August, 2012

Chapter 26: Murderer

"Some scars don't hurt. Some scars are numb.

Some scars rid you of the capacity to feel anything ever again."

― Joyce Rachelle

It was safe to say that Hazel Cross was an emotional woman; she was convinced she'd felt everything there was to feel, from overwhelming grief to irresistible laughter, from the aching hope of new love to unending pain. She'd watched her loved ones die in front of her, been tortured, pregnant, engaged, hurt, burning, happy, in love, confused, betrayed, guilty, and so much more. To say a lot had occured since she'd arrived at Hogwarts, since her first time meeting Kestis Jackson and Jack Cincella and Tim Reese and so many others, was an incredible understatement.

However, Hazel felt….nothing as she watched the scene before her. After what she'd done, the body, his body lying only a few feet from her, much too still, even for a dead man, the wards of the manor had apparently fallen. It made sense, given that the man who'd they had been tied to was dead. She murdered him. She should've felt something at the reminder, but remained numb despite the thoughts that drifted in and out of her mind. The only emotion she could recall was a muted panic, or something similar, as people leaned down to move the body. His body. Don't touch him, she wanted to say, but didn't. Hazel felt hands pull at her, tugging her upwards, brushing at her face and arms. Noise broke out around her as her legs collapsed underneath her; he was right, she was weak, broken. Had she always been that way? Shouldn't it bother her? It bothered her, right? Someone waved a wand over her shoulder, presumably healing the jagged cut from the lightning and explosions. A hand wiped a cool cloth over her cheek. That's right; she'd been bleeding at one point, hadn't she? Hazel let the weight of her head drop onto someone's chest. Someone was holding her, did it matter who? The witch wondered if she should be concerned, that she didn't care...didn't feel what she probably should've been. She had killed someone. She was a murderer. That should matter to her.

She heard voices around her as quiet pops sounded, more and more people apparating into the ruins of the study. Rubble lifted into the air, and the door returned itself to the frame. There was still blood on the corner. Was it hers, or his? Her eyes lifted in time to see the shock and horror - she should be horrified, right? - on the faces of the Corre; Miranda collapsed against Henry as they noticed him. He'd never been this still, before. For some reason, Markus's eyes appeared particularly green as they met hers before the person holding her tightened their grip, and the world twisted around them.

Normally, she'd ask what happens next, mind racing with the implications and emotions of the events that had unfolded, the tragedy of the situation. She must be in shock. Strange. Hazel found she could hardly focus on any single person, or spot, gaze drifting as someone snapped their fingers in front of her face. Blinking slowly, she recognized the dark marble and gold accents. They were at the Ministry. Voices drifted around her, and a pressure seemed to increase on her arm as someone dragged her forwards. Someone had put her down. Was she walking? She hadn't realized she was moving to begin with. A man's voice called out, oh right, that was her name, and the witch turned her head as the Corre appeared somewhere behind her. Her foot seemed to catch on something as noise erupted to her left, and suddenly she was looking into the faces of Kes and Tim. They looked so young. They'd traveled back in time, too. Wasn't there someone else? She was forgetting someone, someone that was important...right?

Their eyes were shining with unshed tears as the boys squeezed her tightly; Hazel moved her head, trapped in the shuddering embrace, as she noticed Hagrid standing behind them; the man's head bent as he talked with...Professor Slughorn? That seemed like an unusual pair, the two men with serious expressions as they talked about serious things. She didn't understand the look on his face as Kes pulled away, mouth moving as he said…something. This was someone she should listen to. Someone she cared about. It was probably important. She'd failed, hadn't she? Their mission. Tim put his hand on the half-giant's arm, shaking his head as he nodded towards her. He looked sad, she had made them sad. Was it because of what she'd done? For the first time since him, the corner of her lips lifted, and her voice felt like gravel as she finally spoke, "I guess I'm the only murderer in our group, now. Who knew?"

Lacking any tone, she wondered if her attempt at a joke, only partially joking, it was the truth, now, had somehow failed. It should be funny, so why did they look so...upset? Was it because she had failed to save him? She had wanted to, so desperately. How much of herself had she broken that night? How much had been lost? Eyes wandered to a group of wizards - Aurors, right? The uniforms looked vaguely familiar - that were talking to the Corre. Markus's eyes met hers once more, and his expression shifted as he tried to push past the man holding him. Why were they keeping them away from her? Was it because she was a murderer? Why did he even want to see her? She'd murdered their mentor, their professor. She was a murderer, no better than the man she had claimed she wanted to save. Hazel could hardly hear anything that was being said, so how could she do anything else, let along save someone? She'd been a bit full of herself, hadn't she?

