~*Inferno*~
For never was a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo
~ Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare
Written By: A.C
"Imperio"
One word is all it takes.
Where am I? Who am I? What happened?
Everything fades in comparison to the bliss I'm experiencing. I can't concentrate about anything else than the feeling of flying, of soaring through the air at break-neck speed, eyes on the Quaffle. The feeling of lying in bed in the morning and drifting between dreams and reality, having the choice of choosing either one of them. The feeling of being high, of floating on colors and rainbows and puppies. I feel divine, like nothing can beat me and even if it does, it doesn't matter, because nothing can get better than what already is.
And in the middle of my euphoria there is a thought. An foreign urging from the outside...
Look at me.
Crystalline bells, purling water, the choir of angels... Nothing can measure up to that suave voice, that thought that vibrates brilliantly in my mind, bringing me to new highs. I want desperately to please this wonderful angel in front of me.
Look at me.
I do. I do. I do! How could I ever do otherwise?
I see you... Oh, how I see you... You're an angel walking among mankind. So beautiful it should be illegal. Skin so smooth it could be mistaken for vanilla ice-cream and eyes so glacier blue that they cut through me like ice shards.
After I'm done talking, you will return home and act normal. You're not going to tell anyone what happens here.
Of course not. Why would I?
A smile on full, red lips. As smooth as silk, as sharp as a razor. I want so desperately to lean forward and touch that smile, that smirk that is shining on the angel's face. There is an air around that whispers that if I touch it, that beautiful flame, it will burn me black. So beautiful and so tempting. But such things are not for humans to touch, not even witches such as me, so I stay still and silent.
It will be our secret...
Our secret, I agree. Our little secret...
Nobody needs to know. It wouldn't be fair to tell them. It's a secret. Our little secret. A secret...
You will do as I say and execute my orders without protests or delays.
Of course... I'll do anything for the angel in front of me. I'm just so happy. So, so happy... Nothing can go wrong, I can feel it in my gut. This is right. This is perfect. This is happiness.
He smiles at me, my flawless angel, and I feel myself smile back maniacally. He hasn't said a word yet, but I know that when he does it will perfect, just like him. Everything is perfect, there's just so much color and life. Euphoria at its greatest moments.
"What do you want me to do?" I whisper harshly in the silence of the night. The trees bend over us like they're listening in on our conversation.
His smile widens and turns wickedly dangerous. He reaches out with one hand, softly touching my face and tracing my jawbone. Another wave of pure bliss rolls over me, drenching me in the floating feeling of dreams and hope.
Now, Princess... The thought in my head is not mine, but it doesn't matter. I want you to bring out your brother...
I nod eagerly. That will be easy because Sam adores me and would do anything I asked him for.
Bring your brother out here, Princess... The Angel whispers. And kill him...
One word is all it takes... and then I'm lost.
-w-
When I come to it, I'm covered in red. Red, red, red... Red as tomatoes. Red as roses. Red as blood.
RedRedRedRedRed.
What is this? Is this blood? It's blood. It's blood!
My mind is slow, sluggish almost. It refuses to cooperate and I feel detached, unreal... Something in the back of my mind is tugging, whispering sweet promises and compelling me to lose myself again. I wonder if this is how drug addicts feel. I want so badly to drift off into the sandy dunes of dreams and escape from the bloody reality and the dark figure that lies beneath my blood-soaked hands.
What have I done?
I try to remember. I went out to drink in the moonlight and clear my head and then... then... the Angel... Oh god. Oh dear god. He told me to bring him Sam. Did I do it? I can't remember. I vaguely recall taking someone's hand and telling them it was okay, but then... It's blurry. It shouldn't be blurry. Why is it blurry? Is it a memory spell? I can't-...
My head clears and my vision swims back. I gasp for air as suddenly I'm thrust back in the dark, cold world that is my home. For a moment -a single moment- I'm free and triumphant.
Then I see the body.
He's lying face down on the ground, his dark hair dried with blood, one of his hands squished between the ground and his body and the other one curled up near his face. He's wearing black robes and his back is a mess. Drying blood is dripping from the mangled cloth and skin and a face flashes before my mind, replacing the pale white one in front of me.
"Raoul?" I croak. "Raoul!"
I look down on my hands, blood drenched and treacherous. The fingers of my right hands hugs the handle of a bloody knife and I let it tumble down into my lap, unable to hold it any longer.
Oh god... Oh god, why can't I remember anything? Did I do this? I did this, didn't I? What did I do? What have I done?
"Raoul!" I cry out and throws myself forward, touching the corpse with trembling fingers. In my mind all I can see is my brothers, Raoul and Sam, with their arms slung across each other's shoulders, laughing at some stupid joke that they've come up with. Raoul can't be dead. It simply isn't possible. He's the toughest son of a bitch I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. He made bad guys tremble in their boots. Hell, he was the bad guy of the badass guys. Ironic really, because Sam was training to become an Auror and when Raoul graduated he would probably hang out in Knockturn alley beating up the Hit-Wizards.
If he graduates, a nasty voice in the back of my head sneers, which thanks to you he may never do now.
I'm shaking violently as I brush the dirt of the corpse's face with trembling fingers. Underneath the mud he's much looks around twenty-five. His dull blue eyes are hidden by a milky veil and they're staring unseeingly at the sky, wide and blank. His sausage lips are swollen and bluish, his snub nose is leaking a thin thread of barely dried blood. He is most certainly dead, but he is not my brother. His features are too soft, too round for Raoul.
I stumble back, sobbing in relief and horror. Relief, because it's not my brother so my brother has to be alive. Relief, because I haven't killed my own flesh and blood. Horror, because even if he isn't my brother, then what am I doing in on the murder scene sitting next to the murder victim with the murder weapon in my hand? Horror, because I can't remember what happened. Horror, because I think I just killed someone.
I have his blood on my hands. His blood... On my hands...
RedRedRedRedRedRedRedRed
What have I done?
What did I do?
Red blood dripping onto the ground. Red blood in the dirt. Torn skin and barely cooling flesh.
