"Help me . . ."
It was cold. I wrapped my cloak around myself. The thin material did little to warm me.
It was dark. I could barely see where I was going. Then again, I could barely see why I was going.
I swore as a branch smacked me across the face. I shoved it aside, grumbling about nothing in particular. I cast wary looks to either side. The path was getting narrower. Soon it would end.
My yell split the eerie silence as I tripped over a raised root and fell flat on my face. I rose quickly and walked on, wincing and clutching my left cheek. Damn those sharp rocks.
I pulled my hand away and wiped it off on my robes. Blood.
Finally the path came to an end. An old tree stump a little taller than me loomed ahead. I strode up to it and put my hand on the bark.
A moment later I was sitting on the stump, my legs dangling down in an unnervingly child-like way. I sighed and pulled my cloak tighter as the cold cut at my face.
The pair of blank white eyes startled me so much that I nearly fell off the stump.
"What in the . . ." I muttered before realizing what was watching me.
The thestral moved closer. My eyes ran over its body, skin pulled tight over bones. Its reptilian head raised as if asking why I was so high up.
"Because I like it up here," I replied. The white eyes watched me. "No, I won't come down."
The thestral gave a strange little snort. I shook my head.
"No, I'm staying up here."
In a half-hearted sort of way, the thestral licked the bark where I'd put my hand.
"Oh, you want my blood," I said, sliding down the stump. "Here, take it. Go ahead." I held out my bloody hand. The creature abandoned the trunk for me.
It had a strange, sandpaper-like tongue. Its constant licking soothed me somewhat. I closed my eyes.
Suddenly there was something licking my cheek. I jerked away, eyes flying open. The thestral, it seemed, would rather lick the source of the blood. Of course, I thought, examining my clean hand, it probably just wasn't full yet.
I reached a slightly shaking hand toward the thestral's neck. It didn't flinch away. I touched it. Even the creature's skin felt a bit like scales.
"Funny little thing, aren't you?" I asked it softly. I closed my eyes as its tongue strayed dangerously close to them. Almost at once images of the dead and the dying clouded my vision. I remembered my days with the Death Eaters. And I remembered my days without them.
The first person I'd ever killed was one of my most bitter memories. A small girl-child, not even four years old. I remembered watches Lucius and the others torture her, remembered her frightened and pained screams. I remembered her matted brown hair and her frantic blue eyes. I remembered the tears smudging the dirt on her face as she looked up at me, scared and alone. The Dark Lord's high, cold laugh. Malfoy's suggestion. I remembered pointing my wand at her without hesitation. I remembered her plea . . . and I remembered when she fell to the ground, limp as her rag doll that lay forgotten in the mud.
"Help me . . ."
It was a moment before I realized that the words had come from my own lips. It was another before I noticed the cold tears streaming down my face.
"Help me . . ." I repeated and was surprised at how young and helpless I sounded. The thestral, having licked away all my blood, turned and disappeared into the night.
"Help me . . ."
It was cold.
It was dark.
And I was alone.
It was cold. I wrapped my cloak around myself. The thin material did little to warm me.
It was dark. I could barely see where I was going. Then again, I could barely see why I was going.
I swore as a branch smacked me across the face. I shoved it aside, grumbling about nothing in particular. I cast wary looks to either side. The path was getting narrower. Soon it would end.
My yell split the eerie silence as I tripped over a raised root and fell flat on my face. I rose quickly and walked on, wincing and clutching my left cheek. Damn those sharp rocks.
I pulled my hand away and wiped it off on my robes. Blood.
Finally the path came to an end. An old tree stump a little taller than me loomed ahead. I strode up to it and put my hand on the bark.
A moment later I was sitting on the stump, my legs dangling down in an unnervingly child-like way. I sighed and pulled my cloak tighter as the cold cut at my face.
The pair of blank white eyes startled me so much that I nearly fell off the stump.
"What in the . . ." I muttered before realizing what was watching me.
The thestral moved closer. My eyes ran over its body, skin pulled tight over bones. Its reptilian head raised as if asking why I was so high up.
"Because I like it up here," I replied. The white eyes watched me. "No, I won't come down."
The thestral gave a strange little snort. I shook my head.
"No, I'm staying up here."
In a half-hearted sort of way, the thestral licked the bark where I'd put my hand.
"Oh, you want my blood," I said, sliding down the stump. "Here, take it. Go ahead." I held out my bloody hand. The creature abandoned the trunk for me.
It had a strange, sandpaper-like tongue. Its constant licking soothed me somewhat. I closed my eyes.
Suddenly there was something licking my cheek. I jerked away, eyes flying open. The thestral, it seemed, would rather lick the source of the blood. Of course, I thought, examining my clean hand, it probably just wasn't full yet.
I reached a slightly shaking hand toward the thestral's neck. It didn't flinch away. I touched it. Even the creature's skin felt a bit like scales.
"Funny little thing, aren't you?" I asked it softly. I closed my eyes as its tongue strayed dangerously close to them. Almost at once images of the dead and the dying clouded my vision. I remembered my days with the Death Eaters. And I remembered my days without them.
The first person I'd ever killed was one of my most bitter memories. A small girl-child, not even four years old. I remembered watches Lucius and the others torture her, remembered her frightened and pained screams. I remembered her matted brown hair and her frantic blue eyes. I remembered the tears smudging the dirt on her face as she looked up at me, scared and alone. The Dark Lord's high, cold laugh. Malfoy's suggestion. I remembered pointing my wand at her without hesitation. I remembered her plea . . . and I remembered when she fell to the ground, limp as her rag doll that lay forgotten in the mud.
"Help me . . ."
It was a moment before I realized that the words had come from my own lips. It was another before I noticed the cold tears streaming down my face.
"Help me . . ." I repeated and was surprised at how young and helpless I sounded. The thestral, having licked away all my blood, turned and disappeared into the night.
"Help me . . ."
It was cold.
It was dark.
And I was alone.