[fanfiction] Final: I'm Done Running Away (Prompt vignette, OC, drama)

Parkinson. Malfoy. Goyle. Greengrass. Bulstrode. Avery. Nott. Zabini. Each of them, one by one, filing out of the Great Hall. The table emptied like a broken vial spilling out its toxic contents. Because of the actions of one student--no, not just any student. Pansy Parkinson actually had the gall--or perhaps the cowardice--to suggest that Harry Potter be turned over to Voldemort. It was not that Adriana was surprised--it was almost too predictable, as was the turning of every single wand in Hogwarts on her house. Disgusted, angry, perhaps a bit betrayed herself, but not surprised in the least. As the other Slytherins left the Hall, soon only Adriana was left behind.

"Miss Cross, that includes you," McGonagall admonished as students in the other three houses, as well as many professors, turned their eyes to watch Adriana.

She had stood alone quite often throughout her life; she was accustomed, and possibly inclined, to it anyway. Now, though, there was a different feeling to it far removed from the disheartening of solitude. It felt as if the longer she stood there, the more firmly rooted she was. She could probably just turn to stone right there, turn into some sort of monument to the lone Slytherin to stand with Harry Potter. As she received the demand from McGonagall, she raised her head so the two of them could make eye contact across the hall through their oval-framed spectacles.

"No, Professor." Just two words, each one of them forged in iron defiance.

McGonagall would not be able to ignore that iron tone; she had felt her own forge crafting the steel will she was going to need soon. Nevertheless, she could not take a risk. "That is a command, Miss Cross. You will--"

"I will not!" Adriana's voice sharply severed the professor's train of speech. Her rebellious declaration was loud enough to be heard throughout the Great Hall. Leaving now, after how far she had come, was not even up for consideration. It would be fleeing in battle moments before the troops were ready to storm the enemy gate. Like killing her own parents, Grandad always told her. The thought of her impetus for fighting only drove the point home further. She had received her annual birthday letter from her grandfather, but it didn't come with the little packages Xavier would always send every year before. It was also carried in the talons of a strange barn owl. She learned that someone had murdered Xavier the night before her eighteenth birthday. Add to this the news that Severus Snape had been murdered by the Dark Lord. Voldemort and his army were killing everyone closest to her. How long until they came for her? They knew who she was now, there was no use in trying to conceal her real intentions. This battle was her only chance now to strike a blow. To defend herself, to seek revenge on her enemies, to try to redeem what, if anything, remained of Slytherin's honour. Now, more than ever, running away truly would be on the same level as her having been the one to cast the Killing Curse on Xavier herself. Running away was not an option. "I'm done running away! If you want me to leave, come down here and make me!"

McGonagall's eyes grew wide, the wrinkles around them branching out behind her silver frames. Usually, her response to such open defiance would have been detention or some other disciplinary action. Something about this, though, was different. The stance Adriana took, like a sentinel sworn to his duty. That look in her eyes, sharp and steeled with resolve. Her voice, issuing a challenge not just to McGonagall, but to anyone else who would oppose her. The professor nudged her spectacles down on the bridge of her nose, studying Adriana over the frames in silence. Ordinarily, there would be distrust--but this was Adriana Cross, a rare breed of Slytherin known for actually not going back on her word. In times before, Adriana had shown herself to take the side of the Order almost exclusively. Whether or not Minerva herself trusted Adriana, she did know her reputation for stubborn pursuit of whatever goal occupied the most space in her mind. Driving her away would take more energy and time than there was to spare; all resources must be used against the Dark Lord. "Very well," she replied with a slight quiver in her voice, "We will accept your aid. But I will have my eye on you, Miss Cross. Please do not make me regret this." McGonagall swallowed her anxiety as best she could, but the doleful look on her face remained.

The sound of murmurs filled the Great Hall between the students at the other three tables. Most of the Hufflepuffs were giving various degrees of disapproving looks toward the empty Slytherin table, Adriana standing as its only occupant. The Ravenclaws seemed a bit more intrigued than anything else, but still, there was an air of distrust. Talk of double agents and conspiracies floated about between them, along with the occasional suspicious glance toward Adriana. The most quiet table seemed to be Gryffindor, and their eyes were on her as well, Harry and the Weasleys among them.

Harry's eyes were fixed, for that moment, on Adriana. That look in her eyes carried a signature stinging cold ember. Unlike most of the others, he had known having Adriana on his side. Though Hermione rejected her request to join Dumbledore's Army, she had slipped in behind them anyway. To deny her this chance would be futile for anyone here. He was also still thinking about Xavier's death, And that was just the news of it. He considered her fortunate not to have been there to see it with her own eyes. Then again, the sight probably would have made her so mad for revenge she could kill Voldemort with just a glare from that one functioning eye. The eye that was now resting on him, but it was not a desire for vengeance. She seemed to be looking for something from him. Approval, perhaps? She didn't need his approval if she truly was on his side. He let his eyes meet with hers for a moment, giving her a subtle, wordless nod.

Adriana broke eye contact. That was all she needed, a gesture of trust. Someone, for once, to trust her without looking at house colors. She hardly even heard Kingsley Shacklebolt assigning the other students to their posts in the towers and on the ground, and the students following. The last of them eventually filed out, only just catching her sight. Once again, she was alone.

But it wasn't the same kind of solitude. She knew things none of them did, saw things none of them saw. She walked toward the doors of the Great Hall as the last of the seventh-years passed through, lifting her head up. To any onlooker her head seemed to be raised with pride and determination, but there was no such look in her eye; it was fixed on the bewitched ceiling, watching the heavy black clouds crawl across the midnight sky, rain pouring from them and disappearing in the air. Occasionally a bolt of lightning split through the darkness like a crack, followed by a sharp peal of thunder. It could be the last time she saw these grand vaults; one last, long gaze was the least she could afford as she walked through the doors.