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The tears had fallen, dried, and began streaming again before the tiny Ravenclaw had reached one of the many secret passages leading to the roof. Always inquisitive the ravenclaw had explored every inch of the castle she could find, falling through the passage wall one day sometime in her third or fourth year.

Wiping her tears with a sleeve she exited the passage, greeted by the light breeze and cool air. Wiping her tears away she moved to her favorite spot on the tower and lay back, looking out across the grounds. Here she could see everything and the only people who could see her was someone on a broomstick or one of those special maps she had heard of in school gossip giving a blueprint of the grounds and a label for every student and teacher in the school.

tchyeah, like one of those existed.

With a sigh as she slumped her bundle of tired nerves into the cool tiles of the celing the dark-headed girl produced a flask from inside her robes, followed by another. Taking three swallows of the calming draft followed by a sip of the sleeping potion she put them away and lay back, looking up at the clouds as she awaited mindless numbing and the rising of the stars.

Sunlight filtered through creased-open eyelids, stiff limbs slowly flexing and stretching with quiet grunts of pain. Orbs of a hazy gold met sky and slowly began to focus on the surroundings.

Sunlight.

Sunlight and grass below, upwards the clouds and a heavenly blue sky, the color of which comes just after the dawn. Attention drawn more to the sluggishness of her body and the stiffness in her limbs the form began to stretch.

Dark matted hair shifted as the bundle of dew covered blue and black robes moved to an upright position. A sore arm was brought up, robes pulled gently away to expose tanned skin and elicits a soft curse. Imprints from a night spent on the shingles of the tower came to play, etched deep and tracing the same indentation over a majority of her skin as her hands sought the end of the pattern on her body.

Never. Again.

Magicking away the grime and dirt-encrusted portion of her disheveled robes Isis abandoned the beauty of the new day, mentally cursing. She was a prefect, not one of those muggle born who turned to potions and draught mixtures to numb the pain away! A daughter of Ravenclaw, the "wisdom" house, mixing potions without knowing the side effects. What had she been thinking?

Too angry with herself to notice the pain which remained firmly settled in her chest or the queasiness in her stomach she decended down the stairs, avoiding the main passageways and opting for the less used staircases and hidden passageways to get to the great hall for breakfast.

Nyx...she would deal with thoughts of Nyx later, but for now had to be who she had always been, before getting caught up with the gryffindor.

The prefect of Ravenclaw.