If the muted ticking of the man's pocket watch was anything to go by, it'd been hours since she last felt something. Since she became...whatever she was now. "Miss Cross, Miss Cross, can you hear me?" Another hand waved in front of her field of vision, and Hazel pulled her eyes from the scratch on the metal table. Murderer, murderder, murderer, murderder. "Your wounds have been healed, but you need to take this potion. It'll help you focus on…" Her attention drifted to the mole on the woman's face, the locks of dark hair that swayed as she moved. A small cup was forced into her hands, and the brunette swallowed the liquid as the cup was pushed to her lips. She could do this much, at least. Maybe it was a good thing she couldn't focus, couldn't feel. She had failed. Around her, the world seemed to sharpen, voices cutting across the quiet space. "Miss Cross, how are you feeling now? Can you tell us where you are?"

Dark brown eyes flashed in her mind's eye, and Tim's voice seemed to echo in her ears, "The Cursed Child has Risen and the world will change forever. The Vanquisher will fall, and the world returned. A Time gone by, a history foretold. Hope and love fill their dreams, but the only answer will be screams." Hazel hadn't realized she'd been swaying until hands gripped her, and the room stilled. Ridgeway hadn't been referring to himself...Bloody hell, Hazel was the cursed child in the prophecy. A history foretold, cursed with the knowledge of the future, of what she had to do in order to save them; cursed to fail, to be the one to murder the professor she'd grown to love. Maybe at one point he'd been the cursed child the prophecy had referred to, but their time travel had changed...everything, the world returned...Here, now, he was the fallen Vanquisher, the man she failed to save from prophecy had come true, nevertheless. She was the cursed child, she had completed the prophecy...by killing him.

The drink must've done something to her, for a slow, steady burning, an ache grew inside of her chest. Her vision blurred as liquid formed, then spilled, over her eyelids. No, no, no, she wanted to go back, she didn't want to feel, didn't want to feel this, she was a monster, a murderer.

In the end, she had agreed to something that had been said, and someone had pressed their wand to her head, removing silver whisps. Memories. Take them, she didn't want them. She didn't deserve this, didn't deserve to be living or feeling or breathing or - Another cup was lifted to her lips, though it'd been more difficult with the trembling of her body; briefly, she could've sworn she heard a familiar voice call out her name one last time, wide, grey eyes meeting hers. Murderer.

Hazel woke up in an unfamiliar bed with a familiar ache in her chest. Great, she could feel again. Turning her head - she felt...drained, too weak to try to sit up, but still feeling, finally, somehow, feeling - the witch recognized the sleeping figures around the room. Markus Ryker sat the closest, his hand on hers as he snored softly against the plastic chair. Markus was alive. But hadn't she failed? She'd - Movement caught her eye, and Hazel suddenly couldn't breathe as a body fell on top of her. "Pipsqueak, you're okay, everything's okay, shhh," It was surprising to hear Miranda use the old nickname as the witch wrapped her arms around the girl, hand stroking her hair with a gentle touch. Before she could ask why the woman was acting so odd, her vision blurred - again, she was sick of bloody crying, sweet Merlin, she had killed Marcus Ridgeway, why was Miranda hugging her, comforting her?.

After Hazel was nearly hugged to death - probably a bit too soon for that particular joke - the Corre had huddled around her bedside. Markus held tight to her hand, Miranda sitting on her right as Edward and Henry smiled at her towards the end of the bed. They'd explained what had occured - what they'd been told, she quickly realized - how their professor had been murdered by an intruder, who had kidnapped Hazel. Her hand hurt in the wizard's grip as Markus glared uncharacteristically at the sheets, muttering how the intruder had been lucky that he'd been taken care of by the Ministry already, with the other three nodding in dark agreement. Their anger, however, had quickly vanished as Hazel's eyes filled with fresh tears. If only they knew, but this was one secret she could never tell, even if she'd been able to find the words. Something had broken inside of her, that night, taken from her, gone with the soul of Marcus Ridgeway, her Professor….but, still….Her lips tugged into a shy smile at the sight of the Corre around her. They were alive. She'd done something right...even if it had cost her everything. It'd been worth it, then...it had to have been.