WINTER, 1943

tw: lynching.

ARCHIE HAYES WAS THE DARLING OF GRYFFINDOR. Fifth year and adored by everyone who met him. With his golden blond curls and forest green eyes, the girls whispered about him behind bookshelves, gloved cupped hands, and fluttering lashes. 

He was...what, the third Muggleborn prefect in all of Hogwarts history? A fact he would not let anyone forget, with each confident word. Just last week, Carlton Rowle sneered at his peeling shoes, the word mudblood leaving his lips in a string of mutters. Archie, with a lifted chin and arms crossed, promptly gave him a weeks' detentions and removed thirty points from Slytherin. If any other purebloods dared to challenge him, well, Archie would like to see them try.

"Arch- what's the billywig sting do?" Maxwell Fawley asked, the panels of the library windows casting dappled shadows over their sprawled books. 

"Floating," Archie said without looking up, reading over Professor Slughorn's essay on the Wideye Potion for the second time. 

Maxwell mumbled a thanks, scratching out his previous response. "-Wait, why is it asking me 'bout the slime?"

"The slime?" that made Archie look up. "Mate, the slime isn't part of the question. Besides, Sluggy said in class that we'd only use the slime next term."

"Right, right," Maxwell bit his lip, curls falling over his forehead as he furrowed his brows, before throwing down his expensive quill with a groan. Archie shot a look at the quill, with its tampered feathers. 

"What is it?" he rolled his eyes. They had fifteen inches of parchment due tomorrow. Archie had finished his all last week, and asked Slughorn if he could write up some feedback on his work. But Slughorn had taken days to give Archie his comments, and now Archie had to edit his whole essay the day before it was due. He hated having to do schoolwork last minute- thank Merlin he was close to being finished. 

"I'm bored. Didn't Anna Beaufort call us the Kings of Gryffindor on Thursday?" Maxwell said, rolling up the sleeves of his pure white dress shirt. "We're stuck studying for O.W.L.s, which are months away! Let's do something fun."

"Well, then, you come up with something. This essay's drained all my creativity," Archie teased, leaning back and rolling his own sleeves up in return. 

"Fine," Maxwell shrugged. "...I dare you to find yourself a bird here."

"Right now? In this library?" Archie chuckled disbelievingly.

"Yes," Maxwell raised a challenging brow. "I pick a girl, see if you can pick her up."

Archie paused, then shrugged. "Alright, I could use a break."

The boys stood up, placing their books back into their shoulder bags. Archie figured he could always study in the common room later. Maxwell was the one who was in trouble; Archie didn't think he could finish the essay on time. But Maxwell always pushed through, and besides, Slughorn could never give Maxwell a detention- he'd gone to Hogwarts with Maxwell's father, and they were Fawleys, as pureblood as purebloods could get. The old resentment sparked in Archie's chest, but he quashed it down. Him and Maxwell were like brothers.

"Oi, Arch. What about her?"

"Who?" he asked, but he followed Maxwell's pointed chin. A tall girl, very skinny and willowy, moved around the Charms section. She wore her hat even though it was a Saturday, but Archie could see some strands of curly black hair poking through. He didn't recognize her, and no one wore House robes on weekends. But, he watched as her figure moved within her robes, which were silk and swished around, hugging her waist and her slender shoulders. He grinned to Maxwell, and he made up his mind.

Gesturing for Maxwell to stay behind, he approached the girl from the back. A charming grin on his face, he leaned against a shelf of water-related charms books, before letting out a long, low whistle, eyes gazing upon her rear.

The girl whirled around, curls flying, before two cutting silver eyes sliced into Archie's sight.

"Get away," she spat, her pupils like beads as Archie held up his hands in surrender.

"-Very well, Miss," he said, taken aback. The remaining smirk played on his lips, but it was quickly dissipating at her look of pure hatred.

The girl sniffed, turning around until all Archie could see was the back of her school hat. "...Filthy mudblood."

Archie paused, as his lips instinctively bared into a snarl. In that moment he was reminded of Rowle and his biting remarks, and the anger rose. Who was she to say that? How dare she? 

"Ten points from Slytherin for prejudice," he said icily, glaring at the back of her head. But she whipped around again, and this time, Archie got a better look at her.

Her hair, thick and barely holding onto her hat, was long and shiny. Her features were fine, as if she came chiseled out of a Roman statue. If she wasn't awful, she would have been beautiful. But her lips twisted in a sneer, a dark berry shade baring white teeth. But a look at her pendant, an enormous opal that might've cost Archie his whole livelihood, caused him pause. And a look at her eyes, the silver chips that triggered the memory of a second year boy, the one that Maxwell whispered about. The Heir to the House of Black.

"Er- what's going on?" Maxwell appeared behind Archie, but his presence was no comfort compared to the dripping anger bubbling within Archie's stomach.

