Good Things Fall Apart by Illenium and Jon Bellion

Did I say something wrong? Did you hear what I was thinking?

Did I talk way too long when I told you all my feelings that night?

Is it you? Is it me? Did you find somebody better?

April 13th, 1978

"You must be sure that the home is kept ready for guests at all times," Bellatrix said with an air of superiority. "Tomorrow, I'll forward you a list of books on the subject of being a proper pureblood wife."

Ivy swallowed a comment about being breeding stock and smiled.

"Oh?" Avdima raised her brows.

"Not to worry," Bellatrix spoke reassuringly. "The volumes have been hand-picked by Cissa. She's gone to great lengths to verify the authors' pureblood heritages, credibility, and social standing."

"Good," her mother nodded approvingly. "Perhaps it would be beneficial to also have your sister over for dinner sometime, to ensure that my daughter is fully prepared."

Ivy set down her fork before she could gather the courage to stab herself with it.

"That won't be necessary," Bellatrix assured her. "She learned everything she knows from me. It just so happens that she keeps better reference guides than I do."

She forced a look of disappointment.

"Now," Bellatrix fixed Ivy with those dark, hooded eyes. "I assume you've kept yourself pure for Regulus?"

"Of course," Ivy said automatically, sticking her nose in the air. "I wouldn't dare let the Black heir marry a slag."

Bellatrix grinned.

"Unlike the company she may keep," her mother said snidely. "Ivy is as proper as they come."

"You refer to the Greengrass girl," Bellatrix said. "I presume?"

Ivy stuffed a large bite of steak and kidney pie into her mouth before she could let loose her thoughts. Her mother enjoyed making jabs about Theya every once in a while, as Theya's so-called sexual promiscuity had reached the ears of the prim and proper society ladies.

"Yes," Avdima sighed. "However, considering her other options for female friends at Hogwarts, the Greengrass girl is preferable."

"Politicians," Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Their children always end up slimy. Nevertheless, we must stay in their good favour should we need a ruling submitted or overturned in the Ministry."

The widespread disease of pureblood society never ceased to amaze her. Many supremacists held positions of power in not only the Ministry, but other governing bodies and social organisations. While it would be to Ivy's benefit in a few months' time, it was another issue that she had no clue how to fix.

"No matter," Bellatrix added. "I would be happy to organise another dinner with you, Ivy. Next year before you graduate, to ensure you're ready to meet all of Regulus's needs in the bedroom. That will be quite an important aspect of your marriage, as I'm sure you're aware."

Ivy nearly spit out her mouthful of kidney pie, as she remembered that Regulus was Bellatrix's cousin. Fighting against her gag reflex, she swallowed her food and gave Bellatrix an affectionate smile.

"That would be delightful," Ivy said warmly.

"Minsty!" Avdima snapped.

The elf popped out of thin air with a crack, and Ivy readied herself, scooting closer to the table and slipping her hands underneath the wooden surface.

"Bring us our next course," her mother said coldly.

Minsty bowed, large ears flopping over her face, as she snapped her fingers. Their plates vanished, and bowls of steaming cream of watercress soup hovered above their heads, lowering at an aching pace.

Ivy's hazel wand slid out of her sleeve into her right hand, and she made eye contact with Minsty.

Two things happened at once.

Minsty pretended to trip, causing Bellatrix's bowl of soup to fall. Ivy, at the same moment, lifted her left arm and faked coughing into her elbow, saying a gruff Draco Morbus with her wand pointed at Bellatrix beneath the table. The flash of yellow light went unnoticed as the bowl clattered onto the table, spilling scalding soup all over Bellatrix. The woman gave a mighty jerk from Ivy's spell, but she seemed to mistake the motion as surprise, as she merely got to her feet with a yelp.

Avdima stood abruptly at the same time as Ivy.

"Mother, let me," Ivy hissed. "I'm going to be a wife one day; I need to get in the habit of disciplining these creatures."

Both Avdima and Bellatrix gave a nod of approval, and Ivy circled the table, giving Minsty a terrible and sadistic look. The house elf cowered in faux fear, and Ivy grabbed her arm as her mother called on other house elves, who popped into the room to clear the mess.

