Disclaimer; As usual nothing belongs to me except Skylar, and no money is
being made. Also, I forgot to mention earlier; the quotes from the
beginning of chapter#2 and #3 are from a song- "Road to Mandalay" by R.
Williams.
A/N; Reviews and constructive criticism are most welcome.
Chapter #3; Distant voices, still lives
This sombre song would drain the Sun
But it won't shine until it's sung No water running in the streams The saddest place we've ever seen.
Sunshine poured through open windows on a mild late-summer morning. Soft, warm breeze played with curtains, bringing the scent of flowers in the infirmary room. Outside, the birds sang their love song interrupted only by a soft buzzing of insects. Just a single glance on the tranquillity of the outside fields could make a smile appear on the grimmest face. However, none of the two women in the room seemed to notice the beauty and peacefulness of the morning, although one had her gaze riveted on the outside grounds. The other, occupying the chair near the bed where younger one was lying, seemed intensely interested in a particular point on the opposite wall. Only the slight unfocusness of her eyes and the thin line of her lips betrayed the inner turmoil. Uncomfortable silence cloaked both women in a dark gloom diminishing the glow of golden sunshine. Even the merry birdsong seemed sombre in this room.
«And that's how it's been for the last three weeks.»Minerva thought with exasperation, not allowing herself to feel despair that was skulking only two paces behind exasperation and would absorb her if she put her defences down even in the slightest bit. «From the moment she learned the truth of her past and.possible future if she ever choose to come out of bed», her lips thinned a bit more. «Or when I decide to end this charade, make us both a favour and not return until asked.» She moved her gaze from the wall, brushed it slightly against unmoving figure on the bed and set it on her clenched hands in her lap. «But how could I? I, who failed her so many times, how could I leave? How could I betray her yet once more?» She casted one more quick glance in girl's direction, on her eyes devoid of any feeling, any life, just.dead. «Oh, I would give anything asked just for a single spark of a spirit that resided beneath those hollow pools, be it even a glint of.fear. Be it even that, anything but this emptiness.»
The fear that replaced the puzzlement after she opened her eyes for the first time after a potion induced sleep that was given to her so her body could heal. For the soul, there was no cure beside the Time. Minerva suppressed a bitter laugh. «Like the time has even eased mine.» From the moment Poppy entered that room everything went terribly wrong. If girl's memory of preceding events had been somewhat blurred by the potion and weakness, it was all revived when Madame Pomfrey drove out her wand to examine her. With a shriek of a wounded animal and a strength no one could posses after such injuries, the girl bolted out of bed and ran toward the infirmary door. Halfway her feet couldn't hold her for longer, her knees buckled and she fell on the cobblestone, opening anew the cuts and lacerations. But the adrenaline surge prevented her from fainting, giving her the strenght to continue crawling towards the door in a vain hope of a rescue. Finally, overcoming the numbness her unexpected jump caused, Dumbledore, Poppy and Minerva managed to stop the hysteric girl and force a calming potion down her throat.
Next time they had to stripe with magical bonds to prevent her from harming herself again and to make her listen. At first she refused to believe any of what Dumbledore was saying, but, after she was presented with evidence of magic's existence, and an explanation provided half by Minerva and half by Dumbledore, incredulity and fear gave way to despair, than to anger and hate to be finally replaced by emptiness and silence. And silent she remained to this day, not a single word or sob escaped her lips after they finished, not a single tear rolled down her cheeks. A stone gargoyle couldn't be more impassive. At least it moved when you said the right words.
After a time Minerva rose from her seat, collected untouched meal from the nightstand and silently left the room. Other duties awaited her and offered a welcome distraction from this room and all of the unspoken accusations that hung in the silence. Not a single twitch disturbed the girl's features, as if she was carved out of stone and unaware of other's presence.
