Terror. She was surrounded by pure, raw terror.
It swirled around her, the anguished cries of a thousand victims lashing out at her, shredding her soul and she felt a subtle shift in her mind, as if it were trying to escape as well.
She curled into a ball, her hands clutching her head, trying to catch her consciousness, anchor it in place lest it get away.
It oozed through her fingers, smoky tendrils of thought and feelings slipping away, getting caught in the violent maelstrom of fire.
It was amazing really, the whooshing wind that could be generated by something as small as a pub on fire.
She wondered if the screams made it more fierce, or if that was simply the science of adding more fuel to the fire. Did people, muggles, make the flames burn hotter?
She dug her fingers into her scalp as she felt more of the smoke drift away in a sudden gust.
She felt indistinct. Fuzzy around the edges. Light and sluggish.
She could feel more of herself fluttering away in the wind.
The was the barest hint of relief from the flames, burning hot against her skin, as a cool, silky light brushed against her.
It wasn't enough to stop the inferno, or the whipping wind that battered her form. But it did offer a slight reprieve, enough to be noticed if not particularly beneficial. The silky light came and went for a while. Eventually even that faded.
She curled tighter into a ball on the ground, whimpering as she tried to anchor her brain with her hands, her wrists pressed tightly against her ears as inky black tears leaked out of her eyes. It was loud. Too loud.
She yelled, hoping to drown out the sounds with her own voice. She wasn't certain if this was effective.
She wasn't certain of many things. Where was she? Who was she? What was a she?
She knew, somehow, that she was a she. But what meaning that had was beyond her.
Had she been anything else? Had she ever been?
More tendrils were blown away.
The sounds had always been there. There had never been a time before them, not that she could remember. She felt fuzzy, indistinct, the edges of her skin crackling like static.
Stasis. She needed stasis. What did that mean?
A full body spasm broke her concentration, causing more smoke to slip through her fingers. She gasped, feeling a sharp pain in her chest, a restriction, a pressure around her airways.
She wanted to claw at the pressure enclosing around her, she needed to. But if she left go if her mind, so precariously contained by her hands, she was sure it would fade away.
She wasn't sure why it was so important to keep grasping at the smoke drifting away, only that it was.
She shuddered, her body jerking as she tried to draw breath that was now totally restricted, her body twitching as her chest screamed. And still, she held onto her skull.
When she thought her body could take it no longer, when she felt her grip loosen as her body began to slacken, just before oblivion she felt a searing light, warm in a different way than the fire was, that spread over her body, leaving her skin crisp and with goose pimples in its wake.
The pressure around her throat was gone and her body heaved as she took large gulps of sweet oxygen. Her grip tightened on her head, reasserting its power on the smoke that slowly slipped away.
The cries from inside the burning pub grew louder, more present. Insistently pushing against the barriers of her mind, trying to find a way around her defences. She curled tighter into a ball, shielding herself as much as physically possible.
She was startled when she felt another warm presence touch her, bringing into focus the edge of her being in a way she was surprised to realise she forgot. She had lost track of her edges, feeling them drift away slowly into nothingness.
This presence was solid, reinforcing all that it touched, bringing her into focus. The shock of it made her jump away, wary of this new development. She opened her eyes and looked at the latest intrusion.
It was gentle at first, the oozing darkness that blotted out the night sky and the burning pub. It was solid in a way she was not. Even now she could see the smoke drifting through her fingers, ripped away by the roaring fire wind.
The blackness moved slowly, starting at her feet and pausing, letting her adjust to its presence. She hadn't realised how cold she was until the blackness touched her. It brought warmth that penetrated her skin and bones.
She let it climb, still cautious of the newcomer. She only began to relax when she felt the oily darkness cover her complete wrapping her in its warm embrace, shielding her from the flames and the cries of anguish.
The darkness held her tight and hummed lowly, lulling her into a deep sleep, chasing away all of the demons. It beckoned her, gently coaxing her into giving in to the relaxation fully. She felt as if she were falling through the ground, the once solid floor was slowly stretching downwards, her body weight causing it to contort and give.