Minsty gave a howl of mock pain as Ivy dragged her out of the room as gently as she could manage. She made sure to mutter hateful words as they moved through several rooms. Upon reaching a dingy, deserted hallway, Ivy released her and crouched down.

"Are you alright?" She frowned. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, Mistress," Minsty dried her tears with the dirty pillowcase she was forced to wear. "I is not in pain."

"Good," Ivy nodded. "Thank you for doing that. It must've been hard for you."

"I is not liking Bellatrix Lestrange," she said quietly. "Minsty enjoys spilling soup on nasty witches."

"You did well," Ivy grinned. "Go get some rest and look abashed for the next three days. If anyone talks to you about tonight, even Avdima or the other house elves, tell them that I punished you properly and that you are ashamed to have disappointed your Mistresses."

"Yes, Mistress." Minsty vanished with a sharp crack.

Ivy patiently watched the clock on her wall above the roaring fireplace, counting down the seconds until midnight. Her hazel wand sat ready beside her on the four-poster bed.

The amount of Sleeping Draught she slipped in her mother's bedtime tea was enough to keep her asleep for a solid eight hours with no chance of waking in the meantime. Despite Avdima having gone to sleep two hours ago, she waited the last few seconds as the hands ticked the time away.

The moment both hands were on the twelve, she grabbed her wand.

Leaving the room in favour of the narrow hallway, she paused in the dark.

Looking down at the door to Hazel's former bedroom, there was a single pane of moonlight stretching the expanse of the corridor, let in by the window at the very end. Staring down the way, she could nearly see Hazel as she was the night she was so mercilessly brutalised.

Her ash blonde braid had been messy, her blue eyes wide and round, cheeks chubby. Other details of her face had blurred from time, but she could envision her, small and delicate, handing over the black ribbons, saying that she didn't want them to get dirty.

Even now, years later, she found her little sister's bravery both remarkable and confusing. She had known what she was walking into, at least in part, and had gone without even trying to stop it.

Why?

Why hadn't she said something to Ivy if she knew what would happen?

It was with a sinking feeling that she remembered Hazel had.

She had asked her older sister to run away with her, many times. Ivy had refused, not yet understanding the cruelty of those who were supposed to care for them.

Swallowing against the lump in her throat and the terrible guilt in her chest, she walked to Hazel's door, bare feet making the cold wood creak. Kissing the pad of her index finger, she pressed it against the door that now led to a scarcely used office.

"Retribution starts tonight," she whispered gravely. "And I swear to you, it will not end until I've burned their world to ash."

After another moment of soaking in her ever present grief, she went on her way.

Ivy walked down the stairs into the chilly, dark ballroom. Passing over the glassy floor, she headed in the direction of the east wing. Entering the library, she ignored the vast collection of magic carefully placed on fancy, carved shelves, and soon found herself in her mother's chambers.

The room was black, but her eyes were already adjusted to the darkness. On the left wall was a floor to ceiling bookcase containing her mother's personal collection, a collection Ivy had never been able to access, no matter how hard she tried. To the right, a very old dresser and equally exorbitant jewellery case stood against the wall.

In the centre was her mother's bed, where the bitch slept peacefully.

Walking to the bedside, she stared down at the woman she so closely resembled. They had the same stark white hair, silver eyes, bone structure, and chin. The similarities repulsed Ivy almost as much as the woman did.

Avdima looked very different asleep than awake. There was no hint of the callousness she held so dear to her black heart, no hint of the malice that made her murder her own child.

It made Ivy somehow angrier, and she toyed with the hazel wand in her hand.

It would be so easy to end things right then. It would be so simple, so satisfying. All she had to do was utter those two words: Avada Kedavra.

She could do it, effortlessly. She would do it, without remorse. But should she?

Taking a breath to quell her rage, she knew that she had her future to consider.

If not for her future, she would have murdered Avdima years ago.

It was senseless to throw away the plan she had worked for years to craft.

After all, the perfect opportunity to enact it without suspicion had fallen directly into her lap. Rodolphus Lestrange had recently gifted Bellatrix a trip to a dragon reservation in Sweden for their anniversary. Once the news reached Ivy's ears, she wrote to her mother right away, begging her to have Bellatrix over for dinner during Spring Holidays under the guise of wanting to learn how to be a good pureblood wife to Regulus one day.

