The Great Hall was filled with an air of unease as the students sat down for the feast, the old ragged Sorting hat even spoke of the darkness that was encroaching upon the school. The darkness that had descended upon the wizarding world since the return of the Dark Lord was palpable, casting a shadow over everyone's hearts. Whispers and hushed conversations filled the space, each one tinged with anxiety and fear.

As the feast began, the five Slytherins sat in silence. Francis pushed the food around her plate absentmindedly, her appetite gone, her fingers trembling with exhaustion. She glanced up and made eye contact with the golden trio—Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley. Francis could only hope that they remained safe over the summer.

They had witnessed the tense encounter between Draco and Francis on the platform, and now they could now see in the candle-lit hall the drastic changes in her demeanor since the previous year. Harry, in particular, had his suspicions about Draco Malfoy, but Hermione and Ron weren't entirely convinced yet.

Draco, ever alert, noticed the trio looking their way. He couldn't resist the opportunity to provoke them, calling attention to Harry's cut-up face and bloody shirt, and making a cruel joke about it. " Nice face Potter", He snarled, a peal of laughter erupting from the surrounding Slytherins.

Francis knew the true origins of Harry's injuries, Draco had punched him for attempting to eavesdrop on the Slytherins as they made their way off the train. Draco's taunt was a reminder to her of what he had said on the train platform—his claim that the Dark Lord was watching her every move.

Under the table, Draco's hand tightened around Francis's thigh, his cold silver rings bruising into her skin as a painful reminder. She hung her head, feeling a mix of exhaustion and embarrassment. In that moment, she hoped that the golden trio would assume she had reverted to her old ways of pureblood supremacy. It would be easier for them to believe that than for her to actively push them away after they had been a warm refuge for her during her exile from her Slytherin peers. Francis also knew that they weren't that stupid..

Dumbledore rose from his seat at the head of the hall, his presence commanding attention. The conversations gradually died down as all eyes turned toward him. The aged headmaster's gaze swept across the room, his voice carrying the weight of wisdom and experience.

"Dear students," Dumbledore began, his tone gentle yet firm.

"We find ourselves in dark times once again. The return of Lord Voldemort has cast a shadow over our world, bringing fear and division. But it is precisely in these times that we must stand united."

The Great Hall listened intently, the atmosphere becoming more somber with each passing word. Dumbledore continued, "Tom Riddle, or Lord Voldemort as he prefers to be called, thrives on our division, on the fear and discord that he spreads. But we must remember that we are strongest when we stand together when we support and protect one another."

Francis glanced up from her plate, her eyes meeting Dumbledore's gaze. There was a glimmer of hope and reassurance in his eyes—a reminder that there were still forces of light and goodness fighting against the encroaching darkness.

Dumbledore's speech went on, emphasizing the importance of unity and the strength that could be found in embracing our differences rather than succumbing to fear and prejudice. His words resonated deeply with the students, stirring a sense of determination within them.

As the feast came to an end, the Slytherin table slowly emptied. Francis, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and conflicting emotions, rose from her seat, preparing to leave. The golden trio watched her intently, concern etched on their faces. But before they could approach her, Draco gripped her shoulder, a silent command to leave with him.

Francis cast one last glance at the golden trio, her eyes filled with a mix of longing and regret. She couldn't afford to involve them any further, not when the Dark Lord's gaze was fixed upon her.

In the gloomy depths of the labyrinthine corridors, Malfoy led his retinue of four Slytherins—Theodore, Blaise, and Pansy—each step they took reverberating against the cold, unforgiving stone walls. Weary and worn, Francis trailed behind, her fatigue permeating every fiber of her being.

Upon reaching the Slytherin common room, Francis wasted no time delving into her trunk, rummaging through her possessions in search of the small pouch that held her muggle herb. Its soothing smoke offered her a temporary respite, a lullaby that ushered her into a dreamless sleep. Unlike sleeping draughts, which imprisoned her in nightmarish visions and left her groggy upon awakening, the herb provided solace. She meticulously arranged the papers and herb on her bed, assuming a cross-legged position as her fingers trembled while expertly rolling the muggle herb within the soft white paper. Satisfied with her craftsmanship, she retreated to the sanctuary of a concealed rooftop corridor, hidden away above the astronomy tower—a haven she had stumbled upon the previous year to evade the watchful gaze of Dolores Umbridge.