* * *
«Nothing.I have nothing left.nothing..nothing.», like a litany these words kept pounding in Skylar's head followed and amplified by pictures of the most horrible day in her life. Not the day when she came home from the lab and found her father bloodied and tied by invisible bonds, not even the moment when hooded wizards killed him after they tortured her in front of his eyes. Not those long two days when these same sadists held her and made her go through myriad of tortures. No, she banished them from her thoughts, locked them behind thick mental doors and built a wall of oblivion in front of it. If the Death Eaters took her innocence, then her so-called-rescuers stripped her bare of any joy, any hope of ever being able to gather shattered peaces and debris of her life.
She remembered everything up to tiniest detail as it was repeated over and over in her head, every word, every gesture like a giant broom sweeping away her life and identity. Even that. She was a prisoner in an invisible confinement of her past. That much was obvious from the moment she opened her eyes for the second time unable to move even a single muscle although there were no visible bounds. Beleaguered, trapped by some peculiarly dressed strangers with deceivingly compassionate faces ready to take what little had remained of her life.
«What do you want from me?» she asked then with a futile attempt to prevent quivering of her voice. «Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?!» She strained so hard not to cry, she will not give this people the satisfaction of seeing her defeated. With dismay she felt defying tears wetting her cheeks.
«Persephone.» the silent words startled her.
«What? That's not my name! This is a mistake, you have the wrong person!» She opened her mouth to say so but was abruptly hindered as she found herself face to face with the speaker. It was like looking into a scrying mirror, into an older herself. With different hair colour, fine lines around the eyes and more angular face shape she would've never noticed any resemblance were it not for one thing, were it not for the mesmerising stare of the woman's eyes.
Skylar had never seen her mother who died at childbirth, her father discarded all of her pictures when she died, avoiding any question Skylar would ask about her. After a while she stopped asking them, it didn't do any good hurting herself and her father with the topic that was obviously too painful for him. But she hasn't banished her from her thoughts, although, as she got older, her attempts in finding anything hers in the mirror noticeably lessened. After all, there was nothing to be found, Skylar was the perfect picture of her father, from gaunt figure to light brown hair, everything almost the perfect copy except for the eyes. The only feature she'd always presumed she inherited from her mother. And now the same eyes, beady and of strange, pale colour of clear, mountain spring returned her gaze.
«I'm afraid there's no mistake», as if she could read her mind the woman spoke and shook Skylar out of her reverie. Then more words followed, unvarnished words that inexorably teared the fine fabric of lies that made the tapestry of her life. And no matter how much evidence she was presented with, no matter how everything fitted perfectly in the gaps her father's lies left, her brain could not, would not accept it. She was a scientist, for God's sake! Twenty-six years of learning that something can't simply vanish or appear out of nothing couldn't be easily erased. And now this people tried to persuade her to something she simply knew was preposterous. A child's fantasy coming to life. Yet, it was there, magic really existed and with it a whole secret community of people that called themselves wizards and witches. In any other occasion a scientist in her would've been intrigued. But how could it be now, when she learned that she was also a part of it, a part of this strange world, the same kind as the people that murdered her mother before she was even born, forced her father in lifelong exile and, as if this wasn't enough, tortured and killed him twenty six years after. But even this wasn't the worst thing.
«If this wasn't my life we're talking about I could laugh at the irony of it!» So many years spent in hiding from something that nevertheless happened. In the end her father's exile accomplished nothing, just bought them some time, postponing the inevitable. «It would be better we both died that night along with my mother.»
«What next?» Skylar asked, breaking the silence that ensued her aunt's confession. «How long do you tend to keep me here?» Even after all of the revelations there was still hope, however tiny it was, lingering in Skylar's soul that she may yet find a strength to forget, to recuperate her strengths and go on with her life. But that too was shattered as Minerva and old man, which was headmaster of this «school» exchanged worried glances.
«What?» she barely recognised the shrill cry as her voice. The old man, Dumbledore, approached her and took her palm gently between his own. His touch was warm and startling blue eyes that held her own filled with compassion.