The information she received was nauseating, but it put her plan into motion.

Avdima would receive a letter by morning saying that Bellatrix had fallen ill with Dragon Pox due to her recent holiday. However, her mother would already be sick.

While Bellatrix would likely recover from her ailment, Avdima wouldn't be so lucky.

Ivy raised her wand.

"Draco Morbus," she whispered.

A bright yellow light flooded the room and Avdima's body gave a jerk, but she didn't wake.

"I hope you suffer," Ivy leaned closer. "In fact, I'm sure you will. And I will enjoy every second of it."

April 23rd, 1978

"Professor Witherwhire?" Ivy called into the empty Divination classroom.

She knew damn well that the Professor wasn't there, as she'd made sure Withershire was at dinner before sneaking up. After talking to Doe about the Hogwarts psychomanteum, she had been assured that students were rarely, if ever, allowed in. Deciding it best to avoid the rule rather than break it, she didn't bother asking for permission.

"Professor?" She knocked on the office door in case someone else, like her, had chosen to lurk.

There was no response, so she peeked inside. Finding it vacant except for a desk messily littered with bits of parchment and a stack of books, she shut the door again.

Ivy made a beeline for the door painted entirely black. Getting in with another quick Alohomora, she found herself alone in the same dim chamber with a single torch and a single mirror.

It was a short walk before she was standing before it, seeing nothing but darkness in the sleek surface. Doing as Could told her, she closed her eyes and envisioned her.

Silver eyes… Straight white hair… Long black robes…

"You asked for me."

Opening her eyes, she found Could as she had last seen her. The ethereal, eternally clean and unblemished quality once again surprised her, as it was like looking at a better version of herself. Calm, unbothered, diaphanous. In comparison, Ivy looked like she was recovering from a long, hard journey.

"You said I could see you again," Ivy told her.

"I did," her reflection said neutrally.

"Why?"

"It seemed beneficial."

"Even after you told me not to? I don't understand."

"It would be odd if you understood," Could said. "Would it not?"

Merlin, not this convoluted shite again.

"What it would be is nice," Ivy snapped.

"The potion will help your understanding."

"Tell me how."

"It will make you more like me," Could told her softly.

"What do you mean?" Ivy narrowed her eyes.

"It will help you understand what must be understood."

She stared at her reflection blankly.

Could did the same, watching her with those unblinking silver eyes.

Ivy wondered, not for the first time, why she was bothering with indirect questions. The only thing that seemed to work with her reflection was asking how she could help and doing whatever it was blindly. Granted, that was if she was given enough information to complete the task in the first place.

"In order to help those who will die," Ivy said impatiently. "I need to be more like you?"

"Yes."

"How can I be more like you? Aside from the potion, I'm assuming I won't be able to simply fix everything once I start taking it."

That would be too easy and Could did not appear to like easy.

"You are correct," Could said. "If you are willing to touch the mirror, you can be more like me."

"How?"

"All would be made clear. You would have all the information you desire."

Ivy didn't spare a moment for hesitation.

She reached up a hand to touch the mirror.

Instead of making contact, her fingers and forearm went straight through as though the glass was made of fine mist. Could had disappeared from the mirror, and she couldn't see or feel the part of her arm that had gone through. It simply looked like her arm was stuck in a perfectly cut hole.

As she pulled back, she noticed no change to herself, except that a hand with black nails had locked tightly and painfully around her wrist. She could only feel the sensation that it was pulling, with a great deal of strength, when Ivy withdrew further.

With the black-nailed hand came an arm, identical to her own, then the head of Could and her torso. But she was wrong. Where there had once been kindness and wisdom in her eyes, there was now only malevolence and triumph. Her grin was sickly and one of greed.

Ivy was yanked roughly forward, and was heaved into the mirror, her head going directly through the glass. Screaming out Could's name as she went, her body followed, all the way down to her waist, where it stopped abruptly.

The fingers around the wrist of her outstretched arm were still visible, but the rest of Could had faded into a thick fog which stretched out in every direction, revealing nothing else of her surroundings. Disoriented, she could feel nothing below her waist, and while she was no longer being dragged forward, Ivy's attempts to move back were met with resistance.