A brief flash of terror shot through her system, causing her to tense and fight the blackness surround her feebly.
The blackness responded like a living being, pressing tighter against her without being restrictive. It's humming increased in volume and she could almost hear patterned sounds that were almost like words.
She relaxed once more, trusting the darkness surrounding her and gave in to the disorientating change around her as she fell slowly through the ground.
The darkness changed, becoming more pronounced the further away she moved from the terrors of the burning pub. She could feel it's shape as something solid, beside her. She was aware of every part that touched the darkness, it grounded her as began to assert some sense of reality.
She was a girl. She had arms that were hugging this thing. She had legs, intertwined with the darkness. She was a witch. She was 23 years old. Her name, she had a name.
She no longer knew which way was up or down. They were floating through ethereal scenes of things half remembered. The darkness was leading her, carrying her mostly, controlling their fall through the hazy environment. These surroundings were not as terrifying as the last place had been. These memories seemed bittersweet. They made her ache and she felt sad for reasons she couldn't fathom.
She tried to burying her face in the darkness, finding her surroundings and the disorientation too overwhelming.
She wanted to go home.
The darkness vibrated at that thought, the humming now becoming a pattern, a phrase that seemed so familiar. A sound she felt like she had always known.
She moved closer to the darkness, now terrified of losing hold of it, lest she be lost in this strange place. The darkness, now a solid mass that stood a little taller than her, wrapped phantom limbs around her body, returning the embrace.
Her surroundings grew lighter and less oppressive until suddenly she was in an entrance way. The foyer of a run down tenement building, looking around in amazement. Everything was so familiar, the walls, the sounds, and smells tantalised her. The darkness was a form beside her, delicately holding her in encouragement, it's humming now something deep she could feel it in her bones.
Sounds echoed around her, a familiar laughter, conversations of long lost friends. She felt the emotions and happier memories beckon her deeper into the building, into the rooms. She could get lost in here, bask in the past.
The darkness held her gently but firmly, pulling her away from the tantalising sounds that drifted their way. It's hum changed, something lower, melancholy. It nudged her back to the entrance way.
It wanted her to take the steps out the door. Onto the street. But the street was cold, was dangerous, and was real.
She was a person, a girl with a name. What was her name?
What was her purpose?
She felt a strong jolt of emotion cross her body, a jealous spike that fuelled a protective instinct.
Those sounds, those jolly people, they were in danger. She had to protect them. She had to save them. She had to leave them to help them.
She let go of the inky blackness entirely taking a deep breath before opening the crumbling door and taking a step outside, into the great unknown.
There were a few things she became aware of, the first was pain. Her throat ached and it was difficult to swallow.
The next thing she became aware of was that she was warm and a little constricted. Someone was next to her, holding her tightly.
She was in a bed. A small one and someone was crammed into it beside her, their arms were wrapped around her body, they were curled up beside her, protecting her.
"There's my girl" she heard the person, a woman murmur in her ear, their grip loosening as she stretched out.
She recognised the voice and it brought a flash of terror and tenderness. Her name was Bellatrix Lestrange and she was her mother. She was Cassiopeia Lestrange, Death Eater, the Left Hand of the Dark Lord, murderer.
A sharp pain lanced through her skull as she remembered what had happened.
"Shhh Cassie," her mother stroked her hair, turning her face to press her lips to the girls temple tenderly, "it will take time for your mind to heal, but heal it will."
Cassiopeia laid there, in her mothers embraced, and stayed very still, taking a mental inventory of who and where she was.
She recognised the smells as the hospital. The scratchy bed sheets and small bed proved her point further.
She was in pain. Her eyes were sensitive to the light and were scratchy so she closed them and buried deeper into her mother's embrace. The movement made a few other things very apparent.
Her neck was stiff, too stiff and moving it a centimetre was both difficult and very painful.