Oh God. Oh dear God.
Why?
I stumble back and as my back hits the tree trunk I fold and sink down on the ground, pressing myself against the tree as I sob.
I can't remember what happened.
I think I killed him.
I think I killed someone.
Oh God. Oh God. He had people who loved him. People who'll look for him. A mom and a dad. Siblings. A wife and child perhaps. I took him away from them. They'll never see him again. They'll never tell him they love him again.
I stare at the expressionless face on the ground. There's no emotion there, no indicator that he had ever been more than a corpse, but I can't help but to wonder if he was scared in the end. Oh dear god, I hope it was quick, but judging by the wounds on his back it was sloppy and slow. Whoever did it (I did it! I did it!) was inexperienced, didn't have the knowledge how to kill quickly and quietly.
I'm a monster. A real-life monster. I'm worse than a Death Eater. I'm worst than You-Know-Who. What am I going to do know? What am I going to do?!
I need to tell the Aurors. The Hit-Wizards. Someone. I need to confess to what I did and I need to do it now. I need to find my wand and... Where is my wand?
I try to stand up, but my legs are shaking so badly that I fall down immediately, my hands splashing into half dried pools of blood. A sob escapes my mouth as I look at it, holding my bloodied hands closely to my chest as if it's all that keeps me from falling apart.
RedRedRedRed.
Guilty-red. Monster-red. Deserves-to-die-red.
Please, I want to wake up now.
Please, let this be a dream.
I start to cry, because this is not a dream. I've killed someone (I killed someone! I killed someone!") and I'm not going to wake up. I'm never going to wake up. I'm never going to be able to wash that blood off my hands and I have to live with it forever because I killed someone.
God! God, why? Why did I do it?
I try to remember. I reach down in my mind and tug at the misty memories of a dream. I can vaguely remember someone whispering to me, The Angel, as I walk back towards the house. I can remember opening the front door, and footsteps and a voice... Is everything okay, Stephenie?
Alarm.
And then...
Bliss.
"I killed him. I killed him I killed him I killed him I killed him" The words won't leave my head. I try saying them out loud. Maybe they will grow wings and fly away into the night if I just say it long enough.
It doesn't, and I'm left in the cold, chanting my sins to high heaven and crying helplessly.
I'm never going to be let into Heaven now.
Princess
I stop chanting, my eyes wide as I stare out in nothing, listening to the weak voice of the Angel. I'm captured by his voice, those feverish tones and the razor-sharp beauty that it holds. I want to listen to it forever until my ears bleed and my lungs ache, but I know that I shouldn't. I shouldn't feel so happy just hearing it. I want to break free of the hold it has on me but I can't.
One word and I'm he's captive.
I don't need to see him, I'm already flying on high clouds, the sensation strengthening for every minute, leaving my worries behind in the dust. A tiny voice inside my head argues with me, insists that something is wrong, that I have to fight back, but I can't. I don't want to.
"Yes?" I croak out, my throat hoarse from crying. I don't bother to wipe the tears from my cheeks, too happy to even care.
Whatever you'd like me to do.
Whatever you want me to do I will.
I live to serve you.
I adore you.
Tell me what to do and I'm yours.
Princess, there's been a change of plans. He whispers in my head. I smile foolishly at a tree, so happy that he's back, so happy that he's alive (Why wouldn't he be?). You'll still help me though, won't you? I'll even let that pesky brother of yours live.
Anything.
A hum of approval goes through me. I grin even wider and some absent part of my brain notices that I've stopped shaking now, that I'm just sitting here, waiting for the Angel's next request.
Good. Very good.
There's a brief pause. The bushes to my left rustles and suddenly he's there, standing in front of me like a vengeful angel, face smeared in battle-cry red and clothes rumpled. I look up at him with adoring eyes, soaking him in. He's more beautiful than anyone I've ever meet, but it's a terrible kind of beauty. The beauty of razorblades before cutting, of fire before the inferno, of poisonous apples that looks so good you just have to eat them, even if they make you shrivel up from the inside out.
Act normal, Princess. He says in that siren voice of his, the one that echoes inside my head even though his lips -beautiful terrible lips- doesn't move. And stop grinning, it's disturbing. My smile disappears immediately.
Anything for him.
Anything for me. My Angel agrees, his lips curving into a razor-sharp smile. He crouches at my height, his glacier eyes glittering like newly fallen snow.
I know you'd do anything for me, and you know I'd do anything for you. You are very special to me, Little Princess, you know that right? He reaches out one cold hand and strokes my cheek. I tremble under his touch, so very happy (scared). You are so very special, even the Dark Lord thinks so. That's why he's entrusted you with a mission, my special little Princess. A special mission for my special Princess. And you want to make the Dark Lord happy, don't you?
I nod eagerly.
I want to make the Dark Lord happy.
Thought so. For a moment I almost think he's mocking me, but then the moment passes and all I see is my Angel, my angel who thinks I'm special. You are going to do this very special mission, little Princess, and you're going to do it well. I'll even help you, so there's no need to be nervous.
Of course not, no need to be nervous. I'm only happy (weak).
He pulls back, straightening up as he looks down at me.
That's right. His eyes are two cold shards of ice, glittering mockingly in the dark. No need to be nervous. No need at all.
Just remember. This is our little secret.
I'm flying (falling).
-w-
"Ravenclaw!" The hat screams. The new Ravenclaw student (Clementine something) jumps off the chair with a big smile, nearly tripping over her robes in her hurry to reach her new table.
The sorting is over. Dinner is starting.
Finally...
"Have an egg, they're are full off all the important amino acids you need for a day" Garrett says in that matter-of-factly voice of his. He gives me an egg without even bothering to wait for my answer, still not looking up from the thick, old book he's currently reading.
I make a face at the egg, feigning grumpiness although I'm not feeling anything but happy (I'm always happy these days). "I don't like eggs" I tell him, still wearing the face that says; a-dragon-just-peed-on-my-brand-new-boots. Irritated and disgusted with a hint of horrification. Perfect for the occasion when your super smart best friend puts and egg on your plate, which you hate by the way (the egg, not the plate).
