Hello everybody and welcome back! First and foremost, I would like to say thank you for hitting 200+ followers on this story! It's a huge landmark and I don't think words can begin to describe just how excited and happy I am right now. When I first noticed I squealed with joy and couldn't calm down for the rest of the day! Even now, weeks afterward, I am overwhelmed with elation.
And so, I would also like to say that all of your reviews mean incredibly much to me. When I'm writing I keep a tab of them open so I can look through them for motivation when I start to feel blocked or frustrated. It's done amazing wonders. I've gotten so many unique and beautiful reviews over the course of this story it's often left me in tears. 2016 was a particularly hard year on me and I am very happy to leave it behind me and move onto a hopefully better year! I want to focus on my writing and drawing so that I can build a better future for myself. This year, I know, is going to be very life altering in many different ways and I will admit I am nervous, but still excited. I hope to enjoy this year with you all to the fullest extent!
Also, it's hilarious to go through and read all the reviews shouting at me about whether or not Cedric's gonna live or die. There's actually a very nice divide between people wanting him to live, and those wanting him to die (purely for angsty, non fix-it reasons of course /wink). Interesting. And I'm very happy to see people crying over my little story, omg, thank you I feel so honored. I'll be honest, I start crying when I write those emotional scenes. It's kind of a relief, really, something along the lines of 'if I can cry over it, so can my readers'. I love all of you.
Moving on!
I would like to say that I'm terribly sorry for how short this chapter is. To be honest, this chapter is more along the lines of an interlude than an actual world/plot building exercise. I have a lot planned for the next chapter and I'm very excited to start writing it! But it's too soon for that and so that's why this little portion exists. While this chapter does have points of interest and important moments between characters, it isn't really something to further the plot. Sorry again ^^;;
And so, onto the story!
Disclaimer: (´ 3`)/
o.O.o
Lately, she's often found herself sitting at the edge of the black lake, staring into its depths and contemplating the life hidden deep within it. Finds herself wondering, somewhat distantly, on the next task and how it will play out. How Diggory will plan his next steps. How Potter will exceed the children around hers expectations. (How, sometimes, she wants nothing more than to drown in its inky blackness-)
This day is not so different, it seems, and she finds herself wrapped up in her yellow and black striped-scarf, books she had borrowed from the library held loosely in her grasp, standing on the very edge of the dock, and peering into its cold clutches. The wind tugs at her hair, causing a shiver to go down her spine, and, she thinks, it almost feels real. A not-dream.
It's easy to forget that this is reality, what with how...ridiculous this whole world is.
(It's also easy to remember what reality is, though, with the nightmares of her death that haunt her endlessly, and the nothingness she can feel ingrained in her so deeply, and, the absence of her family like a shock to her system, an aching feeling of offness set in her chest, like a piece of her is just gone. Sometimes she turns with the expectation of them being there, only to find them not. It's like going up the stairs with the expectation of there being an extra step at the top - the sick feeling of fear and offness that settles on one's shoulders as that last step turns out to be false. The wrongness of a foot landing on thin air, crashing down with a hard thud as one tries to catch their breath, anxious. Dreadful.)
So, she stares into the blackness and the blackness also stares back into her, and she thinks about what it would mean to become lost in the waters folds. She hears the thrum and rhythmic bong of the castle's clock, and pulls back from the wooden edge, a strange sense of disappointment settling in her chest that she can't quite explain. She hears the distant chatter of children being set free from their classrooms clutches, and turns to make her way back into the warmth the castle provides. The clouds overhead rumble at her threateningly, and she has just passed the castles doors when-
"You're-" it comes to her, suddenly and muffled, and she freezes against the weight of it - against the knowledge of what it means.
She purposely doesn't turn to the sound, lets her hair shadow her face.
She has only heard that voice once before, in this life, and already she would recognize it instantly.
Hunching her head down, she cradles her books against her chest gently, and makes to move away from the person behind her. Pretends she never heard him.
"Wait a minute, you," the voice is snarling, and she finds herself suddenly yanked back and forced to meet a pair of icy blue eyes. The others hands are digging into her shoulder painfully, heavy and sweaty and disgusting, and she feels her body curling into itself in an attempt to get away. How dare he touch her-
"What do you want?" she hisses back, wand already out and ready to twist into a new hex of her own invention if he doesn't let her go right now, and she can feel something twisting in her stomach, up her chest, and tries not to become overwhelmed with the feeling.
The boy flinches back, hands breaking away from her to clutch at his sides, but he remains stubborn - staring at her resolutely.
"You're the one from Borgin and Burkes, aren't you?" he asks, voice tight and controlled and loud.
