Fight the Good Fight
Chapter Eight:"Let them bury their dead..."
Why is it, that when a person should be feeling the most heartache, the most pain...they are instead completely numb? Why was it that as Ivera sat, not ten feet from her mother's cold, pale corpse, resting in a fine marble coffin, that even as she was falling apart...she could feel nothing? Not the softness of the kind breeze that played against her skin, and through her hair, that swished the skirt of her traditional acheronian dress. She could not hear the words of the priest, as he spoke her mother's last rites. And yet...she felt everything. It was as if she felt so much, that she had become numbed. Feeling too much.
Ivera thought it very ironic...and cruel, that the day was one so beautiful, so pleasant. Funerals were not happy, so why must the earth seem so pleased? Her mother was dead...and the earth rejoiced. Ivera hated the sunshine, she hated the green grass, she hated the glances of sympathy, telling her how pathetic she looked. But most of all, Ivera hated herself.
This was her fault...surely it had to be. She could think of no other explanation. Every scenario she played through in her mind ended the same...her mother was still dead, and Greyback was still coming for her; there was nothing she could do about either situation.
A hand squeezed hers comfortingly. Slowly, her eyes, brimming with tears, met his. One look, and he knew. "Ivera", he breathed her name. Immediately, Ivera's head fell onto his chest, as Fred wrapped his arm around her, comforting her, just holding her, knowing there was nothing else for him to do. He felt her tears wet his coal black shirt, and didn't care; he loved her.
Another hand gripped her shoulder; she knew it was Sam. Her free hand found his, found it, and held it tight, as if she were afraid that if Sam let go, he would be lost to her forever. They were all losing it, losing their grips. With her face still pressed against Fred's chest, Ivera murmured, "...I'm going to kill him Fred...I'm going to kill Lucius Malfoy, I'm going to kill them both".
"Ivera...I'm so sorry". Running a hand through his silky blonde locks, he watched from a distance, hidden, unseen, wishing he could be the one to hold her in his arms, and it was his chest that her tears fell upon.
Another Place
"How amusing."
"What is, my Lord"?
"You're son, Lucius. He is at the funeral...watching the girl".
"Master"?
"Well, I can't blame him, she is beautiful...AND a pureblood".
Back to Funeral
An uneasy feeling passed over him, and looking up, he caught a pair of sad blue eyes on him, their normal twinkling and luster dimmed with regret. Dumbledore did not move or speak, he simply stared, then slowly turned away. Realizing he had been holding his breath, Draco quickly Disapparated.
Another Place
"Master, we should attack now-"
"No, Lucius. She is quite beautiful in black".
"But Master, they are weak, and-"
"Let them bury their dead...besides, there will plenty time for that later".
Back to Funeral