Garrett keeps his eyes on the dusty old pages, humming distractedly towards me. I pout, but Garrett is still completely enthralled in The Secrets of Rectangular Stone Potions, the gesture goes unnoticed.
After a minute or so of staring disgustedly at my egg, I reach for the bread. My hand knocks into someone else's and I look up quickly, an apology on my lips that dies the minute I see who I bumped hands with.
Zachary Hale.
The star Ravenclaw Chaser.
The guy that every girl in seventh year (With the possible exception of Daisy Freely on the account of her being a wimp) wants a piece of. Or well, more than a piece if we have to get technical, but you get my point. He ensnares everyone with his golden curls and sky-blue eyes. The girls in the bathrooms sometimes whisper that he's an angel (Although he has nothing against my Angel).
He's handsome, smart (he gets full grades every year, which I know about because Garrett -who shares the same dormitory with the guy- always complains about it), he's well-mannered and generally well-liked. Short story long... He's prefect. Absolutely, inarguably, bloody perfect.
And he's looking at me. Smiling at me even. Underneath the fog of happiness I can feel the faint stirring of panic.
What do I do? What do I say? Is he smiling at me or someone behind me?
"Hi?" I squeak out, and then when I realize that I never apoligized for bumping hands with him. "Sorry?"
He grins at me (Actually grins at me!) and says; "No problem" before grabbing the breadbasket and turning towards his Quidditch team mates to laugh at some joke they just told.
I can only stare after him with starry eyes.
"Close your mouth" Garrett says absentmindedly as he flips pages. "A Musca domestica may decide to fly in"
I blink. "A what?" I ask him.
He blinks, looks up momentarily with unreadable, blue eyes from behind thick glasses. "A fly" He finally says. "A fly, Stephenie"
Oh... Right.
I turn away from his studying eyes (Garrett has a habit of looking at everything and everyone as if they are slides beneath a microscope) and look out over the Great Hall. In the sea of heads, at the Gryffindor table, two dark-haired boys are having a mock fight, laughing as they pull each other's hair and try to nosedive into the mashed potatoes, unaware of what fate has in store for them (What we have in store for all of them).
I look at them, and I see true friendship. I look at them, and I see bravery, brotherhood, love...
I look at them, and I see death...
-w-
Go to the Owlery. My Angel commands me. Tell him to stop stalling... or else...
-w-
The first time I meet him the rush of the spell (Imperio-Imperio-Imperio-Oh god what have I done?) is fading and I'm stumbling forward, trying to understand how I got here (What happened? Where am I? What is this noise?) when I trip over the carpet.
One minute my face is about to meet the floor and the next a pair of strong, leather clad arms have caught me. I'm enfolded in the scent of cigarette smoke and firewhiskey and fresh mint gum. I'm trembling, scared, shocked, grateful, and I look up at my savior at the same moment as he drops me. I squeak and hit the ground hard, barely bringing up my hands to lighten the fall.
"You-.. You-..." I'm so angry I can barely form any words. My knee throbs painfully and I'm pretty sure my hands are bleeding. I glare up at him (not a savior, a jerk) and his lips twitch like he's about to smile (smirk).
"Sorry love," he tells me, leaning back against the wall and taking a long drag of his cigarette. "I thought you were someone else" (someone pretty)
"And when you discovered I wasn't, you decided that dropping me on my head was the best idea" I bite out, because no one - not even Sirius Black - is allowed to insult me.
He smirks.
"Don't get your panties in a bunch. Something tells me people has been doing that to you since you were a baby" He tells me, still so untouchably smooth and cold.
"Go to hell" I tell him, and then I stand up as graciously as I can (Which judging by his grin, isn't very gracious at all) and storm away as fast as I can down the hallway (except my knees hurting like a bitch and I'm more limping than storming).
"Nice seeing you love" He shouts to my back. I flip him off without even turning.
His laughter follows me all the way to the stairs.
-w-
Focus on the mission. My Angel whispers. Don't make me regret choosing you.
(Never!)
-w-
The next time I see him it's raining. I'm standing alone in an alley in Hogsmead, uncertain to just why I'm here (Did Garrett try one of his experimental potions on me again?), when he bumps into me quite literally when he drags in the blonde seventh year for a quick shag. We stumble - but luckily we don't fall - and he turns around with raging eyes.
"You" He snarls. "What the hell are you doing here"
I'm mad.
I must be, because the minute I see him and his blonde bimbo - screaming at me for no other reason than just standing there - a sort of cold flame bubbles up in my stomach, burning me from the inside and slithering up my throat to spew into the rain.
"I'm waiting for you" I tell him, and his perfect, stupid lips open to form an even more perfect 'O'. "Remember the thing you gave me?" I ask him and I can see that he has no idea where I'm going and probably (definitely) thinks I'm crazy. "Well," I tell him. "I just wanted to tell you that the boils have set in. You know, down there" I gesture towards the area between my stomach and my legs. "But don't worry, the Healers say it's not lethal, so we don't have to worry about dying, although you should probably think about keeping your pants on, it's very contagious"
And then, before he has the chance to gather his wits and make sense of what exactly I just said, I spin around and marsh away, my head held high and my back straight.
Behind me I can hear the girl excuse herself (run, little rabbit, run) and Black trying desperately to salvage the situation.
I smile.
-w-
"Professor Bribble?" I ask, gripping my wand tight in my hands. He looks up from the essays sprawled over his desk. "I have a job for you"
He doesn't even have time to reach for his wand.
-w-
The third time I see him, he doesn't know I'm there. I'm sitting in the library, trying to catch up to a week's worth of homework I don't even know how I got to being with (How many lessons have I been sleeping through?), when I hear his voice drifting through the bookshelves to my right.
"-not kidding you, Prongs, she told Cara I had an STD" I straighten up almost immediately and lean over, glancing between the shelves to get a better look. He's wearing the same leatherjacket I always see him with and I wonder if he ever takes it off. He's leaning back in his chair, balancing it on its hind legs. I can't see his face, but I can see his friends (mostly because said friend is doubled over laughing), and I recognize it as a Gryffindor seventh year. James Potter, Gryffindor chaser extraordinaire.