She moves forward, intent on shoving her fist down his throat, because how dare he touch her, when a hand to her back stills her. She turns, wand now forgotten and hand reaching out to deliver a solid smack to the other person that's touching her, when she stops because-
"What's going on, Victoria?" Diggory asks her, standing behind her and looking from her to Malfoy in what she can only guess is confused concern. She is still bristled, tense, and she knows he can tell with how much time they spend together. She can barely control herself from hexing the boy in front of her mercilessly.
"Nothing," she says, voice low, and she sees his brows twitch up slightly.
"Don't you ignore me-" Malfoy is saying, and she turns towards him furiously, spiteful resentment on the tip of her tongue, magic sparking in her fingers-
She feels Diggory's heavy presence behind her, takes in a sharp breath, and lets it out slowly. There are some things he doesn't need to know about her.
"I have no," she hisses at him, eyes sharp and dead, "idea what you're talking about Malfoy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have have better things to be doing right now."
She pushes past the sputtering boy, ignores the pale, wide-eyed look he sends her, and twists to make her way to the third floor corridor - to her musty little room.
She skips the rest of her classes.
o.O.o
"Do you need more potions, Miss Dodger?"
"No, I'm fine. Thank you."
"Well, if you're sure…"
When she wakes up the next morning she finds ten new brightly colored, bubbling vials in her trunk. She closes the lid harshly and pretends she never saw them.
o.O.o
"He's really not what you make him out to be," the words are murmured, quietly, against the setting sun. The black lake glistens at them invitingly, almost as if to make up for the monsters lurking deep within. Falling from a young girl's lips in a vain hope of somehow twisting her mind against the truths only she knows.
Granger finds her ever increasingly - offering 'help' wherever possible, shadowing her in the crowded hallways of the castle, her eyes darting after her during meal times with thinly veiled concern and curiosity.
"Made yourself a friend have you?" Diggory had asked her jokingly one morning, spying the ever-watchful eyes of Hermione Granger peering at her from the Gryffindor table.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she had replied, disarmingly, and turned from the table to stalk to her classes. She has no care for what the Gryffindor does, so long as it doesn't affect Diggory - and doesn't involve Potter.
"Harry he's...he's just misunderstood, really," Granger whispers to her, fiddling her fingers and tapping her foot to a listless beat, "he doesn't want to hurt anyone. He doesn't cause...trouble, willingly."
She had briefly considered not saying anything at all, letting Granger form her own conclusions at the silence, and eventually pushes the idea aside with a small, bitter smile.
"I won't change my mind," is all she had said, eyes heavy against the slowly falling sun, that cold breeze again tugging at her hair.
Granger had looked at her then, some type of desperation in her eyes, and she thinks back to the books, back to what Potter will cause.
"I won't," she says again, thinking of green spells and dead bodies, a sisters murmured words, and the nothingness.
She doesn't want Diggory to endure that.
She doesn't want him to feel what she had.
o.O.o
She watches the calendar slowly shrug away the days, the mark of the next task standing out boldly on its parchment, and stares down at her small body.
She can't get the feeling of Malfoy's hand touching her out of her mind. Can't stop feeling their weight and intent, the nasty feel of his magic upon her skin and the something that seemed ready to lash out, constantly at the forefront of her thoughts, and her nightmares - which had slowly abated with Diggory's presence - come at her full force.
She had a small comfort, before, just a tiny one. The comfort of knowing that this new body of hers is clean and untainted. Of knowing that it hadn't been touched. She wonders, faintly, if she can see this body the same again.
Her grades begin to slowly drop, one by one, and Diggory hovers around her nervously for the rest of the week.
She eyes the vials in her trunk ever increasingly with a heavy, tired eye.
o.O.o
If someone were to ask her, before, what true pain would mean she would probably have answered with a witty joke and a laugh, perhaps something along the lines of angering her mother or being on the receiving end of her brothers - lengthy - pranking phase. Indeed, if she were asked such things this would be how she'd respond, a deflection of a real answer, a sentence to invite another topic away from such heavy matters. But, if she were to take a moment to contemplate the question deeply, alone and undisturbed, she would perhaps have felt a shiver coursing down her spine, a sinking feeling of fear settling in her stomach, and would know, deeply, that it is something she wished to never face. True pain is a concept different for everyone, no matter what it may be, and even she herself isn't sure what would pain her most.
She wouldn't have thought, for even a moment, that one day she would face the prospect of true pain with a bitter laugh and a humorless smile. That she would become so acclimatized to the misery that she would, over time, begin to wonder if she had ever been truly happy at all.
Every family, no matter how seemingly perfect they are, has struggles and moments of pain that could tear and rip one to shreds. Every family experiences moments of misery so strong it could leave one wondering whether the steady bindings of blood and memories of fonder times had really meant anything at all and if, perhaps, hatred for a beloved one was inevitable all along.
