QLFC Round 9

Kenmare Kestrels

Beater 2

Prompt: Incorporate a classic Disney film into your story (Bambi — I chose the beginning scene of Bambi where Bambi's mother is killed by hunters. This fic takes place during the Deathly Hallows.)

Optional Prompts: 2) clumsy, 5) no dialogue (restriction)

Word Count: 2574

BETA: Queen Bookworm the First

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Home wasn't a word in the child's vocabulary.

Of course, she didn't have much of a vocabulary at all, because if you spoke they would hear you, and they would hunt you down and find you and eat you for supper. That's what Mummy and Daddy said. If you were lucky, they would kill you before they ate you. That's what Mummy and Daddy said, too, but only when they thought she wasn't listening.

In the forest, on the run, you always had to be listening. If you're caught unaware, that's when they creep up on you like shadows. They slither through the forest, festering like mold, waiting until they can pounce and devour you whole. That's what the child assumed, anyways.

Mummy and Daddy said there were monsters after them, but she knew they were men. Men who ate people, alive or dead, who were always watching and listening. They didn't like her father, who wrote in the paper about You-Know-Who. They didn't like her mummy, who had married someone like Daddy.

And they didn't like her, although she didn't know why. Maybe it was because she didn't say thank you last time Mummy gave her a bowl of broth. Maybe it was because she made a face at Daddy behind his back when he told her to pack her bedroll, because they were moving to a new spot again. That wasn't enough to eat someone over, was it?

The forest was her refuge, a never-ending expanse of green. Leaves draped over her head like a crown, and fireflies flitted through the thick, knobbled banks of trees. Mummy and Daddy had magic, but so did the forest. Her parents didn't understand it when she mentioned it to them once, voice as low as it could be because they can always hear you; they're always listening. Mummy and Daddy thought all magic came from their little sticks. But the forest teemed with a magic as old as time, locked up in the trunks of trees and the gurgling creeks she would splash in before Daddy shushed her because she was being too noisy, and they would hear.

She pretended she was a fairy princess with wings that glittered like dew and a dress made from the buds of flowers that bloomed when she soared to the sky. The sky was a distant memory, filtering through the roof of leaves in fragments, chinks in the armor of forest that protected her.

Dinner was a disappointing beetroot stew, poured into bowls carved from a fallen tree. Mummy had just chided her for slurping too loudly with her spoon and she stirred the lumpy beets around her bowl pensively, watching as Mummy and Daddy ate in silence.

Their thoughts hid below the natural sounds of the forest—the creaking like an old man's bones, the rumbling sounds of frogs and the faint rustling of a distant stream. The world was dwarfed by the leaves dancing above her, dappling the ground in a golden afternoon glow. It would almost be pretty if the knot of fear in her stomach wasn't pulsing so badly, pushing spikes of worry up through her veins and dampening her palms.

Her parents didn't talk, but their thoughts spoke clearly in the child's head. Now Daddy would be arguing with Mummy about school or how his daughter wasn't able to read. They used to bicker about those facts often until the child's face lit up in a blush of shame.

The scene played out so perfectly in her head. Daddy's face would be red and his whispers angry, hoarse with frustration. He would spit out the words You-Know-Who and Hogwarts, both equally vile by the way he said them. When she was sent to gather firewood—like they would ever light a real fire, because the fire lured them closer — he would whisper about the child. Daddy whispered about how she was dangerous, how she was stupid because she still got stuck on four-letter words even though she was eight years old, how she was noisy and they would be killed because of her.

Mummy was the mediator, the one to step in and placate Daddy's frenzied bouts of passion. She would place a hand on his arm and whisper smooth words like honey, always under the too-loud mark, and Daddy would settle down. Then the only things that flashed were his eyes. Sometimes if he gripped his magic-stick too tightly sparks would burst forth from it, when he was in a rare fury. Mummy would swoop in and calm him with a smile and whispered words, her healing grace sweeping over the child's father.

Mummy thought the child didn't notice, but she did. With nothing to say and nothing to do, she noticed lots of things, just like she noticed the forest magic and her parents didn't.