"Classic" Potter snorts out between laughter. Apparently a tad upset that he's friend is laughing at him, Black aims a punch towards his friends shoulder. Potter ducks, but when he straightens up again he's stopped laughing.
"I'm telling you, Prongs, there's something about her..." He trails off and one of his hands twitches in his lap as if he wants to hit something.
"A little in love, are we?" Potter teases him.
"Fuck you" Black growls. "I'm not in love"
"Really? Then why are we even talking about her?"
"Because she told Cara I have an STD! Do you know how hard it is to sleep with anyone now? The whole castle thinks I'm contagious!" He sounds upset, every muscle in his body tense. I wonder if I should be worried. The Marauders aren't exactly known to be the forgetting and forgiving type of guys. But then again, he probably doesn't even know my name.
"That... That has to be the funniest
thing I've heard about in ages!" Potter snickers.
"It's not funny! It's cruel! I mean, who does that to another person!? There's got to be some kind of law against doing that" Black exclaims angrily.
"Yeah, it's called Don't interrupt Sirius Black from getting laid by telling the school's worst gossiper that he has an STD. I'm calling it DIS-LAID, for short" Potter is definitely enjoying this more than is socially acceptable.
"It's not funny!" Black says, and he sounds positively murderous. "It's not! She told Cara I had an STD!"
"You really need to get over it, mate" The amused tone doesn't leave Potter's voice.
There's a brief silence.
"Shit. I've got to find her don't I?" Black says, sounding like a death convict walking towards the gallows. I can see the librarian - Ms. Pince - coming towards me, her eyes narrowed and her ears streaming black smoke. I straighten up and glance down to see that one of the books have a brown stain where my coffee has spilled out.
Crap.
I'm so dead.
"I'm afraid so, mate" James Potter says from the other side of the bookcase. "I'm afraid so"
-w-
Only a little longer, my angel whispers. Soon, princess, soon...
-w-
I lose time. I'm drifting. I'm dreaming (of redredredred blood on my hands).
I look up into sky blue eyes, my lips against his, my skin against his, and I gasp; "What am I doing here?" and then, feeling dizzy with happiness, I say; "Zach"
Tell me all your secrets.
When I'm awake I'm confused. I stumble through corridors, wake up in strange places dressed in strange clothes. I'm going mental, that's for sure, and everywhere I turn there he is.
Sirius Black.
Lady-killer. Charismatic. Suave. Bad Boy of the Century.
Jerk.
"Come on, Love, tell me your name" He says smoothly.
"Go and fuck yourself. Black!" I snap back.
I'm drifting. Dreaming (I'm Stephenie. I'm a witch. I will (not) obey). Swirling down down down down and I don't want to hit the ground (It'll hurt It'll hurt).
Do as I say, my angel whispers. Our little secret, remember?
Our little secret, I agree.
I'm drifting.
-w-
"Tell me" I encourage him where we lay among pillows and sheets. "Tell me everything"
And he does.
-w-
In a moment of clearness I hesitate. Something inside of me, something strong and pure and good (a consciousness?) is screaming NO NO NO NO! The voice is so strong that I stumble. I blink, my eyes gazing down at the knife in my hands. It falls from my grasp and I recoil.
What am I doing? What's happening?
Where am I?
"Please" Zach begs me. "Please don't kill me!"
No, I wouldn't... Why would...? What is he talking about?
I stare at him, crumpled shirt, blood streaked chin, tearful eyes and scared face. He's trying to crawl away from me, inch by inch, from the creature (the thing the thing) that is trying to kill him.
Do it! My angel commands.
No!
Do it! A rush of endorphins. A gasp of pleasure. A feeling of floating, of flying, of being invincible (I'm never gonna fall, never again).
"Please don't kill me!" Zach begs.
I pick up the knife.
-w-
I watch as they bring him out. The white sheet that covers him is wet with blood.
Poor child, the adults whisper. What can possibly have done this?
Remus Lupin pukes up his breakfast in the bushes.
I did this, I think serenely. I did this, for you, my angel.
Good. My angel answers.
-w-
The moments of clearness is coming for frequently now. They flutter by like snapshots, butterfly wings in the air. I try to grasp them but they're slippery. They slither out between my fingers every time I catch them. Everything is a mess of tangled confusion and fear.
I'm Stephenie. I'm a witch. I will not obey.
Where am I? What have I done? What do I do now?
Help me. Someone please help me!
I'm Stephenie. I'm a witch. I will not obey.
No one is helping me.
-w-
"Please!" I try to tell him, but my tongue is knotted, my throat swollen, my hands trembling and I'm so scared so scared so scared. "Please, you have to help me!"
"Stephenie?" He's worried. He doesn't know what's happening. "Stephenie, what's wrong? Tell me!"
I try to tell him, but I can already feel the rush coming. Soon I'll be flying, hovering, untouchable, unfeeling. Empty. A shell. Lost in the euphoria that is my curse. I lean forward, presses my lips against his.
A kiss to wake sleeping beauty.
A thousand kisses can never wake me.
It's me and him. Dark hair, grey eyes, soft lips and gentle hands. I kiss him until my lips bleed, I kiss him until we're one, until we're against the wall and in the cupboard and clothes coming off, shoes kicked off, soft hands exploring, hungry mouths licking and biting. His eyes smoldering, his body hard, his words soft against my neck like silk. We lock gazes, nose tips barely touching, soft-gentle-good-better-best, I'm flying, hovering, high on his touch (and this is better than anything else, this is real, this is safe) and our breaths mingle as we spiral.
A thousand kisses can never wake me.
We crash into each other, his face in the crook of my neck, my head tilted back, my nails buried inside his shoulders.
I'm free and wild and safe and everything is good (no more orders, no more puppets, no more angels with sharp razorblade smiles and cruel eyes).
We tumble.
