Happy birthday, darling…

The words haunted her as her feet hit the ground. She didn’t care if anyone saw her. She didn’t care if she would get lectured by Kitty, telling her to behave in public. To maintain her flawless image. She didn’t care if she caught hell from any of her other various friends. She didn’t give a flying fuck if everyone saw her run for her life. She just needed to get as far away as humanly possible from that place.

From that place and that man.

That man she had once called her father. She had called him her Papa. She was his golden child. She could do no wrong in his eyes. She was his princess, his duchess, his queen. More than even Darya, whom he hadn’t been faithful to in over twenty years.

The tiny Russian barely managed to hold back a laugh as she ran. Queen. Once upon a time, she had been queen of the Manor. Once upon a time, she had been the Countess in the most elite group of purebloods in the school. A group that she had worked tirelessly to belong to. Once upon a time…
 
Now, she was the Queen of Nothing. The Queen of Dirt.

There was nothing she could do to change the past. To think! She had been living a lie for the past sixteen years.

Happy Birthday.

Happy Birthday.

She scattered a few younger years with a venomous hiss, the likes of that was heard from Kitty, not her. She snapped at a poor Hufflepuff who was in her way and the tiny child teared up. Normally, Strellie would never act as she was, but she needed to escape the demons ravaging her mind.

Where to? To Professor Ignans? No, he was a strict old man, and despite being “family” he was a pureblood. Merlin, she didn’t know if she could even look a pureblood in the face at the moment.

Her feet carried her up stairs, around corners until she found herself climbing up dark stairs. They didn’t stop for a long time. Not even bothering to light her wand, Demitria flew up the steps in semi-darkness. She tripped and she fell numerous times but she didn’t care. Even when she felt blood run down her knee, she didn’t stop. It wasn’t blood that was worth it. Hell, it was blood that was practically not even human.

Reaching the top of the staircase, she flew into the empty Astronomy tower and headed out to the edge. There she began to cry. She looked over the little witches and wizards far below her. Sinking to the ground, Mimi Strelnikov didn’t even bother to hold back the tears any longer. 

It was all over.

Spring Break had hardly been a break; between writing to Ignan, taking care of Sasha and cleaning the house, he'd gotten hardly any relaxing time in. The school wasn't exactly the most welcome location, then. The large dark boring bulk of the place made him feel heavy all over, like the place was surrounded by some dark aura.

Thank Merlin for house elves, though; he didn't have to carry his bags up the long staircase to the tower, and all he wanted to do now was nap. Do some writing, perhaps. Relax like he didn't have classes the next day, or papers still left ungraded, sitting guiltily on the top of his To-Do pile.

The tower was dark as he headed up the stairs, taking the stairs on all fours, finding that the easiest way to take the steep spiral in safety. His bare feet kept his approach fairly quiet, though he wasn't making much effort to be so.

Opening the door that lead to the classroom itself, though, it became clear something was up; the classroom was much too light. He'd left it dark, with the arches closed. He drew his wand as he took the small flight of stairs that led to the classroom's floor, walking quietly and crouched down.

One of the arches was open, the white sheet that usually closed it blowing in the gentle breeze. It wasn't a Dark Wizard, however. Instead, a small form was crouched outside on the parapet, against the railing. The quiet sound of crying filled the otherwise silent tower.

He walked closer, his wand still drawn. "Miss Strelnikov?" He asked, once he recognized her.

Demitria didn’t know how long she had been lying on the ground. It could have been seconds. It could have been hours. Nevertheless, her frantic wails subsided into rhythmic sobs.

Vaguely, the doll-like Russian wondered what she looked like. It was a habit that had been nurtured over many years of living. Public image comes first. Look good before all else in the world. First it had been… him. Then, her grandmother. Next, it was her mother- no, Darya. Darya had never been Strellie’s mother, as much as she longed for her to be.

For once in her life, Mimi wished dearly that she had been sorted into any other house but Slytherin. If her “friends” saw her now, what would they see? They would see the Queen reduced to a pauper, her legs torn up from the battle with the stairs, her fancy skirt ripped and blood spattered, and her face tearstained. The only reason her make-up hadn’t run was because she had spelled it that way.

Against all odds, Demitria Strelnikov began to laugh hysterically. It was beyond ridiculous! Her entire life and been one big lie. Hardly anything had been real. Now, she had woken up from her pretty dream and had realized that her life was one worth nothing.

Her sobs began again.
 
Happy Sixteenth Birthday, darling.

Miss Strelnikov?
 
The words hit her like a shock wave. No! No one was supposed to have found her in her chilling refuge high above the earth. No!

Demitria’s head snapped up and despite being a complete mess, she still had pure Slytherin instinct. She recoiled to the very edge of the roof and had her blood red wand popped out of its spring before she even noticed who it was.
 