Dim light permeated the dusty air of the corridor, welcoming Francis as she settled upon the stone window ledge. Her feet dangled freely, finding solace in the lofty heights and desolate isolation. With practiced precision, she ignited her joint with the aid of her wand, the ensuing flame casting flickering shadows upon her face. Bundling her robes closer to her body in a futile attempt to ward off the biting wind that swept through the open space, Francis surveyed the Aurors patrolling the grounds below. Their presence served as a haunting reminder of the perpetual battle waged against encroaching darkness. How many more battles lay ahead? How much more must she sacrifice in the name of survival? Perhaps weariness had dulled her senses, for she failed to discern the approaching footsteps until it was too late.

Theodore Nott, his arrival hitherto unnoticed, joined Francis on the rooftop corridor. Wordlessly, she extended the joint to him, her trembling fingers betraying the weight she bore. Resting his back against the corridor wall, Theodore seated himself upon the dusty stone beside her. There existed an unspoken understanding between them.

Within the swirling tendrils of smoke, Theodore finally disrupted the stifling silence with a half-hearted chuckle. "You know, it's utterly mind-boggling that we find ourselves back here, isn't it? Feigning normalcy after a summer fraught with unspeakable acts in the name of the Dark Lord." Taking a prolonged drag from the joint, he exhaled a plume of smoke before reclining against the stone wall. Theodore concealed the weight of his darkened forearm, a mark of allegiance that both he and Francis shared. This lighthearted banter served as his coping mechanism, a desperate attempt to elude the grim reality that loomed over them. Francis couldn't help but wonder if his bones ached with the same intensity as hers, if the dark magic that tainted their blood coursed through his veins.

A flicker of relief caused Francis's shoulders to relax ever so slightly as she smirked. "Indeed. Returning to Potions and Quidditch as if it were business as usual," she replied, accepting the joint from Theodore and bringing it to her lips. She inhaled deeply before passing it back to him.

Theodore nodded, his gaze drifting from the Aurors below to the darkening sky that shrouded the Hogwarts grounds. "I swear, it's a miracle we've retained our sanity after all we've endured," he confessed.

A dark chuckle escaped Francis's lips, tinged with bitterness. "

Speak for yourself, Nott."

Sighing, Theodore returned the joint to Francis. He regarded her through half-lidded eyes, the hazy smoke weighing upon him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You know," he began, his voice resonating with a blend of remorse and levity, "we owe you an apology—Pansy, Blaise, and I. We understand now that you are one of us. We should have stood by each other from the beginning."

Francis, her eyes glazed and reddened by smoke and weariness, met Theodore's hazel gaze. "Apologies cannot change the past," she responded wearily. "But it hardly matters now, does it? We find ourselves entangled in this fucking mess, regardless..."

Theodore nodded, his gaze locked upon the sprawling grounds below. "Draco, though... He has become even more unpredictable, on edge..."

A faint smile graced Francis's features, weariness dancing in her eyes as she attempted to divert the conversation.

"It's absurd, truly. Pretending that everything is normal while the world crumbles around us," she whispered softly. "But perhaps that's precisely their intention—to make us believe in the façade, to forget the darkness that seeps into our very bones."

She peered at Theodore, her eyes searching his face for comprehension. "Tell me, Teddy, do your bones ache as mine do? Does the mark burn with the same fervor?" Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

Theodore met her gaze, a flicker of shared pain and understanding passing between them. He need not utter a word, for Francis could discern the depth of his affliction.

Their eyes remained fixed upon the grounds below, observing the Aurors scuttling about like industrious ants. As they silently exchanged the joint, Francis's eyes glistening with a hint of whimsy, a dark and sardonic remark escaped her lips.

"Perhaps," she mused, a twisted amusement coloring her voice, "perhaps Malfoy is on to something... Maybe I should pitch myself off the astronomy tower. Save myself the trouble, you know?"

Theodore's laughter mingled with the wind. "Don't be stupid Yaxley," a dry chuckle leaving his throat.

The final embers of the joint extinguished as he flicked it off the stone ledge into the abyss of darkness that engulfed the grounds.