BURN
The smell of burning flesh doesn't bother her anymore. It doesn't remind her of slaughter or death, or brings images of charred bodies and blackened ash. The smell comforts her now. It makes her think of redemption and forgiveness. Angelina wonders if she should be worried.
She's not like other people who use candles or a Muggle lighter to burn away patches of their skin, leaving behind ugly reminders of what they've done. A nail stolen from Filch's office and her wand is all she needs. She heats the nail head and presses it to her skin, creating beautiful patterns that can take up to an hour to complete. There's a flower pattern on the inside of her arm, her own dark mark.
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The nightmares are few and far between now. Angelina knows this means nothing. She remembers through her skin as she forgets in her dreams.
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Everyone wants to find some sort of normal.
Angelina is elected Quidditch captain. She accepts because even though she's still stuck in a series of memories, the world is moving on. She has to pretend she's going forward as well.
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Montague watches her.
She can feel his eyes on her when she walks into the Great Hall and when she sits down in Charms class.
He was there that day. He was a hulking shape in front of Flourish and Blotts, looking at the crowd with an indifferent expression. They locked eyes for a moment, then he looked away.
She wants to ask if he was scouting. If he knew what was going to happen. She didn't see him among the robed figures throwing curses. She saw him after, bending over a man, emotion threatening to break through his icy exterior. She later learned the man was his father.
Yours for mine, she'd thought.
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Angelina grows tried of burning her own flesh. Soon it begins to disgust her. The memories are burned into her mind. She doesn't need the reminder on her skin.
She yearns to burn someone else.
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She stays in the castle during a Hogsmeade weekend. She roams the halls, dragging her index fingers against the stone walls, feeling the bumps and depressions. She closes her eyes down a particular corridor and allows the sensation of feeling to overtake her.
She's aware of someone ahead but she doesn't open her eyes. Her fingers move over fabric and comes to rest in the middle of a broad, masculine chest. He moves to stand in front of her. She can feel him looking down at her.
Cold, blank, blue eyes gaze down at her when she opens her eyes. His eyes are like her anger: hard, and solid, hiding behind a façade of calm.
"Did you know?" she asks.
He nods then speaks. "Yes. My father told me not to go that day."
"Then why did you go?"
"I…" he falters. "I wanted to see. It's different when you see. I'd only heard before."
"Did you see?"
He shook his head. "I couldn't look."
"You're lucky," she says, because she couldn't look away. She'd watched as Montague Senior aimed his wand at her father. She'd seen her father's flesh dissolve from his body before being consumed by fire. Most of his ashes blew away with the wind.
"Why didn't you tell anyone that there was going to be an attack?"
Montague doesn't reply.
Angelina understands. She doesn't want to, but she does. It doesn't make it all right, though. It doesn't make her forgive him.
Montague looks like he's about to apologize. Angelina speaks before he can get the words out. "Meet me at the Astronomy Tower tonight." She doesn't wait for him to agree. He'll be there.
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Angelina brings her nail.
Montague is already in the tower when she arrives. He sits on the floor, surrounded by large cushions. His head is lowered; he seems to be talking to himself.
A wave of her wand and the room becomes dim. Angelina takes one of the candles from the sconces and sits in front of Montague. She places the candle and the nail between them and takes off her blouse.
Montague's eyes are drawn to her breasts. When he looks away he notices the burn marks. He touches her arm lightly, running his fingers over the circles that make the Eye of Isis.
"Maybe I'll get rid of them one day. I thought I needed them, but I don't," she says. There's nothing I could've done, she adds silently. She doesn't need to ask for forgiveness.
Montague understands perfectly. He strips of his shirt and extends his arm.
Heating up the nail takes a few minutes. Montague keeps a stoic face during the first few burns. She presses the nail harder and keeps it longer as the pattern begins to take shape. It's a single circle surrounded by twelve evenly spaced dots.
Angelina notices that Montague's eyes are glassy. She holds his arm and kisses the tender skin. He makes a sound like a whimper. One day she'll make him scream. He'll thank her.
She admires her work with a satisfied smile, each burn a brick building the road to redemption.
Fin.