As the sunlight spilled through her gauzy curtains, Poppy turned over on
her side, not wanting to wake. She lay there for a full ten minutes before
she couldn't stand it anymore. Tossing off her blanket, she rose and
dressed for the day with mechanical precision, fixing her hair and
straightening her robes before descending down to her kitchen to make some
sort of breakfast for herself and Stewart, who was still asleep.
As she stood by the kitchen counter, gazing out the window sleepily, she caught sight of something before her front door. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she squinted and spotted a beautiful stained glass vase with a bundle of white roses in it, complete with a little note. She blinked and moved away from the counter, heading to the front door. Stepping outside into the chill air, she retrieved the vase, carrying it gingerly back inside to the living room table.
She picked up the attached letter, intent on figuring out who had given these to her. It couldn't have been, Alastor... could it? No, it couldn't. She opened the envelope and found a photograph of Stewart, waving and grinning in a most daffy manner. She smiled, but still wondered... It's not Stewart either. Why would he send me flowers with a picture of him? He's daft but not egocentric... She continued on this thread, her mind not fully awake as it was particularly early in the morning, when she suddenly noticed something strange about the flowers...
Before her eyes, the white roses began to turn red, blossoming with droplets of dark red liquid everywhere, dripping onto the table. She stared in shock. It wasn't paint. It was blood. The white roses were bleeding. Her brain jammed then, suddenly realizing who had sent her the roses. As it all came together the photograph in her hand began to smoke faintly, also blossoming with blood, which trickled over her hands.
"Evanesco! Scourgify!" She cried, her heart pounding. The flowers and photograph vanished and so too, did the blood on the table... excepting the smears and splotches on her hands. Moving quickly into the kitchen, she conjured up some of her best cleaning solution and disinfectant and went to work on her hands, scrubbing hard and relentlessly to no avail. The blood itself vanished but it had left red splotches on her skin where it had touched.
By then she was shaking, truly shaking. Cleaning off her wand and pocketing it, she dashed out of her house and apparated to the moorland, where she often went to be alone and away from everything. The fog shrouded everything around her in hazy grey shadows, and the cold air chilled her to the bone, perhaps because it was aided by the high winds.
Poppy stood there in the high wind, wanting to wrap an arm around herself to keep even slightly warm, but she refused to let her tainted hand touch any part of her. She kept her hand clenched and at her side, white as ice, bringing out the red splotches in stark contrast. With her other hand, she fingered the pendant about her neck. A beautiful strained glass poppy pendant that had been given to her by Alastor in her youth, on her sixteenth birthday.
As she fingered the beautiful gift, she thought of him, drawing on her memories for warmth and protection. The memory of playing against him in quidditch, where he refused to play as hard as he would ordinarily do, ignoring the captain's words at the time to stop being a gentleman, made her smile just the tiniest bit. She remembered also, when two Slytherins in her year had tampered with her cauldron in potions class, causing her to burn her hands. She remembered how Alastor had been there in the hospital wing to see her, just under two or so hours later, once he'd caught wind of what happened. He'd always been there for her...
I wish he still could be... but I cannot involve him now. I would be the death of him. She didn't sigh and she didn't cry. It was not a luxury she had. She would have to endure and find a way out of this mess, a mess she had created for herself. Rory was dead because of her. No one else would die on account of her folly. Not if she could help it.
As she stood there, she caught the sound of footsteps. She tensed and whirled around, spotting a shadow coming towards her with lazy movements, the dark fog making the figure look even more menacing. Aurelius sidled up to her then, looking more than pleased with himself. Was there no where she could go without his following? Was there no secret she could keep from this man? She felt him take her tainted hand in his. "I see you'd received my little gift," he remarked airily, his voice purposefully light. "Such beautiful hands, but such unbecoming splotches," he commented, gazing with amusement at her hand and the red splotches.
She let him examine her hand, as he was obviously amused with his cruel genius. "Shall I kiss it and make it better?" He smiled coldly and lifted her hand to his lips, kissing each of the splotches individually, with lazy would-be tenderness. Before her eyes, the splotches disappeared after he'd kissed them. She barely blinked, feeling the air leave her lungs.
He smiled widely then. "All better now?" He asked her with feigned concern. It was such a bold faced lie, but Poppy nodded her head anyway. Anything to make him leave. "You know, it's actually quite romantic... my kisses having that effect on you." Aurelius said, moving to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She felt her heart skip a beat. She'd never felt more trapped in her life than in that moment, with his arms around her like that.