I sneak away from him in the morning, a different kind of euphoria in my system (whatever my angel says) breathing even and eyelids heavy.
If you ever do that again, the angel tells me, I'll make you paint the walls with blood.
-w-
"It's so nice seeing you again, Steph" Sam says, holding his half empty teacup with both hands. "I didn't think you would come"
"I didn't either" I say. "But family is important, right?"
He grins at me (a blinding, explosive, a million watt smile).
I grin back shyly, pretending to sip my tea as I wait for the poison to set in.
-w-
"You can't pretend it didn't mean anything!" He shouts. "You can't pretend what we shared means nothing to you"
Nothing, it means nothing
"It means nothing!" I shout back at him. "Nothing, Sirius!"
This time it's he who turns his back on me and walks away.
-w-
Go to the Owlery, the angel commands. Tell him everything is ready.
-w-
"Who the hell are you?" Sirius growls at my brother. I haven't seen him for days and he looks awful (I feel awful, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry). Purple bags underneath his eyes, messy hair (not his kind of messy, but real messy, James Potter-messy, I-just-woke-up-and-I'm-feeling-like-shit-messy) and pale skin.
I want to hug him. I want to kiss him. I want to curl up inside his arms and tell him everything.
I can't though. The Angel would be so angry. He doesn't like Sirius, he just wants me to focus on the mission (For the Dark Lord, I'm chosen for the Dark Lord). No matter how many times I defy his words and drift back towards him, the angel won't let me stay for anything else then mere moments.
I'm so scared. I'm so lonely.
"I'm Stephenie's brother" Raoul tells him, his eyes cold and his voice poison to the ears. He's always like that, our Raoul, tough and all macho on the outside and... eh... Well, to be honest, a total dick on the inside (But that doesn't matter, he's still my brother). "And I need to talk to you about her" He hesitates (uncharacteristic for him, my darling brother). "There's something wrong with her"
Sirius startles, his friends watch him anxiously as he studies my brother - suspicious, scared, worried, angry. The emotions are unreadable in his storm grey eyes. I press myself harder against the wall, trying to sink into the crowd so that they won't spot me.
"Talk" He finally says. His friends - a scared fat boy, a scarred blond boy (Remus Lupin, his name is Remus Lupin) and a dark haired, mischievous boy with crooked glasses (James Potter-James Potter - don't forget his name) - rises from their chairs, mixed emotions on their faces. Concern (Lupin), hard determination (Potter) and fear (Fat-boy -Pete?).
Raoul doesn't even glance at them, he has only eyes for Sirius. Measuring him, judging him (Raoul always judges people).
"Stephenie don't eat eggs" He finally says.
"Yeah? So?" Potter asks, his face hard, his posture defensive. Raoul glares at him.
"She gets sick when she eats them. Violently sick. And still she gobbled down twelve of those ugly suckers at dinner this Christmas" I did? "Can you explain that?"
Lupin opens his mouth, probably to spurt off some super intelligent explanation to why I'm suddenly in love with eggs (It better not involve pregnancy hormones), but Raoul interrupts him with sharp words.
"And if you think that's perfectly normal, than I can tell you that drugging our brother is not" Oh. He saw that? Well, that can be a problem. I should probably fix that (Finally, someone notices something's wrong, finally, finally, finally, help me please!).
"What?" Sirius has pulled himself out of his blank state and now his face is once again a myriad of emotions, the most conspicuous being anger.
"She drugged her own brother?" Potter's opinion of me seem to have hit rock bottom. Judging by the look of disgust on his face, he clearly isn't about to let me near his friend anytime soon.
Raoul glares at him.
"Sam's fine" He says. "Doesn't remember a thing" He looks at Potter coldly.
"Why would she do that?" Sirius asks, his face hard, his eyes stormy (he's mad, oh Merlin, he's so mad).
Raoul shrugs. "But it isn't the only strange things that have been happening" he tells them. "This summer one of Sam's Auror partners went missing. Sam went out a beer and when he came back Finley was gone. Steph said he had gone home, but he didn't show up to work the day after, or the day after that. After a week they reported him missing, sent a couple of hit-wizards to search for him and found nothing. No note, no missing clothes, no Finley. Stephenie was the last one to see him."
Lupin swallows thickly. "You're not suggesting that Stephenie..." He trails off.
"Made him disappear?" Raoul raises an eyebrow. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting"
"You're insane!" Sirius voice is merely more than a whisper, but the sound of it could have made fully grown men fall down on their knees and beg. He sounds wild, reckless, like a dog backed into a corner.
"Am I?" Raoul doesn't even flinch. For a moment I can't help but to admire him for it. "You can't tell me strange things haven't been going on. Like that boy, Sappy Hale-" (Zachary Hale, brother, Zachary Hale) "who died" Lupin looks almost sick at the mere mention of it.
"That was a werewolf in the forbidden fo-" Sirius begins, but my brother interrupts him.
"Yeah, a werewolf who slices him up but doesn't eat anything. Tell me any werewolf that does that!" He's getting mad now. Patient has never been Raoul's strong suit, and today he has even less than normally.
Sirius bristles, his teeth bared and his shoulders hunched like a dog with trespassers on its territory. He's pissed at Raoul, at my brother's nonchalant mood, his ability to stand there and callously accuse his own sister of being a murderer. He doesn't know Raoul like I do, doesn't know that the burning cold look in Raoul's eyes only appears when my brother is hurting (I'm sorry, I'm sorry). It's his defensive mechanism, I suppose.
"What are you trying to tell us?" Potter asks, his expression tense but his voice beaten.
"I'm telling you" Raoul says. "That either that isn't Stephenie..." He trails off.
"Or?" Potter inquires. Raoul looks at him, a look that tells them that what is about to come is worse than the alternative. Sirius is tense, awaiting the inevitable blow that is about to come. His stormy eyes are wild in the warm light of the pub.
"... Or that is Stephenie" Raoul says and swallows. "And we have to stop her"
Not if I get to you first.
-w-
Kill them. The angel hisses. I won't let anything get between me and my prize.