Professor Trishna.

“Professor?” She asked weakly, her voice practically dead. It was so different from the usual bell-like tones of her voice. “I- I- I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until later tonight?”
 
It was a weak defense, but her rush of instinct was gone, leaving her completely alone, a messed up muggle/veela masquerading as a queen.   

She drew her wand, mostly out of surprise - but his grip on his own tightened subconsciously as he stepped forward to stand in the archway, his own blue-crystal'd wand held by his side.

She was a mess - bloody, crying, disheveled. His frown turned from one of caution to one of concern as he looked her over; she was hardly a threat, even with her wand drawn, and her body language played that out.

"I came back on the train," he offered, by way of explanation. Being Head of House did demand he turn up for dinner, after all. At least it hadn't meant he had to turn up for breakfast, yet.

One hand resting on the stone arch, he looked past her to the distant courtyard far, far below, then to the sinking sun. Had she been in better physical shape, he might have left her alone; but with no way to identify the source of her wounds and the rips in her clothing, that didn't seem wise.

"What's wrong, Miss Strelnikov?" He asked, as kindly as he could, returning his blue-eyed gaze to her.

Mimi could see herself reflected in her Professor’s gaze. That alone was enough to push a few more tears out. Still, her sobs hadn’t returned. The tears were silent. Again she let out a chuckle. Oh, Merlin, who would have ever pictured her here? She was sorely tempted to keep laughing, but didn’t for fear that Professor Trishna would deem her mentally unstable. No, Professor, she thought, I’m not unstable, only fighting demons.

I came back on the train.

Strellie nodded, feeling herself calm slightly. It had been a silly question, but she didn’t really care. Drawing her knees up, she wrapped her arms around them. She took a quick glance at them and sighed. More scars to match the ones on her cheek and back. These might heal, at least.

What's wrong, Miss Strelnikov?

Demitria would’ve been happy just to stay mute forever, but she knew that her Professor cared for her physical well-being, if not about her demons.

“The stairs,” She said, her voice still hoarse, “I kept tripping on the way up. I don’t really care. It’s not like I haven’t had plenty of experience with scars.”

She continued to perch precariously from the railing. The blonde girl was oh-so- happy that Kitty or Arielle hadn’t found her. Not Neely, not Jordyn, not Sophie, not Xavier, Fig, Chance, Dax, Dion, Beatrix. Anyone. Especially Leon. Any of them would have freaked out and demanded to know what was going on. And she would’ve had to tell them.
“Professor,” She said, softly. “Has anyone ever told you that everything you thought was true, was actually a lie?”

Giggling was likely worse than sobs, all things considered. He stepped out of the arch onto the parapet himself, walking to stand next to her by the railing, watching her carefully even as he kept his body language casual. She wasn't in a good position to startle, at the moment.

She might not care, but leaving her as-is didn't seem right. "Hold still," he told her, carefully placing a hand on her knee to hold it still as he raised his wand, holding it with the tip just above her skinned knee. "Episkey," he said softly, and the wounds began to close.

Her question surprised him; he looked up at her, unsure what she meant, or what to say.

"Well," he licked his lips as he thought. "Yes and no," he said, after a pregnant pause as he considered, standing back to his full height. "It depends what you mean by everything," he said finally. "What did they tell you?"

Strellie looked up as she felt her Professor begin to heal her knee. It felt funny to have someone other than her siblings or mothe-Darya do it. She knew the spell, but spell work, especailly healing, had never been a strong point for her. She was the strategist, not the knight-in-shining armor.

Demitria listened to Professor Trishna as he answered the question she hadn't even known she had asked. She tried to look up at him, but once he was at his full height it was practically impossible without falling over the edge or snapping her neck. Standing, she was already more than a foot shorter than him. Sitting, the height difference was staggering. She must've looked like a flea.

"I saw my father today," She started. "I haven't seen him for seven years and I thought I was never going to see him again. He was supposed to be imprisoned for life in Adoverste, our Azkaban. But he's not anymore." Her unearthly pale green eyes sparkled with tears. She didn't know if she should continue, but her mouth had a mind of its own. "First, he told me that Darya wasn't my mother. It's not hard to beleive that, because my one of my brothers was already illegitamate. But he was still pureblooded."

"My mother was a muggle. A stupid muggle kitchenmaid." She whispered. "He lied to me about my blood. When I was little, he told me that I was his Princess and someday, I would carry on the line of kings. I believed him. And he lied to me."

"But that's not the worst part. If I was half-blood, it would be okay. But the rest of my blood isn't even wizard..."