"-The nerve of you," Walburga Black spat at his feet. "You dare take points away from my House, after you laid your dirty paws upon me?"

"I- what?!" Archie spluttered, turning to Maxwell for backup at the ridiculous notion.

"...Arch?" Maxwell looked at him, then looked at Miss Black. And the realization came like a droplet of ice; that Maxwell, even for a second, didn't believe him. 

"Max, I never touched her- I would never! Miss Black, you speak of falsities-" he began.

"-Heiress Black. What are you entertaining these two for?" 

Archie glared past Miss Black, as he instinctively resisted the urge to step back. He clenched his jaw, lifting his chin stubbornly at the Head Boy. When Tom Riddle was appointed, Archie told Maxwell that it was a sign Dippet seriously needed to retire. Aside from the fact that Head Boys were supposed to be friendly, something about Riddle caused Archie to retreat. It may have been his looks, standing multiple inches over Archie, who was also considered tall. Popular with the ladies, too, but he moved like a stalking tiger rather than a lovesick boy. Archie had been lucky to only take orders from him, and did intend to avoid him until he graduated, but there was no way he wouldn't stand his ground today.

"-Tom! Fawley and the mudblood-"

"-Miss Black!" Archie shouted, clenching his fists. 

"Heiress Black."

"What?" Archie snapped as Riddle's eyes bored into him. His heart beat a mile per minute, as he directed his attention to the Head Boy with some effort.

"Heiress Black. That is Walburga's proper title," he said, his voice as slender as his sneer.

Miss, well, Heiress Black took Riddle's arm, letting out a sigh as if Riddle was her Prince Charming. And through the haze of anger, Archie had the time to feel disgusted. He didn't care if she was promised or not, but Riddle just had to point it out, as Archie took a quick look at her Heiress ring, an emerald with a B carved into it.

"Riddle. I can settle this matter with Heiress Black on my own," Archie gritted out, green eyes stormy with anger.

"No need. May I accompany you back to the dungeons, Walburga? Let us leave Mister Hayes to his own devices." Riddle said, his tone consistent. The smile spread wider on his face as if someone had taken a knife and slit both sides up, and there it was, that incredible feeling of nausea and despair, as if Archie was a mere pebble facing a wave, tangled in Tom Riddle's neverending rhythm.

"-of course, Tom," Heiress Black sighed happily, before one last death glare at Archie.

Thump, thump, thump, Archie's heart pounded. Maxwell's light touch ghosted over his right shoulder, and he could make out the whispered comments and a stray apology, but Archie didn't notice. He glared at the two retreating heads of dark hair, shiny black robes and shoes as they strolled casually away. A few first years shot nervous looks before retreating away, while Archie, though his back was straight, his chin high, felt more scared and angry than anyone. Heiress Black- she infuriated him. The way she was head over heels for Riddle, a promised woman, too. Archie's father would have given his mother seven strikes if she acted like Walburga Black in front of another man. Not to mention calling him a mudblood. 

Maxwell asked in third year how that still managed to get a rise out of him, since other muggleborns simply took it with a thin lip and a meeting with a Professor. But Archie was born angry. His father enjoyed reminding him that he was born squalling and red, as if he crawled out of hell instead of the water of a womb. There were a few that could tame his anger. The girls, mostly from home, that had seen him grow from freckled and gangly to what he looked like now. The one boy, from Hogwarts, not home. The ones from home teased him and called him light in the loafers. But Archie had always been angry. Stubborn, prideful, and angry, and with each slap, each kick and each punch, his father had rewritten him from bone to skin, as if Archie were a jar of blood threatening to spill as he breathed. 

He wrenched his shoulder out of Maxwell's touch, and stormed out of the hall.

That night, Archie wandered the halls on Prefect patrol. His partner, a Hufflepuff girl named Asha Abbott, prattled on and on about how awful Divination was, while Archie politely nodded, laughed, and interjected whenever it was appropriate. A bang, similar to the sound of a broom falling over, interrupted her from a nearby empty classroom. A few shuffles followed it.

Asha groaned. "The late night tips. Do you want to take care of this, or should I?"

"I will," Archie rolled his eyes. "We'll finish up on the Every Flavor Beans story once I'm out."

He strolled past an arch, cautiously opening the classroom door a crack. "Everyone out, now. You're all getting warnings for being out after hours, but if you don't come out it's a detention!"

Archie never received a response. Huffing, he shoved the door open fully, before opening his mouth to speak again-

"-Stupefy!" And Archie vaguely felt himself falling, hitting the floor before all turned dark.

"-Wake up, little mudblood."

Pain was blooming from Archie's cheek, and then the memory of him falling against the stone floors returned. Tom Riddle's face looked down on him, black eyes piercing into his. Anger filled Archie's blood.

