Thank you for clicking! I hope you guys enjoy this much better version of my story, the old one will be deleted soon. Feel free to review, flames and critisisms are welcome! :)
Thank you Eristarisis! you're the best beta reader ever! :D
Midnight Flower
A beautiful woman sits at the kitchen table, gazing at a midnight blue flower through her long, slightly curly, black hair. Smelling the sweet fragrance of strawberries and honey, she lets a single tear leaks from her emerald green eyes and down high cheekbones to mar pale porcelain skin.
Her only thought, as she sat there silently crying, was, why? Why would he do this to her? Why did this happen? What had she done wrong? It had started out so perfectly, when they first met, she couldn't stop staring. Their first date had been so much fun. Their first kiss had been like fireworks exploding in her head. Beyond all that, she knew that she would never forget the sweet, tender romance of their first night, first time together.
She thought back to, what she had once, and still thought of, as one of the best nights of her life... The starlit sky, the romantic French restaurant, the champagne, and the amazing engagement ring. White gold with an emerald, heart shaped stone in the middle. Emerald, he said, because it matched her beautiful green eyes. She had been so happy. She had never been happier!
As she remembered all of these things, a sob tore its way out from the woman's throat, somehow passing in to the realm of sound through clenched teeth. Hours, days had been spent in contemplation and she still didn't see: Where had it gone wrong? Was it truly her fault? Like He... He always said? Her thoughts wandered to when it had first happened, the first time IT had happened.
...
They had gone to a carnival and had such fun! They had eaten all kinds of sweets, and he had even won her a plush teddy bear. But, since it had been midsummer, it was quite hot, and was starting to get to her. Deciding to help beat the heat, she went to the drink stand and got them lemonade.
When she made it back with the drinks, he was furious. He knocked the drinks from her hands, all the while yelling at her for disappearing. Worried, and slightly scared, she tried to explain where she had been and why she had left. He continued to yell and fuss until she finally yelled right back.
When she did, he had slapped her. Hard. She couldn't believe it….he hit her, after all the troubles she had been through in her life, after all the people that had hurt her it never occurred to her that He, of all people, would.
Later that night, he apologized, saying that it was her fault, and that if she hadn't made him so mad he wouldn't have done it. She was the reason that she now had a hand shaped bruise on her cheek.
It got worse over time. The small spats, and little pushes soon became slaps, and full blown arguments complete with broken bones. They were easily healed with spells and potions, but there was no salve of charm to heal the emotional scars.
When she found out she was with child, she thought -and hoped, even prayed- that things would change.
She thought wrong. The beatings got worse. He yelled more, saying she had gotten 'knocked up' on purpose, because she knew he was having trouble at work.
One night the beating became too much and she went into labor two months too early.
When she got to St. Mungos, the healers rushed her in to the delivery room. Through the whole thing, the other healers in the room noticed that the expectant mother wasn't in the best of shape. She was bloody and had bruises and broken bones that no baby could have possibly caused, not to mention the fact that she was two months early. That in itself was nothing new, as many women have their children one or in some cases two months early, especially magical ones. But, when added to the other things they noticed they became very worried about the newborn baby. After discussing it with each other they decided to do something about the baby by calling the ministry and reporting what they suspected. They didn't bother trying to help the woman; she probably wouldn't have been a good mother anyway...
In the delivery room the woman had finally got to see her baby. She didn't know the gender of her child because He had never allowed her to go see, so she was overjoyed when she was handed a tiny pink bundle: Her little girl was perfect. She had silky soft black hair and the prettiest blue eyes. Holding her baby girl gave her the happiest feeling that she had ever had.
Her happiness didn't last long.
...
By now the poor woman was full out sobbing at her kitchen table, where the soft light of the evening failed to enter her kitchen through the window. All light and warmth stopped outside, leaving her cold and alone, barely even able to breath as anguished cries tore themselves from her throat, she recalled what had happened next.
...
They tried to arrest the man she thought she had once loved, but he ran away, yelling at her that if she hadn't gotten pregnant, then he wouldn't have had to run. That it was all her fault. Everything was her fault.
Then, they took her baby! Her beautiful baby girl! The ministry claimed that she wasn't fit to be a mother. The case worker later on, claimed it was her own fault that she couldn't keep her baby, that she didn't deserve to be a mother.
Once again, it was all her fault...
...
By now the woman was no longer crying. She had no tears left. The stem of the flower was clenched in her hand, blood seeping between her fingers. But she had no tears, no words, nothing but the pain to remember her baby by.
She knew that she would never get her beautiful baby girl back: She had already been adopted.
Her once love had been caught attempting to rob a muggle bank, along with his new wife who also seemed to be sporting bruises. The obliviators had to be called in; it seemed that even the poor muggles were unable to escape the man's wrath. They were carted off to Azkaban later that same day. She was condemned by association: It seemed to tell everyone else that they were right in taking her baby away.
She had contemplated, for hours, perhaps days, weeks and even months whether to write and say well. Did it matter? Whether it was by in person, by the Floo or in a letter or a note? There was no Floo powder left in the box on the mantleplace, and every note and letter was reduced to ash by the flames of her fireplace. She was all alone. She fingered the small vial in her hand, she had nothing left to live for, so why should she?
...
It was days before the aurors were called. They showed up at the house, because of the smell. It was that of strawberries and honey, so strong, so normal, so calming that it was unnerving. When they entered, they only had to follow the scent until they entered the kitchen.
They would see a beautiful young woman laying on the floor, with a peaceful smile on her pretty face, her emerald eyes hidden behind closed lids, with a midnight blue flower clutched in her pale slender hands...