Swallowing was difficult and further pain radiated through her throat. She tried to talk but an even sharper pain shot through her vocal chords and all she could do was emit a hoarse whine.
Her mother sat up in their shared bed, her face looming over hers as she examined her neck with a dangerous frown. Gone was the tender mother and in its place was the vicious killer. She was furious.
"I will sort this Cassie. I will ensure that useless swine of a father knows his place." She slid out to bed, ignoring the wide eyed panicked look in her daughters face.
Her father, what had her father done? She tried to ask more but the pain brought her short and more pitiful hoarse cries left her mouth.
"You're back here Cassie. Whole enough for now. Rest up, you are needed sooner rather than later. I shouldn't be too long."
Bellatrix was on a mission, with a final squeeze of her hand she was gone, stalking the halls of St Mungos and no doubt terrifying everyone in them.
She laid very still, afraid of the pain if she moved her neck and tried to understand what was happening. She examined the room, squinting her eyes through the pain and discomfort. She was in a private room at St Mungos. She had been punished by the Dark Lord. She felt sick as she remembered what had happened. He had been inside of her. He had literally taken up residence in her body. She felt violated beyond anything she had ever felt.
She felt hollow and raw. He had forced his way in, ripping open her soul, and she could feel the gaps he left.
She leaned over the side of the bed to be sick, only to find that she couldn't let it out. Her head swam in the pain as she tried to bend her neck and open her mouth. She was choking, she couldn't breathe. What a pitiful way to die, choking on one's own vomit in a hospital.
She drew in a greedy lungful of air as the sick vanished from her throat, the ragged breaths bring fresh waves of pain with it.
Gentle hands pushed her back in her bed, the concerned face of Theophrastus, her old friend coming into view. "None of that now Cassiopeia."
She tried to speak but all that came was more hoarse cries and radiating pain.
"Don't try to talk Cass. Your vocal chords are severely damaged and I suspect you've fractured your hyoid. Your neck is probably killing you too. That spell damaged your spine a little." He said, looking over her critically.
She squealed, wincing in pain as she ignored his suggestions. What spell? Did the Dark Lord do this?
She needed to know what happened.
Theo pulled out his notepad that he kept for taking observations and handed it to her. She scribbled in it quickly "what happened?"
Theo frowned, looking both very tired and very frustrated. "You were admitted five days ago by Mrs Malfoy in a nearly catatonic state. We were unable to revive you and could only guess you had suffered some psychological trauma that caused your mind to shut down.
We of course heard of the events that night. It was a terrible thing. There are rumours…" he cleared his throat, looking highly uncomfortable as his face flushed red,
"Anyways we knew it was mental in origin but we only have a few healers here who can even tackle mental trauma like yours and they can't without explicit consent."
She scowled, he was not answering her question. She tapped the page harder, staring at him coldly.
He looked away, fumbling with some potion vials before waving his wand carefully over her body-beginning the healing process. "You were attacked by Rodolphus Lestrange late one night shortly after you were admitted. He attempted to strangle you, and was very successful.
She-Madam Lestrange that is- she happened upon the scene and dragged him off of you. She wouldn't leave your side after that Cass and she wouldn't let any of us near to heal your injuries."
Cassiopeia tried to swallow and flinched. That was still very painful.
What had she done to deserve this life? Why did her father hate her so much to be so hellbent on killing her. Hadn't she done everything right? She played her part, she became the soldier he wanted her to be. She wasn't just any Death Eater, she was honoured above all others.
Why was she not good enough for him?
She was silent as Theo healed her delicately and she sighed when she felt the stiffness relax and the radiating pain abate. She still felt hollow, like there was a gaping hole in her soul. That wasn't something she'd expect her friend could help.
"You did have other guests." Theo murmured so quietly she very nearly missed it.
"They wanted to meet you at the arcade. When you woke up." He coughed then, his face flaming red as he turned to busy with her paperwork.