"How dare-"

"Incarcerous," said a new voice, and Archie found himself bound by thick ropes, twisting round himself from all angles from his feet to his neck. 

Frantically, he looked around. Nothing was familiar, but as he looked up into the coniferous trees, he recognized that he was in the Forbidden Forest. But he'd only ever been at the edge of the forest before, who knows how deep he was this time? It was still night, and the full moon's pale blue sheen covered the two boys' faces that stood in front of him.

"Archibald Hayes. You will die tonight," said the shorter boy, and Archie's mind scrambled until he met the same icy grey eyes that a stony girl wore only hours prior.

"Black. What're you-"

"You tainted her. Walburga; my future wife. You'll pay for that, mudblood," Orion Black spat at Archie, the beads landing on the dirt in front of him.

"What?! I never even touched her-"

"Shh," Black hissed, flicking his wand, and a rope, fast as lightning, twisted itself around Archie's mouth. He yelled into it, but it only came out as a low whine, as he wriggled desperately, trying to get out of the binds.

"No, Orion," Riddle interjected from behind, and surprisingly, Black did so as ordered. "I want to hear him."

Anger was replaced by hate, and a thousand strings of curses lay in Archie's throat. The ropes were so impossibly tight, and Archie couldn't reach his wand, tucked in his robe pocket. The bastards, Riddle and Black. He never touched the Heiress Black, it was Maxwell that dared him to talk to her!

"-Confringo." 

Archie screamed in pain as all his hate vanished. He fell onto his behind, leaves and mud getting over his pants as Black put his wand away, pointed at Archie's right hand. What was left of Archie's hand. All that remained was blood, and Archie couldn't see, perhaps through the night, perhaps through the pain. His other hand, pinned to his side, tried desperately to feel around for the stump, a bleeding, mangled mess, as his left hand accidentally pushed into something on the ground, red and warm and fleshy. The sounds of horror never left his mouth.

"-Crucio."

If losing a hand split Archie, the Cruciatus Curse shattered him. It wasn't like his skin was on fire, it was the fire. The pain came from within, like every nerve blazed in a neverending scream of piercing, sharp agony. Archie writhed in the ropes, screaming, trying to do anything to get out, run away, far, far from this place, but all he could do was fall forwards once more, as the mud splattered across his face, smeared into his honey colored hair.

His hand only tremored in the face of the curse, and for a split second Archie was glad for its loss as it meant he only felt part of the full Curse. But nothing on Earth nor Heaven was worse than this, nothing. 

"No- Riddle! Stop, Riddle, stop this! God, god, please-"

"-There is no God," he vaguely heard Riddle call over the sound of his own screams. And then it was over. Riddle called for the curse to stop. "There is only I."

Archie's throat burned, the cells red, swollen, and begging for water. His eyes cried silent tears, as the green of their forests flooded with water. The pain was no longer active, but his muscles hummed in a soreness almost alike the curse itself, echoing, haunting with every shaky breath he took. 

He couldn't move. He couldn't move. He couldn't move.

He looked up from Riddle's feet.

Riddle gazed down, swishing his wand.

For a moment, Archie thought it was clouds, then he thought it was heaven. But no, three furry white shapes moved in front of his face, where his cheek remained half-smashed into the soft dirt of the Forbidden Forest.

Three white rabbits. They could've been shapeless forms, but Archie had a rabbit growing up. He would know. His vision had long turned hazy, Riddle's features foggy and Black nowhere to be found. And, as a rabbit gave a little bound closer, Archie saw the way its fur stood up, rustling from the breeze of his breaths, and he thought of home. Childhood.

"Imperio."

The rabbits descended.

He couldn't move. He couldn't move. He couldn't move.

It all blended together. Even as the animals tweaked nerve after nerve, nibbling on the edges of the frayed muscle of his former hand, the pain was just the same as the rest of his body, quaking through the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse. Pain, it was becoming a friend, as Archie felt his eyes begin to close.

He heard Riddle cast another spell. This time, completely unfamiliar. But he couldn't find the fortitude to decipher it. He couldn't move.

Archie Hayes, the third Muggleborn prefect in the history of Hogwarts. Perhaps there would be a book someday with his name inside, but that would be all left of him. They would call it a mystery, a tragedy, and no one would know his truth. 

Riddle's red eyes. The rabbits' red eyes. Archie was red. Red for the blood that lathered him, red for the bravery of his House, red for the pride he would die for. He wasn't a darling now, he was just a boy. Not a wizard, just a boy. And Archie looked up, as if he looked into Tom Riddle's soul and found nothing but murky black. He closed his eyes.

"Avada Kedavra."

The rabbits bit out of his hands. He didn't feel a thing.