«It's not that simple.», he begun slowly, at which point Skylar's nerves were as taut as harp's strings. «You see, this is a delicate situation. The Ministry of Magic is still refusing to acknowledge the new rise of Voldemort. The number of his followers, both old and new ones, is rising as we speak, and so are numbers of hideous crimes committed by them. And yet, the Ministry is closing eyes on all evidence of increased Death Eater activity, assigning them as random attacks of madmen. They consider the very idea of Voldemort acquiring a new body and all of his power preposterous. On the other hand, they did recognise the attack on you and your father as one being committed by a member of the Wizarding community. And they don't want questions being asked both by wizarding and muggle community. You see, as far as from Middle Ages, the very existence of the Wizarding world is being kept as a secret, and a secret is the way they want it to remain. They sent a special unit of Aurors to your house, who cleared up the wreckage and casted a special charm on the neighbours, Obliviate, to make them forget what they saw. They haven't found out your father's true identity or anything about your existence. For them, the matter is closed now, and we intend to keep it that way. As long no one knows who or where you are you're safe.»
«But, surely, after some time it would be safe for me to return home, wouldn't it?», it was almost a plea. «But..but I have my research, friends.they would be worried if.». She faltered, feeling something utterly cold forming in her chest as she noticed Dumbledore's eyes lose their spark, and her aunt's averted gaze.
«I'm so sorry, child», Dumbledore said gravely. «Any trace of your existence would put both you and that person in grave danger. We.I couldn't allow that. I sent Severus to everyone you ever came in touch with, and.»
Whatever else Dumbledore had said was deafened by a loud roar in Skylar's ears as understanding came to her. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out. Her whole life, her very existence and identity was gone, obliterated, as if she never had existed at all. That was the worst of it all. The nurse, followed by Minerva and Dumbledore, hurried to her side, afraid of the state of her mind her face revealed. It was not unknown for a person to lose mind when presented with too much dismay. And in one long second Skylar thought she was really going to lose it, felt her grip on sanity loosen as she panted for breath and relief that would not come. When that second which seemed long as an hour finally passed and pounding in her ears lessened she pushed them all aside with last remnants of strength.
«Don't you touch me!» she cried harshly, a mad gleam in her eye. They obeyed.
Skylar closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, and turned her face away from them. Opening them she set her gaze on the open window, seeing none of the beauty outside, feeling only numbness. Oh, how she wished to cry, to mourn her father, the life she thought she had, but tears wouldn't come. And after a moment she realised that the cold thing in her chest was her hearth, chained in ice.
Days passed and she remained impassive and unmoving, eating when forced, more often not eating at all, eyes riveted on the horizon yet seeing only those terrible moments repeating over and over again. She wished death to come and yet unable to raise a hand at herself. Call it a cowardice, she always feared the unexpected and the unknown. And day after day her aunt, this stranger and the cause of her despair came and sat by her bed. At first she talked, opening her soul to Skylar, not asking forgiveness, only understanding. The words couldn't touch Skylar and in a way she felt a twisted sort of joy by seeing a little more of despair each passing day creeping into the eyes that were so like hers. So, after a while she finally stopped talking under Skylar's cold, accusing stare and just sat there, avoiding her eyes. A few days later she asked Skylar if she wanted her to leave. She took the ensuing silence as a yes. A few more days later she would just leave without a word. Always returning in the morning and leaving on mid-day.
This day, however she left earlier. Skylar felt a pang of anger. «What is it, you got bored with the show?» she thought following the leaving figure of her aunt from the corner of her eye. Strangely, she didn't enjoy solicitude as much she thought she would. «And I want her to pay for what she did!» Casting occusing glances lost its appeal too, although her darts still hit the target well. One could not ease his pain by hurting others. And yet Skylar wanted revenge, wanted someone, anyone to pay back the debt, and no one was as good as the ones near you. After all, Minerva was to blame, the attack on her father and her was not a random one. Skylar hated her for that, was disgusted by her sheer presence and yet felt so alone every time Minerva left.
She wanted to cry after her, call her back, say anything that would make her stay and every time she failed. Words couldn't force their way out through the wall Skylar'd built around herself. And every day she felt more alone, an inch farther from this world, an inch deeper in her self constructed grave. Buried alive.