"We would like to keep you here overnight for observation. Healing that amount of damage is difficult for the brain to process. Especially since you've been injured for a while. We want to make sure you are all healed up." He was back to his professional bedside manner, standing straight and staring a little above her.
"Theo," she winced. Her voice was weak and hoarse.
He inclined his head, glancing at her quickly before looking away, his face flaming once more.
"You don't deal with mental magics" she said simply, taking a sip of water to help with the pain.
He hesitated, fidgeting nervously. "The hospital is busy. We do the best we can."
She saw through him. He was never a good liar. "You were the only healer who would work with me."
He swallowed. Neither confirming or denying her observation.
"Thank you Theo." She felt a profound sadness as she watched him go tend other patients. He was always a good friend who believed in her. She yearned for the life she would never regain, a life where they could be colleagues, friends again.
She was going to die in this war. She accepted it, and dreamt of the day it would finally come to her. It was so close it felt like a memory, her oldest friend waiting to greet her, to relieve her of her duties.
She grimaced as she swung her legs out of bed. She was still alive and she had responsibilities. She groaned as all of her muscles protested to the sudden movement, cursing under her breath.
It was worth it, she tried to remind herself. If Draco's soul was whole then it was worth the damage to her own. She grimaced and continued moving, her legs shaky as she reached for her wand and disapparated.
She collapsed against the alley wall, gasping for breath as she doubled over in pain, muscles screaming in protest. Perhaps she had been a little hasty with her magic. She was clearly in worse shape than she realised.
She took the time to steady herself, taking deep gulping breaths of the autumn air. She could feel winter in the air, and just as it started to seep through her robes did she feel well enough to walk without collapsing or being sick.
She waved her wand over her clothes, surprised at how quickly the shifted and morphed into muggle clothes. She wasn't sure what she expected, the magic seemed to come to her more easily than it ever had. Perhaps though she forgot how easy transfiguration was- it had been a while since she had to do a spell like that.
She shrugged pocketing the wand and walking into the arcade, smiling wistfully at the nostalgia that washed over her.
This was the local arcade in the Tonks' town. She had spent many evenings and birthday parties here. She smiled sadly as most the games no longer had her initials on the digital high score board. So much time had passed and she was a very different person now.
She walked past the prize area and over to the back by the eating area, which at this time of day was remarkably empty. She went even further in and found just the woman she was looking for. Her cousin, her sister, Nymphadora tonks.
Dora who was there with her husband, the werewolf who looked especially haggard and wary of the whole situation. He gave her a hard stare, his hand fingering his wand.
"Careful there Lupin. We are in the muggle world, wouldn't want to cause a scene." She said coolly, surprised to feel a jolt of cold rage at the man. It was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving her feeling empty. She frowned, wondering at the strong but fleeting feeling.
Dora did not rush to greet her, though she did look cautiously pleased to see her. "Cass. We-I- was so worried about you. The healers weren't certain you would ever wake up." Despite her wariness she did reach out and grab her hand and squeeze it.
Cassiopeia felt-cold. She was distantly pleased to see her sister but that muted by a wariness, a distrust and paranoia that was not there before. She shook her head, trying to dislodge her dark thoughts. She needn't worry about Dora.
"Much as I love being brought back to our childhood. Can we continue this somewhere less conspicuous?" She murmured, looking around at the mostly empty arcade. It was a strange sight, three adults in an arcade neither playing games or eating greasy food.
Dora leaned back, creating more space between them as she did, surveying the girl with concern.
"I know how sensitive you are about your flat, since Remus was with me," she said slowly, making a statement that was more a question.
A part of her rebelled at the idea of the werewolf in her flat, it heightened her paranoia and she could feel her thoughts becoming disjointed, beginning to spiral.
It was only with great practice and experience with the dark side of her mind did she catch the alien thoughts and quarantine them.
"Are you alright?"
It had taken a little too long to wrestle her mind back from whatever dark thoughts and she had awkwardly been giving Lupin a suspicious stare the whole time.