Then, another hand identical to her own aside from its white nails, emerged from the murk. It gripped the black-nailed hand, wrenching it away as Ivy heard an unearthly, grating wail.

Launching herself backwards, the dark, empty mirror appeared before her again as she left it entirely, hitting the floor hard.

She scrambled away as quickly as she could until she hit the wall.

Breathing unevenly, she cradled her wrist to her chest, noticing that dark bruises had formed, like her flesh had been squeezed far tighter than she'd comprehended. Could's nails had dug so deeply into her wrist that she was bleeding. Around the puncture wounds, her skin had turned varying shades of grey and black.

Ivy couldn't feel the pain.

Nor could she move, as her mind was whirling and twisting and convulsing with shock.

A figure suddenly appeared in the mirror, causing Ivy to let out a shriek.

It was Could, as she had been in Ivy's dreams: white-robed with curled hair.

"I told you not to seek me out," Could growled, her face alight with wild fury. "She would have taken your place and you would have ceased to exist!"

"You're the one from my dreams, aren't you?" Ivy clambered to her feet, back pressed against the obsidian wall.

"Indeed," her face was wrathful, though not in the same way as the black-robed reflection. "You did not listen to me! The suffering I have seen… and you risked it for what? Knowledge you do not need – knowledge you cannot comprehend?"

"I want to help," Ivy snarled. "That is all I have ever wanted! Well, maybe I've had enough of you! Tell me who you are – who that bitch who dragged me into the fucking mirror is! Tell me, now, or I will force you away!"

"You do not know how," Could's expression faltered.

"I beckoned you, didn't I? I don't know how I did it, but here you are. I'm sure I can figure out how to get rid of you too."

Ivy wanted nothing more. If this was the treatment she was going to get, she would bloody well figure out how to prevent the deaths on her own.

Could, however, looked resigned. "I am Could. She was Would."

"I-" She began furiously before perplexity had her stumped. "Huh?"

"I am who you could have been," her reflection said. "Had you chosen a different path when your sibling was murdered. Would was who you would have been, had your sibling never existed at all."

"You mean there's just…" Ivy frowned, utterly unsure what to make of the information. "Different versions of me mucking about in alternate realms?"

"We do not exist in the manner you mean," Could pressed her white-nailed fingertips together. "We do not have worlds of our own in which we live as you do. Your instability and need brought us forth to guide you."

"Regulus was right," she groaned. "I'm hallucinating."

"No," Could said.

"I don't understand," Ivy rubbed her temples.

"Few do," Could replied quietly. "That is why we rarely attempt to explain."

"Well, try again," she scowled. "I need to understand."

"Everyone has guides, in one form or another. Some help in the way the individual desires. Some, like Would, do not. Your consistent contemplations of who you could or would have been, manifested us to help you."

"If Would exists to help, why was she trying to take me out of existence?"

"Help means something different to her, as she is not you."

Strangely, she thought she understood. "Would believes that her existing in my stead is what would help because she's a version of me that thinks the Dark Lord is to be obeyed, and she knows I will never do that. Right?"

"Yes," Could looked relieved.

"But you and I have the same definition of help," Ivy nodded, catching on. "Generally speaking. We both think that I need to be guided in the direction of ruining the Dark Lord."

"Yes," she said again, her anger seeming to have dissipated.

"Why didn't you just tell me this in the first place?"

"Most would rather believe their guide is perfect, unable to make mistakes; this increases trust."

"So you can make mistakes?" Ivy asked.

"I am flawed, just as you are. I did not inform you of all this, as I foolishly thought you were as acquiescent as I."

Ivy shook her head, thinking it rather stupid that guides could make mistakes. Surely, it would be better if they were infallible. Then again, the fact that Could was not, was probably her own fault. In all her daydreams of who she could have been, she had never once imagined herself flawless.

"I need to ask," Ivy rubbed her lips together. "If you're Could and she was Would, then that means I'm Should, right?"

"That is what we call you," her reflection confirmed.

"Does that mean there's a path I'm doomed to follow, no matter what I choose?"

"No," Could said gently. "The decisions you make are up to you."

"What makes me Should, then?"

