challenge someone, else she would completely burst from herself.

"He created suffering. He created pain. He made us capable of treachery." Lysandra continued to stare at the horrible yet heavenly sight in front of her, the sunbeams blazing through the cemetery oak trees, watching the grass breath and die. "No reason to worry? No need to fret? God is a sick spinster of sinister shadows. Damn me to Hell for my blasphemy, my vain words of hate towards Him. What does it matter Merry? I shaln't tell you of my own transgressions, for even if I confessed them to you, my plea for his redemption would fall on deaf ears. There is no hope to save my soul. Nor my sister's."

Hillary. How her name struck a nauseating chord in her chest. Calumina was somewhere in there too. Nor my sister's. It shouldn't have come out of her mouth. An anger rose in her for saying it out loud.

"He damned us Merry. What don't you understand? If He is the creator of all, He gave us magic. He gave you and I the ability to manipulate His world. We all call it our born gift, yet a curse is what we possess. People will burn us Merry, they will come for us. Whether it be God or man. As man was an image of God, look at man. How just and chivalrous is man? I can only see absolute evil."

She took a breath. Ranting. Her brain didn't want to stop, but she needed to breathe. And to spill her guts to Merry? What reality was this?

"There is no need to comment on my lunatic babble. Label me a lunatic, a heretic, whatever you desire. Just be off with you." Lysandra brought her knees in to her face and sat in her comfortable fetal position, her arms wrapped around her scrunched legs and her poofy dress trails almost in her face.

Lysandra had no idea whether she wanted Merrythought there or not. She did however feel slightly embarrassed for sharing too much of herself. Moreso, it was like giving a dagger to your backstabber so they could stab you in the front. But Lysandra's image of herself was becoming twisted and fierce, like a squawking Ophelia chanting out some strange cognitive dissonance. To be noticed was hardly a part of the desire anymore. Lysandra continued to scream inside herself, yet she knew that the insides would eventually surface. It just so happened that Merry was agonizingly prying it out of her with a few wispy words.

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Lysandra's rambling confused and annoyed Merry. None of the blonde's words made sense and the way she told them made whatever had happened seem way too dramatic. Lysandra clearly wanted attention, or else she wouldn't start this whole ramble about God and whatever plans he had for humanity.<p>

Lysandra Sutherland had no right to complain about the world in Merry's opinion. Her life was perfect or at least he seemed that way. She had money, she had new clothes to wear, she could afford a good education and she would most likely marry someone rich and live a life of luxury until she died. No matter how terribly others treated her, she could always return to her luxuries in order to seek shelter and help. What did Merry had? An old, small house in the slums which didn't even belong to her family, plain and ugly clothes and a schoolarship which allowed her to continue her education as long as she tried hard enough. From the two of them Merry was obviously who had suffered most and who would suffer most, but she was not the one who was complaining. No, it was the little blonde Princess who created a tragedy for whatever bitter word someone said to her. It was pathetic.<p>

She raised her eyebrows when Lysandra told her to leave and she simply walked to the nearest grave and sat on the ground, not caring much about her dark skirts. Even if they got dirty nobody would notice, both thanks to the colour of the fabric and because the dress was worn by a slum-rat. In the slums nobody cared about your clothes unless they were made of fabrics like silk and velvet. If someone was stupid enough to walk around the slums dressed in his Sunday's best then it was clear that he was a prey for the thieves and pickpockets.<p>

If the princess wanted her to leave, then Merry was going to leave her in her own misery. She didn't move from where he was sitting and opened her book instead, sure that Lysandra would say something once she realized that nobody cared about her ramble. It always happened that way with the little spoiled princesses. They wanted attention by refusing to receive it and once someone was clever enough to ignore them they did everything to take it back.<p>

One glance at Lysandra, though, was enough for Merry to understand that whatever had saddened her previously was killing her from the inside now, and that somehow made the Slytherin feel bad. Sutherland was clearly overreacting, but perhaps if she talked about it with someone else she wouldn't make such a fuss about everything. Before they had a small and lovely conversation, though, Lysandra would have to learn how ridiculous she currently seemed and sounded.<p>

"Stop with the drama, Sutherland." Merry said coldly, almost reluctantly. "You do yourself no good when you care so much about something that could possibly be really stupid. If you are always so negative do not expect good thinks to happen in your life."
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Mary didn't take the bait.

Lysandra had hoped to hook Merrythought into conversation, but alas, Lysandra's charming negativity had done it again. It was as if Lysandra has disengaged the conversation before it began. Did Merry's words ring 'truth', perhaps?

Lysandra's melodrama was surely not for everyone. Or anyone, really. Lysandra had hoped though that Merry could challenge her, discuss with her, all the topics flying through Lysandra's mind. But Lysandra's last words to Merry were apparently just incohesive vomit, exploding forth from a tortured inside. Merry had given a quaint response and had been finished with further word play.