Dishes were packed and placed in the bag slung across Daddy's back, stuffed full of extra vegetables, skeins of water that Mummy had stitched herself with the help of her stick, and Daddy's bedroll. When the child was old enough, she had to carry her own, but she had become accustomed to the weight. After living in the forest so long she had grown strong, climbing trees and clusters of boulders when Mummy thought she was going to the loo, singing little songs when Daddy was too far away to hear.

Because as quiet and good as she was, they had never come and even taken so much of a nibble out of her, so she must be doing something right. Even when she bellowed out the tune of Mummy's favorite lullaby, nothing in the forest had even stirred.

Perhaps Mummy and Daddy were wrong. Nothing was after them, chasing them willy-nilly through the winding forest. They could go back home and eat bread, maybe cheese. Sweets were a distant memory, the candy melting on her tongue and exploding through her senses. The very thought made her salivate.

They could go home.

Daddy stood and began to pace, tugging at his hair again as he did so. The child had noticed that he was really two men as opposed to just one. Sometimes he was her cheering, delighted father, who would scoop her up in his arms and tickle her and didn't even fuss at her when she giggled too loudly. He would beam when she spelled a five-letter word correctly and cradle her in his strong arms when she was frightened. Other times he was angry and quick to snap at her and Mummy, eyes as dark as stormclouds and voice like lightning when he lashed out against them. He was almost always angry now, and it was a wonder he didn't lean his head back to the sky and holler at it to keep the wind down, for it was too loud.

The ridiculous thought made her laugh and her father's eyes snapped to her, brooding and dangerous. Quickly she dropped her head, laughter dying in her throat.

I'm always too loud, always too slow, always too small. I'll never be the daughter Mummy and Daddy want.

Tears brimmed in her eyes and she whispered to her mother that she would be back shortly, then bounded into the woods before she could protest.

Heat pressed at her eyes and she fought to keep the tears in, because crying was too loud and she didn't plan on being eaten anytime soon. But like a river they poured down her face, painting her cheeks in salty wetness as she sniffed and snuffled, running as far away from the camp as she could. She needed to be away from Mummy and Daddy, their rules and their fear that hovered over them like a cloud, ready for the lightning to strike.

With a wail she fell to the ground and covered her face with her arms, tucking her knees to her chest. The cool ground pressed against the side of her face, tears pooling on the dirt as she sobbed there, curled up in a tight ball.

The forest's magic had turned dark and stern like her father's eyes, black trees looming over her vision. The setting sun, once golden and magical, cast shadows like demons across the ground, snapping at her heels. A chill cast itself over the world, a cold that pricked at her nose and her ears and her fingers. A light brush of cold dotted her cheek and she realized it was snowing.

The wind whipped the fat flakes into her damp eyes and she cried harder, tugging the soiled collar of her shirt up to wipe her dripping nose. The cold only made her nose drip more and she scowled.

Just because I can't read doesn't mean I'm not smart. She growled—her thoughts roared, far louder than her mummy and daddy would deem appropriate. The sound boomed in her ears and she couldn't keep a smile from her face. It felt good, it felt right, and though her imaginary voice cracked with the volume she kept talking, practically shouting to the treetops.

Just because I'm loud doesn't mean I'm not a good daughter! Her hollers reached the smallest leaf on the tallest trees, graced the stars. Her lips puckered to form the words, breath hissing between her teeth. She couldn't bring herself to actually say them, to utter them would be death by the bared teeth of them.

Just because Daddy writes bad about You-Know-Who and Mummy married a Mudblood doesn't mean I don't love them! The swear burned across her tongue and she relished the feeling of it, even though a twinge of shame sparked in her belly. She shouldn't be shouting, not even in her mind, she shouldn't be away from Mummy and Daddy, she shouldn't shouldn't shouldn't.

In one last fit of rebellion she craned her neck back and bawled to the sky, wishing with all of her heart she had the courage to speak. I wish Voldemort never existed!

