We Can't Wake Up

The station was abuzz with gossip and talk when Marcus dragged his trunk along Platform nine and three quarters. Everyone was still talking about the death of Percy Houston.

This was what Marcus had wanted. He had wanted everyone to still be talking about it so that he could ask questions without raising anyone’s suspicions. No-one even glanced his way they were so absorbed in what they were saying.

“It’s awful, Percy Houston dead….”

“Why do all the good looking ones die….”

“People are saying that is could be the same person as Maria’s murderer. Could even be one of You-Know-Who’s old henchmen. You know, the Death Eaters…”

Several people gasped in horror when they heard this. Most of the people surrounding him had been alive when Lord Voldemort had been killed. Even if they had been younger, they still remembered the terror that he placed in every home.

People were still afraid of him, even though he was gone. Many still referred to him as You-Know-Who. This made Marcus smile slightly. He was enjoying the hype that the killing had evoked.

He settled down into the seat in the carriage compartment. Richard and Arnold sat across from him.

“So, Marcus, what do you make of the whole thing?” Arnold asked quietly.

“Percy?” Marcus asked, pretending to have been thinking of something else. Arnold nodded. “Well, the Prophet said that his father killed him, but that does seem unlikely now doesn’t it.” Marcus took on a tone that resembled a teacher talking to a rather tiresome student. “I mean, I thought everything in their family was perfect. So, why on Earth would his father just murder him like that?”

“So do you think there might be a killer on the loose?” Richard leant forward slightly, his voice roughened as he tried to keep it to a whisper.

Marcus frowned, “Maybe, but who would it be? Most of the Death Eaters are in Azkaban, dead, or they denounced Voldemort.” Arnold and Richard listened eagerly to his opinion.

“They could have lied,” Arnold spoke as if that were obvious.

Marcus nodded, “Obviously, but why? All that is done and over with. What reason would they have to bring it up now?”

The words niggled at Marcus quietly. Why bring it up now? Everything is done and over with, so why bother continuing? He frowned and stared out the window. He killed my parents and he will suffer for that.

Marcus didn’t see Anne until the feast that night. She was pale and quiet, not talking to anyone around her. The first time that her gaze collided with Marcus’, she glanced away quickly. Her friends were continually throwing worried glances her way and trying to get her to join in the conversation.

By the time pudding was served, Anne was talking stiltedly with her friends. They exchanged knowing glances when Anne looked down at her plate. Once or twice they even looked over to where Marcus sat, upright and proud at the Slytherin table. Arabella stared at him for a full two minutes, her eyes calculating and curious.

Marcus watched from the corner of his eye, but his attention was seemingly caught on a little fight occurring three places down from him. Two second years were arguing over a last bit of chicken that they both wanted.

“I’ll solve that for you,” Richard spoke loudly and took the piece of chicken and ate it. Several people around him laughed and clapped him on the back. The two students opened their mouths to retaliate but quickly changed their minds when they saw Richard’s expression.

Marcus smiled lightly, giving the illusion of him being amused by this. He turned his attention back to the Gryffindor table. Anne watched him curiously, her head tilted slightly to the side. The smile on Marcus’ face stayed fixed as he watched her and a small nervous smile spreading her lips.

Arabella glanced over towards Marcus, then back at Anne and her forehead creased. Marcus watched for a moment longer before turning his attention elsewhere.