There were serious things going wrong with the blonde haired, aristocratic Slytherin, practically unmanageable at the moment, and for the moments to come. To go back to her estate in North Woolwich, back with the muggles, was an anticipated horror. Her time was almost up in Hogsmeade, and this meant a plethora of things. A hollow house. To be alone, once again. With the agonizing thoughts of a dead sister, a dead friend, a dead self, and the dead ghosts and specters that plagued her, both figuratively, and perhaps quite literally. And parents, completely oblivious and alien to the thoughts and concerns of their renegade witch child. Servants knew only a ghostly, icy girl who was as cold as the walls and stones. And as we know, those walls were colder now with the loss of Hillary's warm soul. The place now so frigid, the cold could crack at the tiniest movement forward, so frigid that fear to move kept one frozen in place.

Merry's warm body slithered away. The disinterested demeanor upon Merry's face was a crushing blow, not only for Lysandra's initial desire for conflict, but more deep, Merry's lack of desire to continue. Lysandra should have realized beforehand, before divulging her strange feelings to such an acquaintance, that Merry's patience was conceivably thin. Where was Merry's Slytherin ambition? Lysandra felt grateful for a sliver of a moment at Merry's first inquiry, but now all Lysandra could feel was embarrassed for herself. Dramatic indeed! Her thoughts were silly to others. Her actions conceived by others to be conceived in narcissism. T'was tragic for the girl who needed to ventilate her steaming mind. Depression went from a drip-drop to a steady pouring stream from brain to body, and her body soaked it up like a cold, starved sponge. The only thing left to say now was nothing.

Lysandra naturally thought of a hundred witty, scathing phrases to cut up the unenthusiastic Merrythought, but decided the wiser and hushed herself. Even though having the last word once meant a great deal to Lysandra, in this case she decided to admit defeat without rebuttal. Was it because she refused to waste her breath on a lost cause? Or was it because she had been too stricken with grief and self-loathing that she could not muster strength anymore? Lysandra had realized it was both. As she rose from the grass, she came to the conclusion that this was not the time, nor place to be discussing these matters. To refrain from further embarrassment and utter social destruction, Lysandra curtsied to Slytherin cohort, whether Merry saw it beyond her book or not, and took her leave.

If you are always so negative do not expect good thinks to happen in your life.

After the natural arousal of anger from the last words from Merry's lips, Lysandra pondered the thought as she walked away. Why had she herself been so angry at Merry's words, and what did that say about herself?

Lysandra's reflection was suddenly disrupted by the horrid appearance of Calumina's grave. Lysandra's unintentional, nightmarish arrival had given her such a shock that she practically choked on the air. Altogether, Lysandra was completely unprepared for the moment, for her loss in her thoughts beforehand had her body moving through the cemetery on auto-pilot, moving in a straight line towards the one entrance and exit. But Lysandra hadn't been even close to it before accidentally meandering to the focal point of her recent grief--the beautiful headstone of Calumina Sheenan. Lysandra's body began to shake uncontrollably, and very quickly did the tears follow. In fact, Lysandra had bawled so hard despite convention that she had fainted against the cold tombstone.

Fuzzy sunlight began entering Lysandra's eyes when a human silhouette could be made out from her hazy vision. Haunting, fiery red hair, as if the resurrection of Calumina was happening before her eyes, caused Lysandra to panic and scream. Lysandra closed her eyes, and fight or flight chose 'flight.' Lysandra curled up in a ball against the grave, hoping that whatever ghost was there would just vanish.

Nora preferred to go to the cemetery alone, so none of her younger sisters could see her crying. She was the second oldest in the family now and she could now allow herself to show weakness. Sibby was way too busy with the preparations of her wedding which left Nora alone with her mother and sisters most of the time.

They usually when to the cemetery together, but today Nora decided to go alone. Muireann had some summer homework to do and the youngest was most likely playing with the other children of the slums. She had completed her first year so she could still be considered a child and Nora felt envious of her for that. Although the death of her sister had saddened her, her childish innocense didn't allow her to clearly understand what was going on. Her wounds had started to heal once some time passed, unlike Nora's which were still open and refused to heal themselves. Sometimes, she wished she was still a twelve-year-old.

When Nora arrived, the cemetery was almost empty. Two girls were talking but they were too far from her so she couldn't hear what they were talking about. They were also too far from her so she couldn't recognize their faces. Nora had a feeling that the raven haired on was her yearmate Merry and under normal circumstances she would have walked to her in order to greet her, but today she wanted only Cally's empty company. She knew Merrythought well enough to know that the Slytherin was here in order to study one of her usual dark books so she probably wouldn't want to be interrupted.

She sat next to the grave, and placed the pale coloured flowers she had gathered on her way to the cemetery. She couldn't afford to buy flowers so she could only give to Cally wild flowers. They were not that bad, Nora supposed, and they kind of fit the plain grave her parents could afford. Even in death Callumina couldn't have beautiful things. Cally was always a modest person, though, so Nora supposed that it didn't matter if her grave was covered by wild flowers or white lillies.