She shook herself, trying to dislodge the cobwebs and find her normality in the situation.
"My local cafe should be open. You know the spot. I could do with some food." Her stomach flipped unpleasantly at the thought but it had been days since she had real nutrition and not the sort that came from a potion.
She did not wait for an answer, instead excusing herself to go to the restroom and apparating
The second apparition was even worse. She was sick in the alley way, her head swimming in pain at the expense of power. She was delicate, vulnerable. With a deep breath she made her way to the cafe that she helped start, anonymously in the muggle world.
Cassiopeia took a heavy seat across from Dora and Lupin, her head still spinning from the exertion of apparition and adrenaline flooding her veins. She felt off and it was a little concerning.
The trio sat in silence until their coffees arrived, the couple staring at Cassiopeia who in turn stared at the wood grain of the table.
What were they doing there? What could they want with her? Why did they seek her out? Were they going to ambush her? It was safe in a muggle area but what if after she left? She wasn't sure she had the energy for the usual diversion tactics.
"Cass." She twitched as Dora reaches across her tables to grab her hands once more. She frowned. Her hands were shaking.
"Cass tell us what happened." Her voice was low, soothing. And wary. It had been a while since she had looked at her with any hint of fear.
She twitched once more, pulling her hands away from Dora as she took a large gulp of her coffee. Glaring at her shaking hands that spilled coffee over the side.
She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to swallow her nausea down, as she tried to quarantine those screaming voices in her mind. She felt the pull of oblivion once more, gentle but present, asking her to come back, give in to the flames.
Dora was speaking. She opened her eyes, building several walls between her consciousness and the darkness and tried to focus on the girl.
"-you Cass. But your eyes, they- it wasn't you was it?" Her eyes were wide, her hands now tightly clutched in her husbands, who glared at her darkly.
"Possession." She mumbled, wincing with a phantom pain from her recent injury.
She drank more of her coffee as she tried to ignore the raw gaping wounds on her soul. The vacuous space that was left from when he pried his way in, from the total violation and subjugation she suffered.
It was clear that Dora did not know what it was. Just as it was clear Lupin did as his glare was broken with horror and pale disbelief. His mouth gaped open as he look for words to say.
"How are you doing so well?" He finally asked.
A flash of white got rage that was foreign came and went and she clenched her fists. It was echoes, memories of the Dark Lord imprinted on her soul.
"Who says I am Wolf?" She growled, trying to separate her own feelings from the lingering ones from him.
"Cass." Dora scolded before looking at her husband questioningly. "What is possession?" She asked, looking stressed and worried.
"It's very dark magic, reserved only for those most advanced practicers of the mental arts. They can do more than read your mind and plant ideas. They can control you mind and body, pull their whole soul into your body, using it as a vessel that they can control in whatever way they see fit. It typically leaves the victims mad and they tend to perish not long after the incident. Albus suspected he was capable but we were never certain he could do it to just anyone." Lupin said looking at her now in a new light.
He pitied her. She found it disgusting. Pity was a wasted emotion and she abhorred it.
"One needs a connection or familiarity of the mind to perform possessions. Unfortunately for me, he is very familiar with most of my mind as he lives in it most days. I probably would have been fine if he hadn't found out I was keeping things from him. This was punishment for a betrayal." She said frowning.
"Did he-?" Dora asked now leaning forward urgently-"does he know?"
Another flash of rage and bitterness went through her. Dark thoughts whispered in her ear. They didn't care about her, they cared only about what she could give them. She was worthless, useless, and alone in the world.
"He found out about Charlie. Nothing more. I wouldn't be alive if he found out about you." She said almost wistfully. How nice would it be to die, to finally rest, to be relieved of duty.
Maybe she should bait her father. He'd love to kill her. Maybe she could let him.
"I visited you in the hospital. When I could before she got there." Dora said in a small voice. Cassiopeia nodded. She was saying it as a confession hoping to make herself feel better. It did not look like it worked, but it was worth the try.