-w-
They're suspicious. They watch me, observe me from a distance. It's turning me paranoid. Sometimes I can hear the rustling of robes or the shuffling of feet even when there's nobody there. I feel their eyes on me, always, and I take long detours to shake them off.
"It's ready" Professor Bribble says. "The potion is done"
"Good" I smile at him. "Thank you very much, Professor Bribble. Now, forget you even saw me. Obliviate" His eyes grows unfocused, he stares into a distance for a moment. Memory charms are tricky, but I've always been good with spells (Charms, spells, curses, you name it), so I'm 80% sure he'll be fine. I take the bottle from his rigid hands. The content is muddy and bubbles slowly, like some kind of horrible boiling mud pie.
I smile.
Got ya.
-w-
Saturday. 2 p.m. The note reads. I read it and then set it on fire, watching how the parchment blackens and curls as it burns. Then, when there's nothing left but ashes, I tie the package with the potion to the owl.
"Fly" I tell it. "Fly to your master"
-w-
13:46. Fourteen minutes left until show time.
They're gonna ambush me today, on the day of the Hogsmeade trip, because Raoul would absolutely forbid them to do it without him (and Raoul gets what he wants). I'm not worried (I'm never worried, just drifting, floating flying and I'm never going down). There won't be much of a fight. Raoul and Sirius would never hurt me (They love me, silly them) and Lupin is too nice to seriously maim someone. Potter, on the other hand, is the problem. He's a good dueler, and when it comes to it he has absolutely no feeling for me that will stop him from protecting his friends.
So I have to make him stop.
Cue Lily Evans. Sarcastic, witty and pretty Gryffindor seventh year, who James Potter just happens to be madly in love with.
13:51. Nine minutes left until show time.
I put my hand on her arm, my face vulnerable and my lips trembling. What's wrong? She asks.
I lead her away from her friends, my fingers holding onto her robes with one hand and with the other my wand, which is cleverly hidden in my pocket. She follows me willingly at first, but when I lead her into the alley between the houses and the Angel waits there with a razorblade sharp smile. She turns to leave, but it's already too late. No one will hear her screaming now. No one will come to her aid (like no one ever comes to mine).
"Well done" The angel says. His icy blue eyes (so cold, so horribly cold) are cruel in the light of the late afternoon sun. He lifts his wand lazily.
"Stephenie?" She cries, looking at me pleadingly from the place where I hold her down."What's going on? Stephenie, what are you doing!? Don't do thi-"
The screaming stops.
-w-
"Lily!" Potter screams. His face is void of any of that tense logic that he has maintained this far. He's scared. He's so terribly scared. He wants to save the pretty princess, but he's too scared. Where is allt hat courage now, little lion? Where is all that noble sacrifice?
"Stephenie" A voice says. A pretty voice, a voice so pretty. "Stephenie, put down your wand!" I used to love that voice. And those hands. And those raven feathered lashes and stormy grey eyes and...
... I have to fulfill my mission. I have to do the angel's bidding (not an angel, a demon). I...
... remember soft skin against mine and hungry lips, gentle touches, "Stay with me Stephenie" (foreverforever) he says, and I want to...
... but the Dark Lord trusts me. I have to fulfill my mission, my duty, my task. The angel (demon) with the razor smile has told me so, and...
... I'm Stephenie. I'm a witch. I will not obey...
... but I have to fulfill my mission.
I have to fulfill my mission.
"I have to fulfill my mission"
I press my knife against the princess-girl-redhead-my name is Lily-bait-leverage. I'm broken pieces of thoughts rattling in a cage, a fog that lies over everything and obscures it. I'm Stephenie. I'm a witch. I will not obey.
"Stephenie, Please" He begs me and I want to hand him the wand, I want it so badly because he makes my chest ache and my throat dry-my hands tremble-my stomach fluttering like I'm about to be sick.
I'm Stephenie.. I'm... something... and I will not obey.
"Let her go!" Potter growls. He looks so mad-so mad-so scared. Behind him the sandy haired boy is pointing a wand at me, his hands trembling and his face pale.
It's me and sandy-haired boy and Potter and Raoul and the angel with the stormy grey eyes (not like the other angel, the one with sharp, cold ones). And the princess. The princess I stole from the fairytale prince (Potter. His name is...). Does that make me the dragon?
I'm Stephenie. I will (not) obey.
"That's not Stephenie" The wizard says. His face is as grim as his words.
I laugh. Madness dances in the air like notes for a piano, except the notes for this play has already been decided and I'm Step, I will (not) obey.
"Come on brother, "I taunt him. "We're playing a game here. You can't go off the script"
The prince is scared. His princess is scared. She whimpers when I stroke the tip of the knife up and down her cheek.
"My sister would never kill anyone. You're not my sister" The wizard-boy (Raoul, my brother Raoul) says. I flash him a dazzling smile as I let my knife dance down the girl's neck.
They stand there, silent, staring/glaring/gawking at me (us). They haven't caught up yet. Raoul the Wizard and I are way ahead of them. We're on fast-forward, while they're stuck on repeat. I smile and glance at the clock.
13:49
One minute left. One tiny miny minute left.
I'm... I... I will (not) obey.
I smile and then I grin.
14:00
The sound of screaming reaches our ears. There's smoke in the air. Death in the atmosphere.
The reapers are here. They'll reap all day if they have to, until the task is completed.
I laugh.
"What's going on!?" The prince asks, his eyes wide and worried and angry and scared. For a moment I think my brother Raoul (I love him I think) is going to answer, but someone else does instead.
"It's a setup, isn't it?" His eyes are stormy clouds of grey, flashing lightening, raven feathers against soft ivory. It hurts me to look at him. It makes me weak and strong. "This - all this " he sweeps out his arms in a grand gesture "It's a setup. A distraction. A diversion that you planned"
They look at me, my audience. The world is now my stage.
"Of course it is." I say. "It took you long enough to figure out"
In the background sings a symphony of screaming children, the uttering of dozens curses. Smoke curls along the rooftops. We're the only ones in the world. Me and him and the princess whose throat I'm threatening to slit.