A/N,; Still as angsty as ever but things should change for the better soon, I hope. (
A/N; Reviews and constructive criticism are most welcome.
Chapter #3; Distant voices, still lives
This sombre song would drain the Sun
But it won't shine until it's sung No water running in the streams The saddest place we've ever seen.
Sunshine poured through open windows on a mild late-summer morning. Soft, warm breeze played with curtains, bringing the scent of flowers in the infirmary room. Outside, the birds sang their love song interrupted only by a soft buzzing of insects. Just a single glance on the tranquillity of the outside fields could make a smile appear on the grimmest face. However, none of the two women in the room seemed to notice the beauty and peacefulness of the morning, although one had her gaze riveted on the outside grounds. The other, occupying the chair near the bed where younger one was lying, seemed intensely interested in a particular point on the opposite wall. Only the slight unfocusness of her eyes and the thin line of her lips betrayed the inner turmoil. Uncomfortable silence cloaked both women in a dark gloom diminishing the glow of golden sunshine. Even the merry birdsong seemed sombre in this room.
«And that's how it's been for the last three weeks.»Minerva thought with exasperation, not allowing herself to feel despair that was skulking only two paces behind exasperation and would absorb her if she put her defences down even in the slightest bit. «From the moment she learned the truth of her past and.possible future if she ever choose to come out of bed», her lips thinned a bit more. «Or when I decide to end this charade, make us both a favour and not return until asked.» She moved her gaze from the wall, brushed it slightly against unmoving figure on the bed and set it on her clenched hands in her lap. «But how could I? I, who failed her so many times, how could I leave? How could I betray her yet once more?» She casted one more quick glance in girl's direction, on her eyes devoid of any feeling, any life, just.dead. «Oh, I would give anything asked just for a single spark of a spirit that resided beneath those hollow pools, be it even a glint of.fear. Be it even that, anything but this emptiness.»
The fear that replaced the puzzlement after she opened her eyes for the first time after a potion induced sleep that was given to her so her body could heal. For the soul, there was no cure beside the Time. Minerva suppressed a bitter laugh. «Like the time has even eased mine.» From the moment Poppy entered that room everything went terribly wrong. If girl's memory of preceding events had been somewhat blurred by the potion and weakness, it was all revived when Madame Pomfrey drove out her wand to examine her. With a shriek of a wounded animal and a strength no one could posses after such injuries, the girl bolted out of bed and ran toward the infirmary door. Halfway her feet couldn't hold her for longer, her knees buckled and she fell on the cobblestone, opening anew the cuts and lacerations. But the adrenaline surge prevented her from fainting, giving her the strenght to continue crawling towards the door in a vain hope of a rescue. Finally, overcoming the numbness her unexpected jump caused, Dumbledore, Poppy and Minerva managed to stop the hysteric girl and force a calming potion down her throat.
Next time they had to stripe with magical bonds to prevent her from harming herself again and to make her listen. At first she refused to believe any of what Dumbledore was saying, but, after she was presented with evidence of magic's existence, and an explanation provided half by Minerva and half by Dumbledore, incredulity and fear gave way to despair, than to anger and hate to be finally replaced by emptiness and silence. And silent she remained to this day, not a single word or sob escaped her lips after they finished, not a single tear rolled down her cheeks. A stone gargoyle couldn't be more impassive. At least it moved when you said the right words.
After a time Minerva rose from her seat, collected untouched meal from the nightstand and silently left the room. Other duties awaited her and offered a welcome distraction from this room and all of the unspoken accusations that hung in the silence. Not a single twitch disturbed the girl's features, as if she was carved out of stone and unaware of other's presence.
* * *
«Nothing.I have nothing left.nothing..nothing.», like a litany these words kept pounding in Skylar's head followed and amplified by pictures of the most horrible day in her life. Not the day when she came home from the lab and found her father bloodied and tied by invisible bonds, not even the moment when hooded wizards killed him after they tortured her in front of his eyes. Not those long two days when these same sadists held her and made her go through myriad of tortures. No, she banished them from her thoughts, locked them behind thick mental doors and built a wall of oblivion in front of it. If the Death Eaters took her innocence, then her so-called-rescuers stripped her bare of any joy, any hope of ever being able to gather shattered peaces and debris of her life.