"She sat with you for three days. Wrapped up around you, her head against yours."
It was a statement that was also a question. Dora never understood her relationship with her mother, the complexity, the twisted affection they shared for each other.
"She saved me. Literally from my father apparently, and pulled me from the depths of madness. Though If she didn't He surely would've eventually. Death would be too kind and too wasteful." She said bitterly finishing her coffee. "Was there anything other than you curiosity that called for the meeting?" she asked, hot irritation and panic building in her chest. She was not alright and talking about it was not helping.
"Just one more thing" She said quietly, her eyebrows furrowed and Cassiopeia glared when she saw the tips of her hair darken just the slightest. "Dad has gone missing. Mum won't tell me where he's gone, but she is in bits."
Another flash of rage shot through her body. She snarled, clenching her fists and she ground her teeth. With great care she managed to keep her tone even, "He did not go to France?"
Dora frowned, looking worried. "Mum would not say. She refused to talk about it entirely and kicked me out of the house. I can only imagine something went wrong and he is on the run. I know he is wanted."
She nodded, feeling the beginning of a headache building. The madness sensed her weakness and she felt the world around her shift slightly, the room was moving and her head starting to swim.
She closed her eyes and sighed, trying to focus on her surrounding. The chair, well worn with colourful cushions, the smell of the coffee and the sounds of the espresso machines as they pulled shots and steamed milk. There was a gentle clatter of cutlery against the plates, the low murmur of conversation, and the faint background music of something that sounded electronic and psychedelic.
"Cass?" Dora asked, looking at her anxiously and breaking her thought exercise. "Are you really alright."
She opened her eyes, glaring darkly at the girl and hunching in on her self. "No. But that doesn't matter. I will deal with it. I will find him and sort it."
Dora was pale with worry, both for her cousin and for her father. "What can we do to help you."
"Stay out of my way." She hissed, giving them both a dark look. "And tell Charlie to stay out of the country. He is in danger because of me."
She swayed as she stood up, forced to lean heavily on the table as she tried to find her balance. She shied away from Dora's helping hands, so insistent next to her, eager to assist.
"I mean it Dora. Something isn't right. I feel— I am not the same. Stay away for a while." She was afraid she realised as she stared at her shaking hands.
Had she been damaged beyond repair? Was she mad too?
She straightened, moving away quickly from the table before Dora could say anything, already halfway out the door by the time she came up with a response.
She wasn't sure how she made it to her house without splinching herself. She was trembling violently, feeling cold and the room was spinning. She collapsed on top of her bed, fully clothed with her shoes still on, finally giving into the darkness and the madness that came with it.
Xxx
Cassiopeia sulked in her house for a few days, her only company was her mother who came and went as she pleased.
Bellatrix provided her comfort and a deep guilt filed her every time she accepted it. It was confounding how a woman who murdered dozens if not more people could be so warm. She was gentle, calm, grounding her when she began to fall into an episode.
She was disassociating. It would happen randomly, when she wasn't paying attention. She would retreat into her mind, get lost in a thought and lose touch with her body. What would seem like seconds to her would be minutes or longer of not moving. She would feel fuzzy around the edges, indistinct and she often found herself hugging herself to provide some solid feedback that she was real.
It wasn't until she was summoned that she noticed the biggest change.
She sat to the left of the Dark Lord in the meeting, as always. Her head was raised high and she met every stare head on. Her compatriots could smell weakness and she could see a few wondering if she was weak enough to take out.
The Dark Lord watched her with amusement. He had never visited her in the hospital or during her self imposed isolation. He seemed expectant, waiting for something. He was waiting for her madness, the evidence of his punishment, and he smirked when she finally snapped.
It had happened to Wormtail. The snivelling idiot felt he was a step above her and had made a snide comment about how she was only fit now to babysit the prisoners.
Such a slight would have never bothered her before. She wouldn't have even risen to it in the past. Not against such an unworthy opponent.
