Nevermore

by Kuro no Kage

Imagine commiting suicide. You don't expect to wake up, right? Well, that's the problem of a three years old child, on her quest to die for real. I know, sounds dark. But no worries! There'll also be some magic, Hogwarts, fun and friendship! Warnings: realistic self insert (as much as possible), self harm, suicide, rape.

56. Bonus chapter: Arthur's tears

It wasn't the first time he'd cried. He had always been rather sensitive, after all. When he was little, there were plenty of reasons to cry. A scraped knee, a toy hidden by his older brother... He'd been lucky to grow up in a family that didn't think a boy had no right to express his emotions; on the contrary, he had been encouraged to do so and to learn to express them in a healthy way. He had grown up, and gradually the reasons to cry had become rarer. More serious too.

He had cried when his grandfather had died. His whole family had been sad, and his mother had kept him close to her throughout the ceremony. It had been the first funeral he'd attended. He was eleven at the time. He had so wanted the old man to see him in his Hufflepuff uniform! Unfortunately, at Christmas, only his grandmother was still there to admire him, and he had cried again at the thought of the one who was no longer there.

He had cried after the paedophile, when his life had been shaken by an unexpected trauma. For several months, he had gone through phases of numbness and dissociation, interspersed with hyper-emotional phases where he had felt as if he were four years old again, fragile as glass. His Mind Healer had told him it was normal. Ewald had never blamed him, never mocked him, just stayed by his side, and on one occasion used his wand to silence some mockery. It was the only time the Slytherin had been given a detention in all his years at Hogwarts.

He had already cried several times since Vivian had been at Hogwarts. He had cried with emotion when Cian had agreed to go out with him. He had cried with laughter during the Firefly Hunt, when a judge had cast a spell on McGonagall, lighting her up with a magnificent bright green glow. He had cried that night when he had to tend to the wound on Vivian's throat, the night he learned of Aurore's existence. He had cried several times since, when he felt powerless, when he was afraid.

Cian had seen his tears sometimes. She resented Vivian, actually, because even without knowing exactly what was going on, she knew that her boyfriend's sadness came from that strange girl. Ewald had also seen him cry, once or twice, since that December evening. But not Vivian. Not since the night when everything had changed. He didn't want her to feel guilty about him worrying. He didn't want her to carry that weight on top of everything else. He didn't want her to think that he pitied her.

The tear had escaped him. He had known, of course, that she was cutting herself. He was aware that it was something she had been doing for a long time, something she had done a lot. He had already had the opportunity to heal her. But he had never seen her without glamours. Knowing isn't the same as feeling. And suddenly, he fully realised the extent of her suffering. The tear had escaped him. He hadn't wanted her to see it. He didn't want her to feel guilty about the pain her wounds caused him.

She had wanted to recast the spell. He had stopped her. He sensed, vaguely, that now he had cracked open the door to the truth, he needed to know. To see for himself. To see fully. He had already kept his eyes closed for long enough. She had already protected him enough. By asking her to show him the rest of her body, he was fully aware of what he was committing to. It was time for him to know. And if his tears became a torrent, it was necessary.