The morning air swept into the tiny room roughly jarring everything in its path into alertness and consciousness, this included the girl curled up tight with her cloak pulled close around her. During the night her precious few books and supplies were carried up to the summit of the Slytherin house girl’s dormitory and abandoned recklessly to the care of the failing state of the room. After untangling herself from her cloak and re-securing it about her, the girl quickly took her books for her first class and hurried barefoot down the icy stone steps towards the room where the others of her house had parted ways the previous night. Her hood covered her wild hair and made her appear much more like a fântom; her past safely hid under her hood she ventured back towards the magnificent hall she had dined in the previous evening. Again she took a seat far from the others of her table and again she bore the appearance of a dream, a nightmare, a pitiful forgotten creature.

Her first class was transfiguration and the professeur was the severe looking woman who had called her to sit upon that wretched stool and had forced her to don that cursed decreped hat. Noiselessly her icy white feet, now slightly soiled, took her to a desk far, or so she believed, from prying eyes; oh how the stares pained her; they torn under her skin and she felt the burning singe her very soul. The woman surveyed her class with a harsh eye until her gaze fell upon the immortal laying wait in the shadows. She took a breath and spoke.

"Mac, when you are inside my classroom, I would appreciate it if you removed your cloak. We are not outside and class has merely begun, not ended." The girl looked up at the woman with her empty eyes, but the woman remained unmoved and did not seem as though she would excuse this one girl. Slowly, painfully, the young girl unfastened her cloak, and removed the hood. Other students gave a short gasp and the woman instantly wished she had said nothing. The young witch bore more scars upon her frail body than any one person could possibly bear in a lifetime of neglect. Her right shoulder was once terribly gouged and left to itself to heal; about her neck, burnt deep, the markings of a collar bound too tight, shone brilliantly made purple from the draft of the room; her black robe was in two pieces: a skirt and a top that showed half of her ribs and all of her stomach; her skin was stretched tightly about her with the only beautiful part being her face. The flaming hair, spiked and wild, seemingly lit even the darkest corners and verily illuminated this slave. Her empty eyes again fell upon the professeur standing dumbfounded at her desk; no words came from this girl’s throat; not a sound had been emitted from her being since she stepped on the platform and onto the train. A full five minutes had passed and the witch could feel their stares tormenting her soul as though they were each red hot pokers jabbing at her from all directions; oh how she wanted to run, to flee and be gone far far from their prying eyes. Suddenly the woman found her words. "Mac, please come with me and you may replace your cloak." Slowly the girl rebound her cloak and refitted the hood; the students seemed to fall to a state of ease and turned their gazes to the professeur as she had begun to speak again. Sharply she stated, "Open your books to pages three and four. When I return I want you to have read and made a summary of these pages. You may begin now." She looked to Mac, "You will come with me Mac." The girl huddled for a moment before taking her books and gliding towards the woman.

She sat alone upon a bed covered in white linen; how soft it felt to her fingertips and she gently fingered the weave of the material wishing in vain to have something of this richness in her room; it was far better than the straw she-- The door to the room opened and in stepped another woman; she bustled about the room and smiled kindly at Mac.

"So, Professeur McGonagall says you’ve been banged up have you? Lets take a look and see what this is all about." She seemed oddly quite friendly and something about her put the girl to ease and she almost trusted her, but she did not remove her cloak. The woman frowned a touch and took a step closer. "Lets get this thing off you and see what the trouble is, alright?" Still the girl made no movement. The woman sighed and stood back, "You must trust me Mac, I only want to take the pain away." Take the pain away? Had she heard her right? This curse that had fallen over the girl, could this woman lift it? Carefully she unbound her cloak and pushed back the hood. The woman staggered a little and looked suddenly very pale and a touch ill. "Oh god..." With that, she left the room and the maiden was left alone again.

Mac did not rehood herself or retie the cloak, rather, she sat on the linen shrouded bed and watched the door as though she owned infinite patience. An hour went by, then two, and three, but no movement possessed the door handle to turn and force the door open. A weariness caused by the increased temperature of the room soon gained enough strength to wage war against her consciousness. She stretched out then suddenly recoiled into a ball and sleep took control of her body and of her mind.

Scars