Once she arranged the flowers in the prettiest way possible, she pulled her legs close to her body and let her fiery head sink in the dark skirts of her dress. Her parents couldn't afford appropriate clothes for mourning, but her dresses were dark anyway. The one she was currently wearing was of a dark green hue, which in the dark could be almost mistaken for black. One could almost say that Nora was dressed appropriately for mourning now, for the sun was starting to hide behind the mountains in the west.

She tried to block the few sounds of the cemetery as she felt her whole body shake. Tears were making their way out of her tired eyes but noboy was able to see them. She was going to let herself cry only a little, so she could hide the evidence that she ahd cried by the time she returned home for dinner. Whenever Muireann asked her if she had cried Nora could not help but feel guilt so whenever she returned home after her trips to Cally's grave she tried to appear nonchalant, if not, happy.

It had almost become peaceful when screams broke the cemetery's silence. Nora raised her face from her skirts with a mask of shock and horror covering her face, wondering what had happened and who had just screamed. Did someone return from the dead? Nora never believed in ghost stories but now she had a foolish fear that someone dead had come to take her. Was it possible Cally?

No, it was a young blonde girl, the one Merrythought Galatea had previously talked with. Nora looked at her with curiousity, wondering why the girl was screaming, why her eyes were red from crying and most importantly, why this was happening near Cally's grave. Did this blonde know her sister? Did she feel the same pain as the Sheehan family members?

"You knew her?" was the only thing Nora could say to the blonde. She turned to look at Merry who was still quietly reading her book, as if nothing had just happened and once she realized that her yearmate wouldn't bother to see what was happening, she turned to look at the blonde again. "I'm Cally's sister. Nora."

Bewildered. It was the best word to describe the shaken, panicked Lysandra.

Everything continued to be fuzzy. Flushes of color and stars splayed the girl's vision as she attempted to focus upon the fiery haired body standing above her. Lysandra knew that the figure seemed just as confused as her, minus a broken composure. Was it even worth demonstrating decency and etiquette at this point? Lysandra decided to try when a solid breath came to her lungs.

To lay like a hog on the ground was certainly disrespectful for such a lady. Lysandra stood up while attempting to brush the clinging earth from her dress in vain. And despite being completely dazed, Lysandra managed to perform a proper curtsy, obviously from muscle memory.

Lysandra could hardly keep focus as she spoke, seemingly fading in and out of consciousness. "Yes, I know who you are. As we are both in Slytherin, tis' only natural our acquaintance. Yet, a word between us has never been. Only your sister I have spoken to but not before school concluded this year." Lysandra then began choking as she stumbled through her speech.

"For your family's loss I am deeply apologetic. And thus, should it be so silly of myself to ask of your health at such a time as this?"

Nora always thought that Cally was a bit unsocial, because from most of the Sheehan sisters she was the most quiet one. Sibby was quiet too, but not as much as Cally and she did end up being a prefect and that position demanded some sort of social skills. Cally was always the quiet one and it seemed strange to Nora that she had friends in the upper class; a slum rat needed great social skills in order to make such people like him.

"I'm in a good health, luckily." Nora replied to the blonde. The quiestion was a rather boring and usual one, but it was the only thing the girl could ask. It was a some sort of polite way to ask if she was alright, for asking if she missed her sister would be a bit harsh and rude.

"It was an unfortunate happening and I wish the Ministry had done something more important about her death." she continued but then decided not to start such conversation. Talking about the Ministry only made her angry lately.

"Ministry?! What hand had the Ministry about her death?!"

Sadly, Lysandra's vagrant curiosity bursted forth in an unyielding, impulsive manner. How had she died? When, where? All the questions were unanswered for Lysandra, and she hadn't known where to find them. With the horse now here, plus the mouth, Nora was the perfect person to ask. A fellow Slytherin, Calumina's sister. Surely Nora would tell her all of the burning questions. And the Ministry? What the hell did they have anything to do with Cally's passing? Were they the cause of it? Or did they just blunder the whole thing? Or was it because the Sheehan's had no money to swing for a thorough investigation?

Lysandra then took a deep breath to stop her mind from racing. Feeling particularly apologetic for expediting her emotions too quickly, Lysandra pulled back on the reigns a bit.

"I sincerely apologize for the hasty inquiry, in tandem with my complete naivete on the whole matter of her passing. If you could find it in your grieving heart to enlighten mine, I would be indebted to you greatly."

Nora examined the blonde's face with confussion.

Did she live under a rock all these months? Didn't she know about the Hogsmeade Expansion Expedition or whatever it was officially called? Did she actually know how her sister had died? It was even at the papers and it would just be too weird not to know that someone had died on the trail. Cally was never an important person at Hogwarts but her death was still discussed by many of those people that considered the whole expedition a stupid idea.

"She was drafted." Nora simply explained to Lysandra. "She was picked for that expdition along with my other sister Sibby. They had to search for free space for a town in the forest and she died. She and som other man. They both died because the Ministry wanted to send students rather than wizards that could take care of themselves."