She didn't enjoy dreaming.
It was the same one she'd suffered every sleep since that endless night in November - the one that had nearly killed them all. Back when only a few had been hurt by her secrets and when she was still stupid enough to think she had control of things. All of them exhausted, wounded and very aware they were fighting a losing battle. Six of them had already fallen that month and if they didn't secure this cargo then the consequences would surely involve removing another four from their ranks.
She remembered before the attack with stark clarity. The cold, continuing breeze that swept the dark valley from all sides. The stillness, broken only by their panting breaths and the squelch of their boots in the marsh. She remembered checking the sky - dazed - still trying to grasp all the things that needed to go perfectly for tonight to work. They only had a three minute window to spare and if it went wrong in anyway it'd all fall down to her. Everyone would have to play their part perfectly. Her life was depending on it.
Then there was a flash, her vision blurred and what happened next changed each time she remembered it. Her months of planning had gone tits up in seconds, but it didn't matter now, she just had to reach the cargo. The kid called for them to fall back but she couldn't, that weapon - the infamous weapon - was so close now.
Among the fallen she caught a familiar face. It once belonged to her friend - the very one whose intel she was acting on tonight. Which means it had been a setup. And the weapon probably wasn't even here. The kid screamed again to scatter - this time she did. Spells flew overhead and she felt the seconds ticking down, the world falling away with it. They were running back the way they came.
A burst of red light and the world was robbed from her. There was nothing. No weapon, no burning building, only a million miles of nothing. She only knew what happened next by the sounds. Her body slapping the earth, the pulse of blood in her ears and her ragged breath. The pursers still chased, silent and deadly as ever, a mute and unstoppable force. How did it come to this? They were dead, she knew it - as her eyes fell, she saw the shadow of green light stretch out in front of her.
"No!"
She opened her eyes, the word still on her lips. It wasn't the scream she imagined it to be, but a weak, strangled mumble of a tired woman.
She glared venomously into the darkness, all systems alert, before reality began to catch up and she lay still for a moment, breathing deeply. Steadily, she removed her hand from the knife beneath her pillow. It'd become a reflex since losing her wand - and one she wasn't sorry to have developed.
The dark valley faded from her mind and a moon-light ceiling greeted her. Evidently, she'd forgotten to draw the curtains last night.
She felt a dull, sinking sensation in her stomach and all the emotions that had plagued her for weeks rolled over once more. Waking up was always the worst bit. At least dreaming, she could escape her present. Because waking meant acknowledging the way things were. The way the world was shaped and the mess that she had crafted for herself. While asleep she could escape it, but those memories were always waiting for her in the morning.
She ached with an unnatural exhaustion.
Why had she been so easily abandoned?
"... because they're not your friends. They never were," she muttered to herself.
She continued to lay on this spot for an indiscernible amount of time, choosing to examine this new ceiling in favour of turning herself on to the world. Furious thoughts continued to swirl on the brink of her consciousness, however and after a certain amount of time, the colour of the ceiling began to change. She imagined that meant it was morning. She slept almost six hours, which was the most that she'd managed in days. She couldn't help a flush of guilt. She didn't deserve to sleep well with all that was going on.
As frustration peaked, her effort gave away and with strength pulled from Merlin-Knows-Where, she pulled herself out of bed.
Ugly beige walls and a pair of moulded curtains stared back at her. The clock on the nightstand still worked, but it was earlier than she'd hoped - nearly eight o'clock in the morning. A number of wine bottles sat arranged on a small desk, she picked up the one closest to her, shook it and heard a decent splash inside. Suppose she mustn't have had that much last night? It must have been the exhaustion that caught her up first. Tiredness was the real killer these days and it was a predator who threatened her heels constantly.
She stared into nothing for the thousandth time. Various things around the room were indeed hers, but this was not her room. But she'd been here over a month now, so… suppose that really did make it hers? Every second of every hour had been spent inside these walls, only taking rare breaks out to use the communal toilet. And even that, she couldn't do it while wearing her own face. Calling this room her prison cell was a more abt description.
Her eyes flicked to the furthest wall of the room. The only thing to give this room personality - the only eye-drawing object in it - was a large wooden crate. Shuffling down the bed, she picked up a note resting on its top.