She squeezed her eyes tight. "I'm veela. I'm muggle and veela. I'm not even worthy of this wand!" She shouted, suddenly angrier than she had been all day. But her raised voice irritated her already strained throat, making her fall into a fit of coughing.     

He listened to her explanation in silence, his only apparent reaction in the rise of his brow and the pursing of his lips. He wasn't sure what to make of that; the easiest thing, really, was to start chopping it into pieces, and finding out more.

It did, certainly, sound shocking - and for one of the Slytherin elite, disastrous. He couldn't help but be reminded of his wife's out troubles, though that hadn't had to do with lies. But it explained her distraught appearance, all right. His shoulders slumped slighty.

He reached out automatically, his hand resting on her head in a reassuring pat. "Come inside," he said, as she started coughing. "Tea'll help, I think." His tone was gentle, though the dart of his eyes betrayed his intense storm of thought.

Pulling the curtain aside to let her go in first, he waved his wand to start the lamps and the massive chandelier that hung at the center of the room, making the dark tower bright with their warm glow.

"Your father," he said, figuring it was best to start at the top and chip down. "Did he escape, or is he on parole?" It did seem odd - given her description - that he'd had such a change of heart. But prison, especially wizarding prisons, could do a lot to a man. It was possible, therefore, that the actual lie was his most recent tale, rather than everything so far. He had no way to tell, of course, without more evidence. "Do you know why he came here...?"

Demitria felt her Professor's hand on her head. Normally, she would've darted away from it, but she was just to tired. The fact that she was sitting on the edge of a long drop helped fuel that desicion as well.

When Trishna mentioned tea, Demitria nodded. Tea always helped calm her nerves. Giving a few last dry coughs, she stood up and entered the Astronomy Tower. For a second, it had been just as she had left it, but a fraction of a second later, it was filled with a warm glow.

She sat down in a chair as the tall man began asking her questions.

"I don't know if he escaped, but he certainly didn't look like he had," one of the girl's tiny, long fingered hands swept up to wipe away a few stray tears. "He looked so calm and controlled. He wasn't on the run or anything. I'm positive he's staying in London, but I don't know where."

She thought for a long moment about the next one. She was like her father, extremely scarily like her father. She didn't look like him, except for their matching eyes, but their personalities appeared identical though their aims were different. "He wants to find my 'Mat- mother... no, Darya." Strellie felt like yelling in frustration, what was she supposed to call the woman who had raised her? "He wants to punish us for leaving him there and not trying to free him. For that he blames my grandmother and mother for not teaching me about my veela charm. He thinks it could've saved him from imprisonment."

She shook her head. "My Papa is a very cruel man, Professor. He could be imprisoned for that alone. He wants to take me, the only link to the family that he can easily find, and crush it. That way, he can find the rest through me. He doesn't care about love when it comes in the way of what he wants. He just didn't take into account that I know how he thinks. Because as much as I don't like it at times, I'm just like him."

When Mimi said that, she turned her head away from her Professor back to her pale white hands.

She sat, and he unlocked his desk to find his kettle as she explained. Thank god for the magical self-heating kettles; his had saved him plenty of treks to the staff room. When he walked back to her, he handed her a gently steaming mug of tea, and a handkerchief for her face. He sat on the floor a few feet away from the chair she'd taken, his own mug sitting in front of him with the kettle next to it.

Her father certainly sounded like a force to be reckoned with. He picked up his mug, frowning at it as he considered what she'd said.

Crush. That could mean a lot of things; he'd certainly dealt the poor girl a massive emotional blow already. "Do you think you and your family are in mortal danger?" He asked. Either way, it might be worth it to notify the Aurors - as unsure as he was about them at the moment.

"Or is he more likely to seek emotional destruction, like what he did to you?" Being frank might not be the best approach, but it was an important distinction Mortal danger could bring a family together - old grudges dispersed in favor of banding together against an outside threat. That made emotional devastation more likely, and if Demetria's state was any indication, her father knew how to do that quite well.

Demitria’s eyes snapped back up when Professer Trishna mentioned mortal danger. Would her father kill her? Setting her tea on the table, she crossed her legs and closed her eyes. Would her own father murder his only daughter?

Her emotions threatened to overcome her again, but she smashed them down. She had to think clearly. She took a deep breath and retreated to the highly analytical side of her mind.

Was her family in danger from the man that had raised them?
 
It only took her a few moments to come to a conclusion. “No, professor. He wouldn’t. He just wants to break us down. Especially me. I think that he wants me to turn against my ‘Mat. He wants me to trust him, not the rest of my family. By telling me what everyone else didn't, he wants to gain my trust.” She began to giggle hysterically.

“To think, my life in Hogwarts is ruined, my brother is marrying my greatest enemy, my father is trying to destroy me, and I'm sitting in a tower laughing.” Her face fell again. Her giggles subsided and she sighed deeply.
 