But the flash of cold rage has her standing up, grabbing her wanting and torturing the fool before she could even finish registering the insult.
The rage and unconscious violence was concerning enough but it was her magic that was the most worrying.
She was stronger. She could feel it, the magic pouring out of her through her wand was uncontained and effortless. All of her life magic had been a steady stream, a healthy river that flowed out of her body, channelled through the hawthorn wood. She had always been strong, confident, healthy with her ability. But now- the magic was like a raging rapid, it felt as if a great blockage had been cleared and she was only just now realising her full potential. It ripped out of her body, uncontrolled and unconfined-it was wild, a force of nature that did as it pleased, with very little input from her.
It was exhilarating. It was pure bliss, overwhelming and devastating. Her head swam with the power, the pull of it through her body, her wand vibrating as it strained to channel the untamed magic.
Wormtail suffered greatly, taking the full brunt of her spell without any protection. She lost touch of her edges, disassociating, feeling only the energy moving through her, her body a host of something far greater.
She sighed when she felt the cool hand wrap around hers on the wand, relaxing into the press of the Dark Lord as he pushed himself behind her, wrapping himself around her. She focussed on his body, using it to ground her. She was fuzzy and he made her feel whole once more. He revelled in her magic for a moment before forcing her to end the spell.
"Pitiful as he is little one, he still has his uses." He murmured in her ear, quietly, a sentiment meant to stay between them.
She nodded, reluctantly ending the spell, still staring hatefully at the man she tortured, trying to understand what had just happened. She was tense, wired and on edge. Paranoia and rage fought for dominance and she could feel herself pulling away, falling closer to the darkness, the burning pub.
She sulked for the rest of the meeting, her place once more secure after her demonstration.
She was not surprised when he called for her to stay behind. She glared at the table, trying to ignore the man who was sitting to her right.
"You feel damaged." He said, voice surprisingly soft as he examined her closely. She could feel his eyes on her, curious and searching.
"My magic, my presence changed you. I know you feel it." He stated simply, folding his hands in front of him, calmly watching her. She had never heard him sound so calm, so patient, so curious. This curiosity was free of malice and threat- he genuinely seemed interested in her change.
"There are very few in this world who could withstand what I did to you. But I was certain you would survive and thrive.
But that means nothing to you does it little one? You just feel pain, betrayal, confusion. That is expected for people in your condition. You of course made it worse for yourself by lying to me." He scolded lightly
She bowed her head and screwed her eyes shut. Charlie. He saw it as a betrayal.
"I feel-different. Hollow, dancing dangerously with madness." she said quietly, still looking away from him, staring intently at the table.
He nodded, humming thoughfully as he gazed into the distance. "It is the price of great magic Lestrange. Power can come with a little madness. Some madness makes you stronger, it frees you from the shackles of paltry morality and shallow expectations of polite society. It is what separates the strong from the weak. Those who are unafraid to venture into the depths of madness and insanity, who dare to push the edge of what is possible, are given the greatest gifts of power.
You are strong Lestrange. Embrace the darkness, dance with the madness and take from it the power and dominance it grants you."
She frowned, afraid of his advice. She was conflicted, and filled with a few very powerful emotions that she was uncertain of. She felt-something. It was off, a strange feeling that she was sure she had never felt before.
He huffed, his eyes sparkling with amusement, his body languid as he was filled with an unusal sense of calm as they discussed her brush with insanity.
"Heartbreak Lestrange. Typically I would frown on such weakness, but in this case I will make an exception given the changes I have forced on you.
I have felt this weakness brewing in you for months. It is your family that is the root cause, your father specifically."
As he said the words she could feel the emotion swell in her chest, a sharp pain that made her gasp and clench her fists, heaving with it as it overpowered her, causing her sinuses to fill and her eyes to burn. It was an alien feeling, one of the strongest emotions she had ever felt. "Why?" she choked out.