There, she had said it. She had finally admitted it. Savage pleasure raced through her body, replaced by gut-wrenching fear. She had been so loud, surely they were here now, with their claws sharpened and fangs ready to cut her to ribbons. They could surely hear her mind, because even when she was at her most careful her parents told her to be quieter, so they must be able to hear her screaming thoughts. Mummy and Daddy were in danger because of her! Again the tears threatened to fall and she kicked herself for her stupidity. If they were in trouble because of her…

She would never forgive herself.

The woods were carpeted with snow, flakes dribbling down from the sky and dusting the trees with a fine veneer of pure-white. Her boots punched through the glaze, snow creeping down her socks and soaking her feet until her toes puckered like raisins. The journey back seemed to take much longer than before, and her breath came in short gasps by the time she had reached the camp — or what was left of it.

The first thing she noticed was their temporary home in disarray. The carefully packed bags had been slashed and ransacked. The trees nearby had deep scars and burns in them from magic — she had seen Daddy burn a tree once with a wayward spell. Where was Daddy? Where was Mummy?

The second thing she noticed was one of them. A lone man stood against a tree, his shadow melding into the darkness that seemed to cling to him like a border, a halo of pure malice. His hands framed the limp body of child's mother, her head lolling back on her neck. Silvery hair draped around the man's neck, and his teeth were bared in a roguish smile. The man's hands snaked down his mother's sides to her waist, then pushed lower…

Abruptly, the monster raised his head and caught sight of the child paralyzed in the shadows. His lips pulled in a tight grin. Mummy leaned back in the forced embrace with the man, her dull eyes meeting her daughter's horrified ones.

Go!

The man pulled a magic-stick out of his tattered overcoat—he had magic, like Mummy and Daddy did—and pressed the point under Mummy's chin. Ice crept up the child's legs and shivering body, piercing her heart as a blast of green snapped her mother's head back. The sparkle in Mummy's eyes was gone.

She was gone.

Spinning on her heel, the child turned round and barreled into the embrace of the trees, swiping a hand across her eyes to free the tears and stringy hair from her vision. The cold numbed her limbs and made her steps clumsy, but she had lots of practice running through the woods before. Her footing, while shaky, was true. Her steps were as silent as the deer that bounded through the woods like ghosts, manifestations of the forest magic that she could touch.

Manifestations. That was a big word Daddy had taught her. At the thought of him the child's gut tightened and she pushed herself faster, arms and legs pumping, breath whistling as she sprinted. Where was he? The woods unfolded before her, roots tearing through the ground like veins. The lifeblood of the forest pulsed beneath her heels. Leaves kicked up behind her, the faintest whispers against the screeches and shrieks of the oncoming monsters.

The men who had shadows like demons. She imagined the dogs straining at their leashes, mouths frothing with flying spittle. Both man and beast had eyes like hot coals, burning bright and leaving no trace of anything living in their wake. After so long, she had finally met them.

A particularly large tree's roots spread over a wide area, knobs crossing over each other and tracing their path across the ground like raised scars. The child crawled to a small pit where the roots met the tree, the shooting bits of wood easily as wide around as she was. An indent in the ground gave way under her touch, revealing a hollow formed by the roots. Without a second thought she squeezed her way into the hollow, pulling her soaked boots in behind her and pressing her face against a gap in the roots.

She heard the heavy, clomping footsteps of them, mixed with the faintest brushes of shoe-soles against the grass. Daddy burst into view for a second, limbs flying as he raced past. The child pressed her back against the mesh of roots, breath coming short as her father started to dash out of view. He was gone, the monsters were after him. They had killed Mummy and were going to eat Daddy alive…

Like true shadows, they froze for a second and disappeared into the nighttime chill. They formed the barest shadows of men, flickering silhouettes of enormous hounds with hackles raised and teeth bared that glinted in the low light. Still mysterious, still dangerous.

And they were after her father.

The roaring barks of the dogs sent lightning down her skull. It was all too loud, and if you're too loud they'll come to get you… And they had finally come.

The child fell asleep huddled in the hollow of the tree, hair pressed to her still wet cheeks, the memory of her mother's dead eyes lurking in her nightmares.

If this was magic, it was cruel and unforgiving, and she wanted nothing to do with it.