For the One a Week Competition (Cedrella, 700 words)
She trembles, heart racing. His father's eyes are dark, stormy as understanding dawns on him.
"No daughter of mine will marry a Weasley! Do you hear me?"
Cedrella still trembles as she nears the field just outside Septimus' home. She could have used magic to travel, but her mind is a storm of chaos, even now. She would have gotten herself splinched in a heartbeat.
One foot in front of the other. She winces. Her feet are sore from the journey, and she can feel blisters threatening to break the surface. Still, she walks on. She is close. Her safe haven is waiting for her.
Her mother turns away quickly. Cedrella has the sneaking suspicion that tears are in her eyes. Tears. A sign of weakness. Something her mother would never allow her father to see.
"Do you see what you're doing to your mother, girl?" her father snarls, taking a step closer, his fingers curling inward to form fists. "Do you realize the shame you're bringing on your family?"
Cedrella keeps her head held high. She will not back down, not this time. She is older, stronger, and she will not let him control her anymore.
Tears fall from her eyes. Cedrella doesn't bother to wipe them away. She's free now. She can finally let herself embrace her emotions without fear or shame.
A smile tugs at her lips. Another step, then another. Septimus is waiting for her, and her past is so far behind her now.
Her father's face softens. "Be reasonable, Cedrella. You were always such a clever girl," he pleads, taking her by the hand. "Stop this foolishness. We can sweep it all under the rug and pretend it never happened. Won't that be lovely?"
She almost hesitates. Her father hasn't spoken so gently to her since she was a little girl. Part of her wants to believe that he's sincere, that this isn't some mask that he's wearing to persuade her. Cedrella wants to believe that her father will be the man that she looked up to when she was little.
But she can see the darkness that still lingers in his eyes. If she stays, he will marry her off to someone just as cruel as he is.
She pulls her hand away. "I will not change my mind, Father."
Septimus. Septimus is gentle. He never shouts the way her father does. He never raises his fists, threatening her without saying a word.
Septimus is good and kind, and he is waiting for her.
This thought causes her to move faster. Her feet burn and ache in protest, but she ignores the pain. She has to reach him. She's come this far.
His fist strikes against her cheek, and Cedrella almost falls to the floor. She pulls away quickly, rubbing her stinging face, eyes narrowing at her father.
"I will not give him up," she says coldly.
Her father scoffs and takes a menacing step closer. Cedrella backs away out of fearful habit. She is all too familiar with the way he expresses his displeasure. Her mother taught her at such a young age which potions work best to fade the bruises.
"You are making a grave mistake, Cedrella," he says sharply. "What can this man offer you? The Weasleys have no gold, no status."
"He loves me."
He laughs. "Love? Will love keep you fed? Will love buy you the nice dresses that you've grown accustomed to?"
Cedrella feels as though she might collapse when she finally crosses the field. Her cheek stings, joining her feet in causing her pain, but she ignores it.
"Septimus!" she cries.
She is still far from the house, and she doubts he will hear her, but it's the first glimmer of hope that she has felt all day. "Septimus!"
"You are a Black, and you will behave as one!"
She has grown tired of the argument. She had hoped to get her things, but they no longer matter. "In a fortnight, I will be a Weasley."
"Cedrella?"
Septimus appears in the doorway, his illuminated wand in hand. He rushes toward her, arms outstretched. "You should have written so I'd know you were coming tonight."
She clings to him, smiling. "Doesn't matter now. I'm home."