"You have not conquered your emotions, you do not rule them as tightly as I have learned to. You suffer from the delusion of family, and your father's hatred is a rot that took hold months ago. It has finally spread enough to cause you pain. I blame myself, I should have cut this out of you a while ago, when I first became aware of it. But i hesitated Lestrange, worried about your mind. Fracturing it too quickly would make you useless, almost as useless as your father is."
She heaved once more, a sob escaping her as she felt the tightness clench in her chest. She was afriad, terrified of what was happening to her. What was he doing to her.
"For once Lestrange, I have nothing to do with this. This is the weakness that we have allowed to take root. The weakness that Dumbledore nourished in you, it was his own way of controlling you, keeping you on a leash." He leaned forward, closing the space between them as he looked at her very seriously.
"Feel it. Understand it. And kill it." His voice was low, urgent and serious. As serious as she had ever heard him.
"You believe in family. You believe in the unconditional love that families are supposed to share. It defines you, you cling to it helplessly, you crave your mother's attention, her affection. When she left you, you turned to those blood traitors, denying yourself and your true personality for a glimmer of their love. You sacrificed yourself to me to save your useless cousins soul" he snarled the last word, making it sound like the most ludicrous thing in the world. "You want them to love you, you do everything for their affection, for their attention because they are family." he spat the word.
"Your father hates you. No matter what you do, how much you accomplish, how you twist and turn to make yourself worthy in his eyes, he will never love you lestrange. Do you know why?"
She shook her head, her nails digging into the table as the Dark Lord drilled this into her. "Because family is meaningless."
She shuddered, feeling her heart shatter even further, her mind swimming as she felt the delicious pull of the flames from the pub, the screams and the darkness.
"You need to understand that Lestrange. Understand it and move on from it. If you want to be more, you have to kill the concept of family. There is only power, and those who are too weak to seek it. You are not weak little one." he was so close to her now, his hands curled around her face, their foreheads touching as he spoke urgently.
She felt his presence brush the edges of her mind, but he did not enter. He did not invade her. He would not interfere, he was a spectator in her misery, in her sorrow. He watched her break and he did not enjoy it as he usually did. He was solemn, serious, and intent.
Her father would never love her. She screamed in anger and frustration, yelling at the unfairness of it all, the injustice. Fathers were meant to love, family was unconditional and his dismissal of her cut deeply. She hated the power he had over her, her pitiful yearning for such an awful man to care for her, to show anything other than antipathy over her very existence.
She acknowledged her feelings, her anger, frustration and failures. She named them, felt them, wrote them against the wall of her mind, feeling their brand against her soul. She was emboldened by her failures, disgust and hatred building with every breath. She faced the list, felt them, and then killed them. With every flash of green light she felt lighter, colder, hollow. She could feel the threads sever with their death, and she could feel the hold her mind waver. Something deep in her cried in horror and anguish. She found the root of those feelings, hunting it mercilessly and killing them, eradicating it from her being.
She was cold when she resurfaced, her hands clutched tightly in the Dark Lord's, her eyes sharp and flinty. She felt different, something fundamental had shifted. Her thoughts were quiet, muted by the distant roar of flames, tormenting screams that simmered just below the surface.
She could also feel rage. It was all consuming and meaningless- not tied to any situation or circumstance. It was her core, the fire in her belly, the only warmth she could feel. The magic pooled in her, building and pushing insistently against her skin, making her itch as goose pimples erupted over her skin. It begged for release, for her to use the wild and untamed power.
She felt powerful and emotionless in the victorious eyes of the Dark Lord, shining in front of her, his teeth bared in a terrible grin.
"There she is." He breathed, his voice filled with anticipation. "Now you are perfect."
She felt nothing.
A/N Only a few chapters to go. Has she fully lost herself? Has she reached the full level of Trauma? This is story is getting even darker than I had originally planned, and I don't know about you, but I am loving it.
Reviews are always appreciated! Hope everyone has great holiday season.
tibys