Do not draw attention and only leave this room in disguise. Follow those rules and you will be safe. This crate will keep you supplied, only to be used when necessary, you have no more on the way. Remain until I send for you.
Stay Safe.
It was the same letter she'd read and reread a thousand times before, each time hoping to spot something new or receive a different outcome. This time, however, she read it out of habit. It was as comforting as it was condemning.
"I'm still waiting…" she said aloud to herself, more strength in her words now she was properly awake.
Her shirt and jeans lay crumpled in a pile beside the bed. That must have been all she'd been able to get off before collapsing. Suppose that gave her something to do today, then - she was fairly certain there was an iron in one of those desk cupboards. The restlessness in her was building, it grew so bad that the idea of chores excited her. She could iron her clothes… she couldn't wash any of them, but it would still go a small way to breaking up her day.
After ironing the entirety of her limited wardrobe, she lay on the bed again, hollow and uncertain. Barely half an hour had passed and she was back staring at the unfamiliar ceiling again. It didn't start to feel any more welcoming, even though she'd spent hours examining every detail.
This was getting unbearable. If being trapped in these four walls were what was keeping her alive, then this was not a life she desired to live.
Her eyes flickered again to the chest on the floor. The instructions on it were specific - if she ran out, she wasn't getting any more. Which meant she could only use them as emergencies, but considering the state she'd just woken up in, any more mornings like this and she'd be leaving this room in a casket. This counted as an emergency.
She let the letter fall to the floor as she leaned forward, lifted the top of the crate and pulled out a small vial wrapped in tissue. The smell of rotting eggs and sweat invaded her nose and from the second the liquid entered her mouth, she could feel her body fighting it. As she allowed it to fill her mouth, it was only practice and determination that stopped her dry heaving. She swallowed it all in one, then suffered silently through the burning it left on the way down. Five uncomfortable minutes later and she was officially fit for being out in public.
This was it.
Was this a mistake? Life in isolation was still life. No decision she seemed to make these days ever worked out for her. Was this yet another mistake waiting to happen?
She unlatched the locks to her door and stepped outside into a cramped corridor. Seeing anything other than those four walls was a feast for the eyes - even if it was just replaced by an equally boring corridor. She took off walking, she didn't know where to or to do what, she just knew it needed to be something. Otherwise boredom was going to kill her long before any Death Eater did.
Crossing down the stairs, the smell of cigarette ash and beer made themselves known. Her gaze fell cautiously onto the bar. Considering how well-regarded this place was, she thought it had no business looking this shabby. On the bright side, considering she had no frame of what day it was, it was mercifully empty. That, at least, eased her situation.
As she found her way to a seat, very much on the opposite corner of the bar from the crooked old man, a barmaid approached.
"Mornin' love, what can I get ya?"
She considered it for a second. There was still half a bottle of wine in her room, if she was out to get drunk she might as well save herself the money and just have that. But she was here to spend time away from that room.
"A pint."
The barmaid scoffed.
"Bit early, isn't it? One galleon that will be, my love!"
Pushing through her disgust and shock at the London-prices, her hand searched for a second and then threw a single galleon onto the bar top.
"Yer the lass up in fourteen, right?"
As her drink was handed her way, she didn't acknowledge the question until she brought the chilled pint to her lips. As expected, it was foul. She wasn't even a beer drinker, why in Merlin's name had she ordered this?
After taking a few heavy sips and pushing through the aftertaste, she answered quietly.
"Yeah."
"Not seen you down 'ere before! How long you been stayin' now? Won't do you any good locked up in there, y'know!"
She stared at the woman for a moment, deliberating if the conversation was worth the effort or not. Eventually she settled onto the humbling opinion that, if she was out of the room to try something different, she might as well chase the rabbit.
"I'm on business… not that it's any of yours," her voice croaked after not being used in so long.
"What's your name again? Carly?"
"Cara. Cara Harkness," she lied.
The blonde woman clapped her hands together merrily.
"Well, Carly Harkness, you should know that we 'ere at the Leaky Cauldron pride ourselves on our customer service! I'm Alice Abbot, landlady, owner and bar staff of the Leaky Cauldron. And it's not me serving it'll be old Tom on! You are more than welcome down 'ere as much as you want, shouldn't be shy!"