“Oh, I’m going nuts.”

He looked up at her and nodded mutely. So - the likely hood of immediate danger was low. That was good. He made a mental note to write to an Auror. Ackerly he couldn't, the poor man had retired. Which left...he frowned. He'd just write to Raynor and ask her if she could have an Auror check up on the situation, if he wasn't able to find the Russian details of the case himself. Writing to Strelnikov's relatives was likely a good idea, too.

But for now, that could wait. He'd better get to the truly important thing, which was Strelnikov herself. And keeping her sane so he wouldn't have to worry about her jumping off the tower.

"Given what's happened, you're right to feel that way," he said, putting his tea aside and shifting into the lotus position out of habit. "And I'll assume," he added with a slight dash of wry humor, "That any attempt to gain your trust has failed. I'd recommend staying as clear of your father as possible, for now. As obvious as that advice might seem."

He rested his elbows on his knees, ling fingers steepled together. "If you're really muggle and veela, Strelnikov, then you're just as wizarding as most of this school, even if half the purebloods here wouldn't want to admit it," he said, seriously. "You said you didn't know about your veela charm. Do you know how far back that goes?"

Picking up her tea again, Demitria watched her Professer's mind work. She always enjoyed seeing how people thought, what quirks they had when in their heads. It was an odd habit, but it was informing if nothing else. Mostly, she wanted to know whether her teacher thought she was absolutley bonkers or not. She was pulled by her reverie by Trishna's voice.

She took a sip of her tea and nodded. "Whatever he hoped to accomplish, I don't think it worked. You can never tell with my father, though."

Her eyebrows knitted at Professor Trishna's next statement. She didn't want to insult her Professor's intelligence, but she highly doubted it. She smirked slightly, the expression feeling completely natural.

"My veela charm... Well, I think I've had my veela charm since birth. You see, my grandmother was part veela, my great grandmother was full veela, and there were quite a few others in our line. But not everyone inherited the charm. I don't know what to do with it..."

She shrugged, feeling much calmer after the tea began settling in her stomach.

"And the fully human members of your family are Halfblood or Pure, correct? Other than your mother," he said, continuing to do the math.

"Veelas are an odd case, blood-wise," he said, frowning at his tea. He smirked slightly, darkly amused for a moment by the prejudices of the wizarding world. "Unlike Giants and Goblins, and, er, Merpeople too I suppose," the fact that you could even have half Merpeople was new to him as of this year, "No one seems to care about Veela ancestry. In fact, some treat it as a point of pride. Enhanced magical abilities with stunning beauty? It's hard to whine about that. Only the really hardass wizard purists care about that, and they're the same people who marry siblings to keep the line 'true'." He made airquotes.

He ran a finger around the rim of his glass, tapping it with his nail. "As you've probably guessed, I'm not one for blood purity." He snorted. "My father was a muggle, and my mother was..." He looked up at her, seriously. "Quite a bit like you pre-today, I suppose - just axe the nice and sweet bits of you. More like Li, maybe?" He didn't know Li well; but from what he'd heard... "She was pureblood and the heiress to Egypt's Kanika clan. Got the princess treatment her entire life." He pressed his lips into a line; realizing what that could lead to, in Strelnikov's case. Then he smirked, his tone and expression darkly sarcastic. "I wasn't a welcome addition to the family, to say the least."

Demitria looked confused for a moment. The word mother was going to be a huge source of confusion for the next few weeks. "No, my mother is a- oh- ja. Yes, only my mother was a muggle. All the rest are pureblooded, not even half-blood. At least, as far as I know. Even the bastard children are purebloods, as odd as that sounds. My youngest brother is 19 and he isn't my 'Mat's either. But he's a pureblood."

She couldn't help but smirk at his next comment. She thought about it for a little, and certainly, being veela was nothing too terrible, she supposed. After all, even if a child didn't inherit the traits of a veela, every Strelnikov for the past seven or eight generations had been unerringly beautiful. It made sense now why when she had looked at the old portraits at her Grandmother Nika's that every one of her ancestors had good looks. She used to think that they had just paid the artists extra money.

She listened to the story of his mother with intrest. Trishna's mother sounded a lot like her father, minus the fact that her father had doted on her as a child, probably in an outward effort to hide her actual blood. She nodded when he compared her to Li. "They're probably similar. I love Kitty to death, but she can be the biggest bitch sometimes. Fortunatley, that's why it's good to be on the same side."

She shugged. "I think everything that my father did was for show. Well, that and he knew I'd catch a handsome sum one day. I was betrothed when I was five, although, I don't beleive it still stands... at least I hope it doesn't." Strellie grimaced. "The darker side of the Princess life."