Italics are flashbacks. Yes, all of them. :p
Grey was such an interesting colour.
He'd never noticed it before he'd been brought here, to this place where grey was the colour of everything and anything. Walls, blankets, clothes and food: the very air he breathed was grey. He could feel the colour as it infiltrated his body and permeated the core of his being, smotheringly dark and gloom-ridden. He focused unblinking on the distinct shades from his position, huddled in the corner of the room. Even the chill of the wall pressed against his back was grey, so very grey, and yet -
It was different from the grey he had once breathed. That grey had been lighter and keener at the same time: the silvery-grey of a demiguise pelt, of a sharpened knife, of unforgiving eyes...
"Been a while, hasn't it?"
Those eyes. He didn't want to look at those eyes. Yet he raised his head to meet the gaze that captured his own so mercilessly.
"Or would you even know?" A single mocking sigh, the rustling of silk. "Poor little boy. You're missing so much, trapped in here, in this tiny little room..."
Grey words hanging in grey air, clawing their way into his lungs, suffocating him with their texture. His head spun, light and dark swirling and mingling before his eyes.
"I can help you."
The room froze, sharp silver pinning everything in place.
"You know I can help you. You want me to help you."
Yes. He wanted him to help, he was the only one who could save him - save them.
"But I won't."
He bit his lip, tasting the metallic tang of his own blood, while silver daggers stabbed beneath his skin.
"Can you hear their screams?"
He could. He could hear the screams. Shattered cries of pain and abandonment. He could hear the screams.
"Crucio!"
Mortal agony given voice. They were suffering. They were going to die.
"Can you hear them calling your name?"
It echoed in his skull unforgivably, his name on their lips, torn from their throats, ripped from their lungs.
"Can you hear them dying?"
He could hear them. He could hear them.
"And you can't help them."
Helpless. He was helpless. He had no wand, his body ached...
"Alohomora." The click of a lock.
The door was open. Freedom lay beyond; and his friends, his dying friends...
"I've brought you something. Didn't think I'd miss you out, did you?"
He had one chance, one single chance - he lunged forward and upward, grasping and clutching with all the strength left to him.
Dimly he heard the clatter of wood and metal falling to the floor. He tightened his grip, but the other kicked at his leg, already broken and bleeding from before.
He collapsed, shoved roughly away from his only means of support, and groped blindly for another chance to escape, to save them - his fingers wrapped themselves around the thin, wooden shaft that could literally spell salvation for them all...
"You think you can save them, in your condition?" A laugh, incredulous, mocking even in the face of defeat. "You'd never make it to them alive, let alone - "
Despair and desperation vied for control of his voice. This was his only chance. He was their only chance -
"Imperio!"
The world was grey, and not quite right. There were shadows dancing where hope had once shone, whispered accusations where implorations had made their stand.
"Save them!" The words scratched his raw throat as they burst out of him uncontrollably. "Do anything you have to, just SAVE THEM!"
The wand was snatched abruptly from his fingers. His hands scrabbled at the ground as he fought to drag himself from the room, ignoring the painful protestations of his mangled leg.
But there was no pain. He didn't question this miracle, simply sprang from the ground and elbowing his way past the hands that sought to keep him from his goal. The screams were getting louder, he was getting closer -
"What do you think you're doing?!" He wouldn't make it. "Stop him, you fools!"
DO ANYTHING!
"THEY'RE SAFE!"
He blinked. Too late.
"Avada kedavra!"
No...
"They're safe as can be, it's alright..."
"Avada kedavra!"
It wasn't all right.
"You saved - you did all you could. It's over - "
Silver eyes glazed over in horror -
What had he done? What had he done?
"It's over, long over. Everyone's here, with us..."
Silver eyes deadened to grey. Half-familiar voices whispering questions he couldn't answer. Grey eyes staring. Their voices still screaming.
Those eyes. He didn't want to look at those eyes.
"You're safe now, we're all safe now... Somebody put that silence spell back up again! The screaming must have set him off again..."
"Unforgivable."
He curled in on himself, trying to forget the screams, the eyes, the bodies on the floor...
A sharpened knife. A broken blade.
He'd failed them all.
The walls of his room were still grey. They'd tied him to the bed again. The bindings were soft and flexible and grey. This time he couldn't hear the screams, see the bodies, but he knew they were there. He wouldn't be allowed to forget. It was just a matter of time until he would come, untouchable silver-grey, and remind him.
"Unforgivable."
He focused unwavering on the shadow-tainted hues of his room while he waited for him to return.
Grey was such an interesting colour.
July '01
[MirrorForest][Fanfics][rhionae@hotmail.com]