She remembered everything up to tiniest detail as it was repeated over and over in her head, every word, every gesture like a giant broom sweeping away her life and identity. Even that. She was a prisoner in an invisible confinement of her past. That much was obvious from the moment she opened her eyes for the second time unable to move even a single muscle although there were no visible bounds. Beleaguered, trapped by some peculiarly dressed strangers with deceivingly compassionate faces ready to take what little had remained of her life.
«What do you want from me?» she asked then with a futile attempt to prevent quivering of her voice. «Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?!» She strained so hard not to cry, she will not give this people the satisfaction of seeing her defeated. With dismay she felt defying tears wetting her cheeks.
«Persephone.» the silent words startled her.
«What? That's not my name! This is a mistake, you have the wrong person!» She opened her mouth to say so but was abruptly hindered as she found herself face to face with the speaker. It was like looking into a scrying mirror, into an older herself. With different hair colour, fine lines around the eyes and more angular face shape she would've never noticed any resemblance were it not for one thing, were it not for the mesmerising stare of the woman's eyes.
Skylar had never seen her mother who died at childbirth, her father discarded all of her pictures when she died, avoiding any question Skylar would ask about her. After a while she stopped asking them, it didn't do any good hurting herself and her father with the topic that was obviously too painful for him. But she hasn't banished her from her thoughts, although, as she got older, her attempts in finding anything hers in the mirror noticeably lessened. After all, there was nothing to be found, Skylar was the perfect picture of her father, from gaunt figure to light brown hair, everything almost the perfect copy except for the eyes. The only feature she'd always presumed she inherited from her mother. And now the same eyes, beady and of strange, pale colour of clear, mountain spring returned her gaze.
«I'm afraid there's no mistake», as if she could read her mind the woman spoke and shook Skylar out of her reverie. Then more words followed, unvarnished words that inexorably teared the fine fabric of lies that made the tapestry of her life. And no matter how much evidence she was presented with, no matter how everything fitted perfectly in the gaps her father's lies left, her brain could not, would not accept it. She was a scientist, for God's sake! Twenty-six years of learning that something can't simply vanish or appear out of nothing couldn't be easily erased. And now this people tried to persuade her to something she simply knew was preposterous. A child's fantasy coming to life. Yet, it was there, magic really existed and with it a whole secret community of people that called themselves wizards and witches. In any other occasion a scientist in her would've been intrigued. But how could it be now, when she learned that she was also a part of it, a part of this strange world, the same kind as the people that murdered her mother before she was even born, forced her father in lifelong exile and, as if this wasn't enough, tortured and killed him twenty six years after. But even this wasn't the worst thing.
«If this wasn't my life we're talking about I could laugh at the irony of it!» So many years spent in hiding from something that nevertheless happened. In the end her father's exile accomplished nothing, just bought them some time, postponing the inevitable. «It would be better we both died that night along with my mother.»
«What next?» Skylar asked, breaking the silence that ensued her aunt's confession. «How long do you tend to keep me here?» Even after all of the revelations there was still hope, however tiny it was, lingering in Skylar's soul that she may yet find a strength to forget, to recuperate her strengths and go on with her life. But that too was shattered as Minerva and old man, which was headmaster of this «school» exchanged worried glances.
«What?» she barely recognised the shrill cry as her voice. The old man, Dumbledore, approached her and took her palm gently between his own. His touch was warm and startling blue eyes that held her own filled with compassion.