As a child grows and becomes accustomed to the world around them they often find themselves learning things from the people they love that would have been better left unsaid. Secrets or lies coming to light that could rupture and morph a perspective from something bright and cheerful to something full of spite and ire. Perhaps it is something small that inspires such grotesque feelings, like a simple habit proving itself to be unbearable, or, it could be something large and monstrous, a thing that which before had proven itself to be unimaginable in one's mind. Something that would have made one think 'no, never, not them'.
These are all things which she had become accustomed to. Things that, time and time again, were taught to her through measured words and reckless, whimful, actions.
Her family had their own problems, their own - demons. She was no saint herself, there was no doubt, and while she does remember a time in which she truly hated her family, nothing could prepare her for losing them.
For becoming lost.
She wonders, sometimes, in the faint and heady feeling of the moonlight shining down on her, if perhaps her body was ever found.
If, perhaps, they were still waiting for her to come home.
o.O.o
She's in the library, when it happens.
(Most everything likes to happen in the library, it seems.)
"Miss Dodger," a voice quietly tells her, small and frail and shaky, "Professor Sprout has been asking to see you Miss."
She stops, looks down, and stares at the house-elf looking up at her imploringly. This is her first time seeing one, and she can't bring herself to feel anything more than a passing interest at its batlike ears and bulging eyes.
"The Professor has been asking to see you, Miss," the elf repeats itself, blinking its bulbous eyes slowly, and she frowns.
"What for?" she asks, the words muted and low in the late hour, and she tries to think back on what she could have done that would warrant a talking to from her house head. Nothing comes to mind – especially not on a night as important as this.
The elf squeaks, it's large floppy ears twitching with the movement, and she tries not to scowl. She doesn't have time for this; her body is tired and slow – sluggish with the weight of the day's troubles and heavy with the youngness that she cannot control. The past few hours have been spent hunched over cauldrons and jars, tediously scrubbing every slimy inch of each pot and storing away insects and creatures of all kinds to be used in the next day's lesson. Snape was a slave driver, taking morbid glee in watching her rub her aching neck and stretch out her back, in abusing her flair for charms to keep his ingredients fresh. Even now he tries to find every fault in her he can, any reason to punish her with detention – she hasn't had a day's rest in weeks. She needs to go to bed now, if she wants to wake up in time for tomorrow, for-
The Second Task.
Her heart twists, anxiety and adrenaline running through her veins, and she has to take a shuddery breath in order to keep her fear at bay. The elf watches her, silent and curious.
She can't help but wonder if it, too, can feel her strangeness.
"P-Professor Sprout didn't tell me, Miss, only that I was to get you right away," the elf tells her, feet shuffling and hands twisting around each other.
"Where is the Professor?" she asks, somewhat regrettably, and tries not to let her distaste show on her face.
She just wants to curl up with Sasha and go to sleep. She wants to pretend that tomorrow is just another normal day and that the year wasn't drawing ever closer to a close – to a war. She wants to pretend that she doesn't exist, and that this whole world is nothing more than another one of her nightmares.
A pure white lily is stained with red and begins to wilt and wither away, the ashes of its form burning acid through her desk, and the others begin to do the same. The blackness is reaching for her, desperate to catch her, and she feels the familiar nothingness consume her soul and feels the weight of a world crumbling beneath her feet, life blinking out like lights, and she is nothing and everything and-
"I-In her study Miss," the elf tells her before popping away, to the kitchens where tomorrow's breakfast has yet to be prepared.
She stares at the empty space it leaves behind for a long, drawn out moment before turning on her heel to stalk through the shelves. She hears the rustling of paper and doesn't turn to where she knows Potter is, still desperately looking for something to save him from tomorrow's Task. She can practically feel his frantic heartbeat; tastes the electric taste of a charm in the air as he once more checks the time. It's not her problem.
She takes her time on the way to the Professor's office, leisurely twisting down halls and stopping to look out at the night sky when she happens across a set of large windows. Sasha darts out at her from the shadows the castle casts, eyes keen and practically glowing, before climbing her body to settle on her shoulders with a pleased meow. She feels a tired smile tug at her lips, a small thing, and lets her fingers run through her companion's fur. Setting her attention forwards, she once more lets her feet drift silently across the stone floor.
The past few weeks have been…exhausting. Both physically and mentally – she isn't sure how much more she can take. She isn't sure how she feels about being Diggory's...companion. If she were to be completely honest, were to sit down and think back on both the present and the past, she would have to say that she-
Regrets it.
Regrets the moment she set her eyes upon the Hufflepuff table.
(Regrets the moment she set her eyes upon that man-)
Because all she can see is a body's listless weight falling down, down, down, blood steadily trailing after it, and the gasps of an elated crowd – a crowd so pleased with the carnage and bloodshed they had been given, uncaring of the pain and torment inflicted upon those so lucky to be 'nominated'. All she can see is a kind, pained smile assuring her that no, it's not as bad as it seems, really, you don't have to worry Victoria I'm fi-
All she can see is what she's inflicted upon this world, and what more's to come.