"Why?" She sobs, the pure and innocent little princess. "Why would you do anything like that?"
"She wouldn't. Not willingly." Her prince says cautiously and I know they've caught up now. They understand us.
I'm Stephenie. I'm a witch. I will (always) obey.
"There's someone else in there, isn't it?" Storm Eyes says, staring at me unblinkingly. His eyes are accusing, his hands are tight. He's scared but soft and very mad. "Someone that told you to drug your brother, to make Professor Bribble brew you a batch of polyjuice and set this whole thing up..."
I giggle.
"You're smarter then you look" I tell him cheerfully. "Very clever. Yep, that you are"
"The only thing I can't understand is why?" His gaze makes my stomach flip and I want to touch him. To reach out and sweep that haunted look from his eyes. To brush away his pain and curl up in his lap and jut hold him. Somewhere in my daze I'm Stephenie. I'm a witch. I will not (never) obey.
The words I speak are unnecessarily cruel. "Why I orchestrated this whole charade, or why I let you fuck me against the wall willingly?" He flinches, recoils as if I stuck him with something hard in his face. He wheezes out a breath like I punched him and he looks at me, betrayed-resigned-helpless like a puppy waiting for the next kick to knock him around.
A quick glance at the others shocked face's tells me everything I need to know. He hadn't told them. They didn't know.
"I did as he told me to do" I continue. "And he told me to do a great deal of many things. And I obey. Always. Forever. There's no other choice. He told me to get a hold of some polyjuice potion, so I imperiused Bribble into making me some. He told me to get Zachary Hale to tell me about his dad's work at the ministry so I screwed poor Zach's brains out and he spilled the beans. He told me to get a hair from a ministry worker and I got Sam's. He told me to keep you busy today..." I twirl the knife between my fingers, a wicked grin on my lips and cruelty dripping from between them. "So here I am" I make a neat little shrug of nonchalance. "Of course, I had to kill Zach later. No loose ends, you know?"
"Circe" Prince Potter breaths out. "You're insane!"
"Nope! Try again!" I chipper out in my sing-song voice. He looks at me, eyes like a thousand glass shards. Broken. Crushed. Twisted and bent.
"You're imperiused" He whispers. He closes his eyes briefly, pain dancing over his angelic face. "Fuck... You're imperiused."
"And Ding-Ding-Ding! We have a winner!"
"How long?" He demands to know. "How fucking long?!"
I smile, and I know I'm cruel, I know I'm horrible, but I can't stop the words from slipping out from my mouth. They're horrible, black, twisted things. Lies of the worst kind, because they're the absolute truth but not the whole truth. "I've been under the spell since summer" but never when I'm with you, I want to say. That was all me. Every touch and word and insult was all me. It's important that you know that.
He folds in on himself, almost doubles over I've poked a vital hole somewhere with my words and all the life is draining out of him. There's a expression of horror, of guilt and hurt and self-hatred on his face. But most of it all there's anger. Anger at himself and at me and at my puppetmaster. Anger at the whole world for letting this happen.
He's the embodiment of despair, and the daze in me enjoys that. It loves his heartbreak and it loves his pain. The other part of me, the Still Stephenie part, wants to break into little pieces along with him. He loves me, the Cruel Stephenie realizes. Full out blown, heart-beating-in-my-chest, I'd-die-for-you love.
The Still Stephenie part of me want to rebel. He can't! She wants to scream. It's too soon, too much! It hasn't even been half a year yet. Nobody can fall in love in such short time.
But he has. He's in love with me (lovemelovemeloveme) and I just broke his heart.
No.
I just ripped his heart out of his chest, stomped on it with high heel boots and then set it on fire with a flamethrower.
I'm a monster.
(I'm Stephenie. I'm a witch. I will not obey)
I'm truly a monster.
(I must fulfill my mission)
I don't really care.
"Let Lily go" Potter orders me, his voice trembling, his glasses askew. He's trying too hard to be grown up, a soldier in a war that will never end (I'll never go home, I'll never get out) when in reality he's just a scared little boy whose idiot parents got themselves killed. I tell him that, and his face grows red. The trembling turns to shaking and I know he wants to -so badly he almost combusts- curse me until I take it all back and then some more.
"Stephenie" My brother says softly. He's been so quiet I've almost forgotten him and now he's suddenly here again. "You can fight it" He coaxes and the sound is wrong on so many levels. Raoul doesn't beg. Never. Ever. In a million years. "It doesn't control you, not fully. It went wrong, or maybe you're just too strong, but you're in there somewhere, I know you are. So, please, fight it"
Maybe he's right, my darling brother. Maybe it went wrong somewhere. Maybe the razor-smile, cold-eyes not-really-an-angel fucked up. I'm here and I'm not. I'm cruel and kind. I'm Stephenie and I'm a witch and maybe (it's too late) I will not obey.
I glance at the clock.
14.17
I look back at them. "It's too late" I tell them. "He's already inside"
"Inside what?" Stormy eyes, black night hair. Soft skin and softer touch. He's wilderness and leather and smoke. So terribly gentle and so terribly tough. He's a walking contradiction and he makes me laugh-cry-smile-want to be better. I've never felt freer, never felt more alive than when I am with him.
I love him.
And I hate him for that.
14.19
"Inside the Ministry. He wanted something and now he got it. Everything has led up to this. I must fulfill the mission. I must fulfill my task. My mission is over. I'm done now"
A strange expression crosses his face, like he knows (suspects) that something is wrong. That this can't be the end, not when it's so easy. It's never so easy.
I push my leverage (Lily, oh Lily forgive me!) into a surprised Potter's arms. She stumbles into his chest and he grips her arms gently, steadying her with eyes full of worry and relief and adoration. For a moment the world is right again. Everything is as it should be.
I glance across the alley towards him. The one I fell in love with. The only one I'll ever love. He meets my eyes, questions screaming at me. Why did you do that? What are you playing at? What's going on? He's confused and perhaps somewhere deep inside of him he already suspects. He was always very clever, that Sirius Black.