"Well, my lovely," he kissed the back of her neck. "I must be going, and if I am not mistaken you have work to be getting along to." He declared, turning her around to kiss her full on the mouth before he turned and left her there alone in the deep haze, the high winds clawing at her skin with cold and vicious fingernails.
As she stood by the kitchen counter, gazing out the window sleepily, she caught sight of something before her front door. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she squinted and spotted a beautiful stained glass vase with a bundle of white roses in it, complete with a little note. She blinked and moved away from the counter, heading to the front door. Stepping outside into the chill air, she retrieved the vase, carrying it gingerly back inside to the living room table.
She picked up the attached letter, intent on figuring out who had given these to her. It couldn't have been, Alastor... could it? No, it couldn't. She opened the envelope and found a photograph of Stewart, waving and grinning in a most daffy manner. She smiled, but still wondered... It's not Stewart either. Why would he send me flowers with a picture of him? He's daft but not egocentric... She continued on this thread, her mind not fully awake as it was particularly early in the morning, when she suddenly noticed something strange about the flowers...
Before her eyes, the white roses began to turn red, blossoming with droplets of dark red liquid everywhere, dripping onto the table. She stared in shock. It wasn't paint. It was blood. The white roses were bleeding. Her brain jammed then, suddenly realizing who had sent her the roses. As it all came together the photograph in her hand began to smoke faintly, also blossoming with blood, which trickled over her hands.
"Evanesco! Scourgify!" She cried, her heart pounding. The flowers and photograph vanished and so too, did the blood on the table... excepting the smears and splotches on her hands. Moving quickly into the kitchen, she conjured up some of her best cleaning solution and disinfectant and went to work on her hands, scrubbing hard and relentlessly to no avail. The blood itself vanished but it had left red splotches on her skin where it had touched.
By then she was shaking, truly shaking. Cleaning off her wand and pocketing it, she dashed out of her house and apparated to the moorland, where she often went to be alone and away from everything. The fog shrouded everything around her in hazy grey shadows, and the cold air chilled her to the bone, perhaps because it was aided by the high winds.
Poppy stood there in the high wind, wanting to wrap an arm around herself to keep even slightly warm, but she refused to let her tainted hand touch any part of her. She kept her hand clenched and at her side, white as ice, bringing out the red splotches in stark contrast. With her other hand, she fingered the pendant about her neck. A beautiful strained glass poppy pendant that had been given to her by Alastor in her youth, on her sixteenth birthday.
As she fingered the beautiful gift, she thought of him, drawing on her memories for warmth and protection. The memory of playing against him in quidditch, where he refused to play as hard as he would ordinarily do, ignoring the captain's words at the time to stop being a gentleman, made her smile just the tiniest bit. She remembered also, when two Slytherins in her year had tampered with her cauldron in potions class, causing her to burn her hands. She remembered how Alastor had been there in the hospital wing to see her, just under two or so hours later, once he'd caught wind of what happened. He'd always been there for her...
I wish he still could be... but I cannot involve him now. I would be the death of him. She didn't sigh and she didn't cry. It was not a luxury she had. She would have to endure and find a way out of this mess, a mess she had created for herself. Rory was dead because of her. No one else would die on account of her folly. Not if she could help it.
As she stood there, she caught the sound of footsteps. She tensed and whirled around, spotting a shadow coming towards her with lazy movements, the dark fog making the figure look even more menacing. Aurelius sidled up to her then, looking more than pleased with himself. Was there no where she could go without his following? Was there no secret she could keep from this man? She felt him take her tainted hand in his. "I see you'd received my little gift," he remarked airily, his voice purposefully light. "Such beautiful hands, but such unbecoming splotches," he commented, gazing with amusement at her hand and the red splotches.
She let him examine her hand, as he was obviously amused with his cruel genius. "Shall I kiss it and make it better?" He smiled coldly and lifted her hand to his lips, kissing each of the splotches individually, with lazy would-be tenderness. Before her eyes, the splotches disappeared after he'd kissed them. She barely blinked, feeling the air leave her lungs.
He smiled widely then. "All better now?" He asked her with feigned concern. It was such a bold faced lie, but Poppy nodded her head anyway. Anything to make him leave. "You know, it's actually quite romantic... my kisses having that effect on you." Aurelius said, moving to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She felt her heart skip a beat. She'd never felt more trapped in her life than in that moment, with his arms around her like that.
"Well, my lovely," he kissed the back of her neck. "I must be going, and if I am not mistaken you have work to be getting along to." He declared, turning her around to kiss her full on the mouth before he turned and left her there alone in the deep haze, the high winds clawing at her skin with cold and vicious fingernails.