"You are who you should be, simply because you are the one who exists."

She was by no means willing to delve further into that convoluted conversation. Looking down at the nail marks on her arm, she noticed that the discoloration around her bleeding wounds had spread several centimetres down her arm.

"Come to the mirror," Could said. "That needs to be healed."

"You'll forgive me if I'm not feeling very trusting at the moment."

"That is a wound you will find no remedy to."

Ivy raised a brow sceptically.

"Come to me now," Could said warningly. "Before you become a creature that would devour the flesh off your friends' bones."

"Alright, alright," Ivy walked over quickly. "Blimey."

Taking a breath, she stuck her arm through the mirror as Could disappeared. Readying herself to be pulled off the face of the earth again, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Several moments passed of her not feeling the limb before she decided to snatch her arm back.

The wounds had sealed themselves, leaving scars in their place. The surrounding skin was still slightly discoloured, but it did not appear to be spreading.

"You need not be concerned," Could reappeared in the mirror. "The infection is contained. As long as you never let anyone or anything ingest that part of your arm, you will never have to worry."

"There is no version of me that would let that happen."

Could opened her mouth.

Ivy hastily cut her off. "So much for my Divination potion, then, huh? Bitch was probably trying to poison me or something."

"Guides cannot tell lies. We are incapable. The potion will work."

"She gave me the information to earn my trust?"

Could nodded.

"What information can you give me? Obviously, you know a lot more than I do about… everything. But you've told me very little. Why?"

"There are restrictions I am bound to. Divulging too much about any future is one of them."

"Alright," Ivy said tiredly. "What can you tell me right now?"

"Many answers you seek can be found in the study of Death Magic. Question death and you will find what you need."

"I'm assuming that's all you're willing to say."

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

"Do not seek me out again. You have my word that I will guide you when you need to be guided."

"Alright," Ivy said solemnly. "You have my word that I won't seek you out again."

Could dipped her head and disappeared.

Ivy had zero desire to linger about and headed straight for the door.

She hadn't taken three steps out of the room when she saw Professor Withershire at the entrance to the Divination classroom, seemingly having just walked in. Her medium-length ashen hair looked like it needed a wash, as did her dull green robes.

"Ms. Selwyn," her green gaze slipped past her to the black door. "What do you think you're doing?" Withershire stalked over to her. "You have been told the dangers of using the psychomanteum without permission! That is a month of detention, and I don't ever want to – what… what in Merlin's name is that?"

The Professor's eyes had caught on her wound.

Ivy hurriedly pulled her sleeve down, shrinking away as the Divination Professor did the same.

"Oh," Withershire's hand went over her heart. "Oh, my dear girl, what happened? Who did you speak to? Wait, no! Don't tell me who you spoke with, else they may find me as well."

"They said it's been contained," Ivy said evenly. "Nothing to worry about."

The Professor looked relieved, though Ivy had to wonder why Withershire was willing to take her word for it. Whether it was due to fear or some knowledge of the subject that Ivy didn't have, she couldn't tell.

"Yes, yes, well," the woman breathed. "I'm sure that has already taught you more about the dangers of that room than a month of detention would, but you'll be serving it nonetheless."

Ivy had figured as much.

"Be on your way, child. And don't you ever attempt something so entirely nonsensical again, or I can assure you, the mirror will present you with much worse than that wound you received."

"Yes, Professor," Ivy hurried for the door, but paused once she opened the hatch. "I was told to question death. Any idea what that means?"

"Perhaps," Withershire eyed her. "That question is better suited for a ghost. They are, after all, dead. I'm sure you won't have trouble finding one."

April 24th, 1978

"I told you it was a bad idea," Theya looked exasperated.

"I got information, didn't I?" Ivy retorted.

"Yeah, but what if that thing spreads again?" Regulus looked down at where her sleeve covered the discoloured skin of her right wrist, thinking that he very much agreed with Theya.

"It's not going to spread," Ivy sounded certain. "And anyway, Regulus, you told me to go."

"She was right," he shrugged. "You shouldn't have taken advice from someone who knows nothing about Divination."

"She shouldn't be taking advice from you in general," Theya snapped, narrowing her eyes at Ivy meaningfully.