The woman's smile was infectious, she had to admit. If she wasn't currently still battling the taste of her pint, she might have even acknowledged it. But instead she gave a nod, the kind to acknowledge what the other person was saying, but also stave off any continued conversation.
After that, Alice Abbot, landlady, owner and bar staff of the Leaky Cauldron, smartly decided to leave her alone.
There was once a time her name would strike fear into the hearts of those that heard it. She was a fourth generation Slytherin and member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. There was a part of her that almost wished she hadn't taken that potion before leaving, just to see the barmaid recoil as she realised who it was that they were serving.
She picked up her pint and swirled it around, watching the golden liquid dance in the glass.
If it hadn't been for her, people would be dead. She had saved lives and this was her reward - stuck in a hotel room for a month solid, cut off from the wider world and reduced to wearing a mask every time she needed the bloody loo. The injustice of it welled inside her so much, if she still had her voice, she'd quite like to yell about it.
Her tolerance for the drink was getting better, as she was almost a quarter of the way through the vile thing now.
This was where top marks had gotten her.
She'd done the best she was capable of, sacrificed everything for her goals and all it resulted in was burned bridges on both sides. And this was what was left. Room Fourteen of the Leaky Cauldron, Cara Harkness. The only resident.
Her first few days here she'd done a good job of keeping her emotions in check - there had been people to hide from, covers to keep. She was flinching every time there was a slight knock or bump outside the door. Now, though…
She closed her eyes, thinking back to the recurring dream and what it meant. It matched the real chain of events near perfectly, except for the end - she had managed to get away from them, somehow. She'd survived... but in a way, that didn't matter. Her plan had failed, so she might as well have died that night. For as much as she had accomplished, when it really came down to it, she'd fallen flat on her face and all her business had become known.
Strange it had happened only six weeks ago - it felt like years. The Daily Prophet enjoyed making its own version of the events that happened that night. No mention of the two double-crossings or her abandonment as soon as things had gone awry. She'd survived, but she knew better than to expect that would last very long. The worst part wasn't even going to be his reaction - though it would definitely be what ended her pathetic existence - the reaction whose she was least looking forward to seeing was her mothers. Just when she'd begun finally making her proud…
But then, worst of all, she'd been given a way out. Her only source of hope was that following her death, all shame and betrayal would leave her. But she'd been given a way out and taken it.
Now she was alive, but just alive. Just her and the shame that would follow her forever as her faithful companion. The nipping heels of guilt were never slow to catch her up. It was bad enough she kept revising those ideals in her nightmares, never mind dwelling on them in her waking hours too. She was far away from Hogwarts now, far from worrying about school work or fantasises about cursed ice. Now it was just her and the poor decisions that had gotten her here. Her and the potential she had wasted.
A brief air escaped her mouth, which was her attempt at a self depreciative laugh.
She wasn't supposed to do self reflection, it was bad for her health. Chasing those kinds of thoughts was going to get her in more trouble. What she needed right now was to stop existing for a little while. That's why she was here. Lay low until things get better, then rebuild from the ground up. Didn't matter that it would never be as good as it once was, it was still life. Her fate was in the hands of others, for now, but they were hands she didn't trust. She was lucky to be getting off with just boredom as her worst punishment.
She pushed the pint away from her quite suddenly. She no longer felt the desire to be different. Normal, boring, isolation was what she wanted now. Gathering herself, she gave the barmaid a nod of acknowledgment and left.
The walk back to her room was shorter than the one leaving it. Laying down, she found the sheets feeling more comfortable than they had before. That probably meant she had done something right today.
She'd stayed under a lot of ceilings in her time, so many now that they often all looked the same to her. How long would this one last? She humoured herself considering it.
Hours later, the shadowy figures disappeared completely from the ceiling and the room itself lit up with daylight. Despite her rampant exhaustion, sleep was somewhat of a rarity these days. Now it felt different, though. Maybe the small break from her routine had done her some good after all?
The unfamiliarity that the room held for her began to drift peacefully away, and in its place was the deep sleep she had been striving so long for.
A/N Yes, the third entry in the Life Trilogy is still happening. You'll see more of Daphne Greengrass, but first for something different. Or is it?