Things have been...distant, lately.
Vague. Listless.
It feels as if she's drifting through the scattered remnants of something long gone and pretending as if she was still - whole. Okay. Held together.
"Come in!" Sprouts voice calls to her, muffled. She huffs a silent breath, leans into Sasha's rumbled nuzzling and steels herself to get this over with as soon as possible. She opens the door.
"You asked for me?" She asks, ignoring the woman's motions towards the chair settled in front of her plant strewn desk, and remains standing in front of the still open door.
The Professor smiles at her cheerfully, apparently ignoring (or perhaps not noticing) her rudeness, and pushes aside a large stack of papers to motion greatly with her arms.
"Miss Dodger!" Sprout beams, witches hat becoming crooked on her head, "it is so good to see you again!"
She feels her lips twist into a grimace as she tries not to cringe at the frankly disturbing amount of positive vibes Sprout is attacking her with. The woman was always eerily cheerful around her, always going out of her way to greet her with beaming grins - that is, of course, on the off chance she happens to notice her. She has learned to avoid the teacher as much as possible, if only so she doesn't have to hear Diggory's muffled snorts and sniggers.
"What did you need me for, Professor?" she asks, a little wearily, hoping to distract the Professor from her undoubtedly long spiel of, 'how are you doing Miss Dodger? And your charms work, are they as splendid as always? How is Mister Diggory-?'.
Her eyes feel tired, and she can barely hold them open against her House Heads sunny attitude.
"Oh!" Sprout exclaims, busying herself with putting away her quill and standing up to round her desk, "well the truth is, I find myself in need of your assistance Miss Dodger!"
She frowns, a nagging feeling of dread beginning to tug at her consciousness as she hesitantly asks "…whatever for, Professor?"
She thinks back – back, back, back – to when she had spent her nights curled against a pillow and settled against a headboard, to when she had whispered silent words meant only for her sister's ears into the night-
"With the Second Task of course!"
A memory comes to her,
"Wha-"
"Don't worry about the details Miss Dodger! You'll understand, eventually! Now if you'd let me just-"
"Wait, no, I-"
"Oh, Miss Dodger, everything is fine!" Sprout smiles, pulling out her wand, which is adorned with strangely colored leaves curling around the handle, and flicking it towards her with a muttered incantation "The spell will explain everything to you!"
What does-
(What does it-)
This can't be right, it can't be right, she can't-
"I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Dodger."
And then she becomes-
Nothing.
o.O.o
She wonders, sometimes, what it means for a child to become an adult. What such a transference could possibly entail to someone who is oblivious and innocent, unaware and unbound by the rules of society. Is it the aging of a body? A consciousness? Is it becoming more aware to what's around you? Becoming more responsible?
What could it possibly mean to a child? A child far from the cusp of adulthood?
Is it learning how to drive? Being able to buy as much candy as you would want? Being able to sleep over at a friends any night of the week, giggling late into the night without repercussion? Is it being treated equally by the adults around you?
Is it a more free, open world, set away from the boundaries and rules set upon you by the adults who claim to know better than you?
(Or, is it the opposite?)
A phrase she had often heard over the years, when she had whined and cried that she "couldn't wait to grow up already", was to be careful what she wished for. A simple, sad sentence she had heard from many an adult with a melancholic, wistful edge. She hadn't understood then, what it meant to wish to be a child. Hadn't understood just how free she really was, just how carefree she really was.
She learned, of course, through time and through hardships. Why the adults around her told her to be so wary of wishing her childhood away. Why they had seemed so pitiful, sympathetic, when they said it.
She wishes she could scream at them, now. Wishes she could scream and rant and rave at them because this-
This isn't what anyone would want.
Is this the price for wanting the 'better days' back?
Is this what it means to be 'free?' To be 'carefree?'
Those adults couldn't possibly comprehend the helplessness that comes with a child's body. The feeling of being trapped by one's own skin, a prisoner too young to make one's own choices and too young to have the ability understand what's around them.
To be looked down upon.
To look in the mirror and see a stranger.
But, more than that, she wishes she could go back and scream at herself. Scream, and rant, and rave at the choices she made. The people she hurt. The wish to go back and be free again.
The her of the past really didn't understand just how made she had it.
But, truthfully, the her of the present didn't either.
o.O.o
And, done! Yay!
I hope you all enjoyed this lil thing. I'm sorry again for its somewhat pitiful length. The next chapter will be better!
Come scream at me on tumblr!
dev-fiction. tumblr. com
And with that, I bid you adieu! Until next time ~
-Dev.