Regulus caught the look they shared, some expression of understanding that he wasn't a part of. He wanted to voice how offended he was, but neither girl seemed to be in a good mood despite the surrounding, relaxed environment of the Three Broomsticks.

"When are they supposed to show up?" He inquired instead.

"Severus is supposed to be here by now," Theya grumbled.

"I'm not meeting Frederick until after," Ivy told him.

"Shame, that," the words popped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Theya snorted into her butterbeer while Ivy gave him a look, making him turn red.

"He has a surprise for me," Ivy said indignantly.

Regulus hated Avery, but he hated his surprises more. It seemed like every other week he was surprising Ivy with some stupid knickknack or another. Some gift that he just knew she would love, which, gauging her reactions to them, she did. It was like the bloke didn't know that she was filthy rich and could already buy whatever she wanted.

"That's sweet," Theya said.

When Regulus shot her a dirty look, she ducked her head.

"It is, isn't it?" Ivy smiled dreamily.

"There he is," Theya said suddenly, straightening in her chair as Severus entered the building. "Shut up, both of you. How do my tits look?"

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose, not wanting to think about the tits of someone he considered a sister.

"Your tits look fine," Ivy giggled. "You've got foam on your chin, though."

Theya hastily wiped it away, then went back to grinning as Severus took the seat beside her, shaking snow all over Regulus as he took off his coat.

"Hey," Regulus protested, but he was immediately cut off by Theya.

"What took you so long?" She batted her lashes at Severus.

"Pettigrew wouldn't stop talking my ear off."

"Pettigrew?" Theya and Ivy asked at the same time, exchanging another one of those knowing looks that were starting to get on his nerves.

"What did he want?" Regulus asked, though he thought he knew the answer. Severus wasn't the only Slytherin Pettigrew had been annoying lately. He, himself, had been sidled up to not a few days ago.

"Had questions about the Dark Arts," Severus said quietly, scooting his chair closer to Theya's so they could hold hands beneath the table.

Theya flushed and looked wide-eyed at Regulus as though to say: Did you see that? He's holding my hand! Look! He stifled laughter at the pleased glow that was radiating off her and gloated internally over never having seen that kind of happiness coming from Ivy when she was around Frederick.

"Slimy git," Ivy muttered.

"Huh?" Regulus stared at her, wondering if she'd just used Legilimency on him.

She gave him an odd look. "Pettigrew. I've never liked him. That whole group of his is obnoxious, but something about him always felt… off."

"Is it a Divination thing?" Severus asked seriously.

"No," Theya interjected. "It's a girl thing. When a bloke is creepy, we can tell. It's like a sixth sense."

"Seventh for Ivy," Regulus added.

Ivy nodded in agreement. "Pettigrew has been bothering Frederick, too, and Rosier from what I hear." She lowered her voice. "Does anyone else think he's trying to, you know, join up?"

The thought hadn't occurred to Regulus. But now that it did, Pettigrew's behaviour lately made a lot more sense.

"Potter would hate that," Severus smirked. "Maybe I should coach him."

"Sirius would hate that too," Regulus grinned.

Theya and Ivy looked at him like he was missing the point.

"You don't really think he's got the guts, do you?" Theya raised her brows.

"He's completely spineless," Ivy agreed.

It took Regulus a moment to realise what they were getting at; they didn't want more people joining the Dark Lord's ranks. He remembered that he himself was leaning in that direction. It made him wonder if Sirius hadn't taken such a strong approach to pureblood supremacy, whether Regulus would've seen the error in his ways long ago.

"I wouldn't coach him if I were you," Regulus said slyly to Severus. "The Marauders are supposed to be his best mates, right? Can't trust him not to turn on you like he seems to be doing to them."

When Severus mumbled his assent, both Ivy and Theya shot appreciative looks at Regulus.

With the looks, it dawned on him how he would win Ivy back. Her reluctance to be with him had stemmed from him being too much of a pureblood prick. If he could do his research and learn more about what she believed, he could show her that he had changed. He could show her that their beliefs weren't as different as she thought.

Frederick and his ruddy surprises wouldn't stand a chance.

Regulus grinned smugly down at his gillywater.

"What're you so happy about?" Ivy asked him.

"You'll see," he told her simply.