"No loose ends" I tell him and bring the knife up to my throat. I see the moment realization strikes him, see how his eyes widen and his mouth opens, how he reaches out towards me, just a few steps away (always a few steps away). I can see him clearly now. Every detail there is to see. I see the tear in his old leather jacket, the smudge of dirt on his cheek. The thousands of nuances of grey that is his eyes and the soft, black strands of silken hair. I see his lips, moving in vain, and for a moment he is frozen in time, eternal and forever. He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and I want to just look at him forever. I think that moment, that single moment of clearness, is the best one of my life, and the world stands still for an entire eternity.
Then everything moves again and I'm dragging the knife onwards, cold steel nipping my skin as it glides softly over my throat. The blade is so sharp that at first I don't feel a thing. There's just a slight pressure on my throat and then it's over. My hand drops to my side and the knife clatters against the cobblestone. For a moment everyone is standing still, shocked by this turn of events, and the daze is gone and everything is as it should be.
Then there's pain.
I don't remember falling, but I must have, because a second later I'm on the ground, my throat burning and my chest pressing together as I struggle for breath. With every breath comes a waterfall of blood, running down my collarbones, between my breasts and down on the ground. It's a never stopping flood of red life, and despite my pathetic efforts to stop it I know that I only have seconds (a minute at most) to live.
It's the end of my fairytale. Prince Potter saved the princess and the dragon was slain.
Above my head a voice is shouting. Hands gathers me up and for a brief second I can see the sky (it's so blue. Innocent blue) before it tips over again and I see stormy grey eyes and black night hair. I'm enveloped in the leather clad scent of cigarette smoke and firewhiskey and fresh mint gum. Calloused hands press against the wound on my throat, trying to keep the life from running out of me.
"Stephenie! Stephenie! Help her! Heal her! Oh for fuck's sake, will someone just heal her!" He's screaming, holding me tightly against his chest and rocking softly as he trembles. There's blood on his leatherjacket now, and for some reason it bothers me.
"I can't!" a voice says over my head. I try to twist my head, but it hurts too much and it makes me bleed even more so I give up.
"Then try!" He shouts angrily, stormy grey eyes flashing.
"I can't!" The voice repeats. "The blade is cursed! I can't heal her, Black, not from a cursed blade" it break at the word cursed, crumbles like sand castle in a storm.
"No" He says. "No!" He repeats. "You have to heal her!" He's crying now. I've never seen him cry, not in the seven years I've known him, not even when he took that bludger to the face in fourth year, but right now big tears of despair is falling down his cheeks, dripping onto my face and washing the blood away.
He takes out his wand, muttering charms and spells that won't work. I've almost stop fighting now and I'm just laying in his lap, twitching weakly as they watch me bleed.
In some strange way I'm at peace. I know I'm going to die and I don't really care. There are worse ways to die than this. I'm in his arms, in the very end, and he's holding me, stroking my cheek as he cries when I bleed. The strange, burning pain is almost gone now, and the edges of my vision are blackening, starting to erase the world from me.
Is this how he will remember me, I wonder? This broken little puppet whose strings' been cut, lying in an alley and bleeding out all over the cobblestones. The girl who swept in like a hurricane and stole his heart only to crush it in her hands in front of his eyes. Cruel Stephenie told him I was under a spell. She didn't tell him it was under his spell. That I was awake for every moment of it. That it was my choices and not my cruel puppet masters. Not the demon in disguise as an angel's, but Stephenie Wielding's.
I can't let him live with that. Thinking I used him. Thinking I wasn't awake, I didn't have a choice. Thinking he gave his heart to a shadow-self, a mirror image that laughed and smiled but never felt.
I open my mouth. Try to tell him that I'm me. That I was always me and I love him. That there was no order's or daze, only me. But the words get stuck in my throat. They bubble up from the gaping wound and there's a sick sound of more blood splashing forward, out of me and onto the street.
I can't talk.
I can't talk because I slit my vocal cords along with my throat.
All I can do is gurgle and bleed.
"Stephenie" He breaths out, his voice breaking, and even though it's only one word it's enough. Stephenie, I'm sorry. Stephenie, I love you. Stephenie, why?
I love you. I want to tell him. I'm sorry.
He holds me tight against his chest, red colors dancing over my eyes (redredredred, it's all too red). My blood smears over my cheeks as he cups them with harsh, tormented fingers. His face is cadaverous in the shadows of the alley.
He will remember this for a long time, I realize. I will haunt his dreams and his thoughts, summer hair and dimpled smile. All sharp edges and soft curves.
My head falls back and I catch a glimpse of a broken wristwatch, the hands stuck on 14:20. Just on time, I think. The mission is completed. The world blackens, the dance is at its end. The demon with the razor smile who disguised himself as an angel is gone, leaving only the bittersweet ashes of destruction behind. He'll celebrate tonight, and partly that's my fault. I was too week, too fragile, to cling to this life and those stormy grey eyes.
My twitching still, my heart flutters weakly behind my breastbone. The world is black now, my heart has stopped. It should be poetic justice, that within the same hour I stabbed the guy I loved in the heart, mine would stop.
The world is silent. The world is black. I'm drifting away to the sound of far away voices calling my name. In the last moment's, in my last thoughts, a face without a name flutters over me. Cold, blue eyes and razor smile.
Imperio, he said, cold glacier eyes glittering with a secret untold.
One word is all it takes.
I'm falling (flying).
The End.
-w-
So here's a little piece of fanfiction that wouldn't leave my mind until it was written down. I'm still not sure I'm completely happy with the ending, but I can't really bother to change it anymore. I would love some comments, because seriously, this is one dark, sad fic, and it makes me depressed just writing about it.
I'm thinking about writing a sequel, mostly because Raoul and Sam and the Angel with the razor-sharp smile has so much potential (sensing a revenge story in true Kill Bill fashion here, folks). Don't know if it'll come to it though, 'cause I have some serious amount of homework to go through.
Anyway, love you people! Over and out / A.C