«It's not that simple.», he begun slowly, at which point Skylar's nerves were as taut as harp's strings. «You see, this is a delicate situation. The Ministry of Magic is still refusing to acknowledge the new rise of Voldemort. The number of his followers, both old and new ones, is rising as we speak, and so are numbers of hideous crimes committed by them. And yet, the Ministry is closing eyes on all evidence of increased Death Eater activity, assigning them as random attacks of madmen. They consider the very idea of Voldemort acquiring a new body and all of his power preposterous. On the other hand, they did recognise the attack on you and your father as one being committed by a member of the Wizarding community. And they don't want questions being asked both by wizarding and muggle community. You see, as far as from Middle Ages, the very existence of the Wizarding world is being kept as a secret, and a secret is the way they want it to remain. They sent a special unit of Aurors to your house, who cleared up the wreckage and casted a special charm on the neighbours, Obliviate, to make them forget what they saw. They haven't found out your father's true identity or anything about your existence. For them, the matter is closed now, and we intend to keep it that way. As long no one knows who or where you are you're safe.»
«But, surely, after some time it would be safe for me to return home, wouldn't it?», it was almost a plea. «But..but I have my research, friends.they would be worried if.». She faltered, feeling something utterly cold forming in her chest as she noticed Dumbledore's eyes lose their spark, and her aunt's averted gaze.
«I'm so sorry, child», Dumbledore said gravely. «Any trace of your existence would put both you and that person in grave danger. We.I couldn't allow that. I sent Severus to everyone you ever came in touch with, and.»
Whatever else Dumbledore had said was deafened by a loud roar in Skylar's ears as understanding came to her. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out. Her whole life, her very existence and identity was gone, obliterated, as if she never had existed at all. That was the worst of it all. The nurse, followed by Minerva and Dumbledore, hurried to her side, afraid of the state of her mind her face revealed. It was not unknown for a person to lose mind when presented with too much dismay. And in one long second Skylar thought she was really going to lose it, felt her grip on sanity loosen as she panted for breath and relief that would not come. When that second which seemed long as an hour finally passed and pounding in her ears lessened she pushed them all aside with last remnants of strength.
«Don't you touch me!» she cried harshly, a mad gleam in her eye. They obeyed.
Skylar closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, and turned her face away from them. Opening them she set her gaze on the open window, seeing none of the beauty outside, feeling only numbness. Oh, how she wished to cry, to mourn her father, the life she thought she had, but tears wouldn't come. And after a moment she realised that the cold thing in her chest was her hearth, chained in ice.
Days passed and she remained impassive and unmoving, eating when forced, more often not eating at all, eyes riveted on the horizon yet seeing only those terrible moments repeating over and over again. She wished death to come and yet unable to raise a hand at herself. Call it a cowardice, she always feared the unexpected and the unknown. And day after day her aunt, this stranger and the cause of her despair came and sat by her bed. At first she talked, opening her soul to Skylar, not asking forgiveness, only understanding. The words couldn't touch Skylar and in a way she felt a twisted sort of joy by seeing a little more of despair each passing day creeping into the eyes that were so like hers. So, after a while she finally stopped talking under Skylar's cold, accusing stare and just sat there, avoiding her eyes. A few days later she asked Skylar if she wanted her to leave. She took the ensuing silence as a yes. A few more days later she would just leave without a word. Always returning in the morning and leaving on mid-day.
This day, however she left earlier. Skylar felt a pang of anger. «What is it, you got bored with the show?» she thought following the leaving figure of her aunt from the corner of her eye. Strangely, she didn't enjoy solicitude as much she thought she would. «And I want her to pay for what she did!» Casting occusing glances lost its appeal too, although her darts still hit the target well. One could not ease his pain by hurting others. And yet Skylar wanted revenge, wanted someone, anyone to pay back the debt, and no one was as good as the ones near you. After all, Minerva was to blame, the attack on her father and her was not a random one. Skylar hated her for that, was disgusted by her sheer presence and yet felt so alone every time Minerva left.
She wanted to cry after her, call her back, say anything that would make her stay and every time she failed. Words couldn't force their way out through the wall Skylar'd built around herself. And every day she felt more alone, an inch farther from this world, an inch deeper in her self constructed grave. Buried alive.
A/N,; Still as angsty as ever but things should change for the better soon, I hope. (