Evangeline Blackwood and the Lost Letter - draco malfoy

fifty eight.

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HI THIS IS A TRIGGER WARNING FOR BLOOD AND GORE. THIS CHAPTER IS PRETTY GRUSOME. THOUGHT YOU OUGHT TO KNOW.

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Evangeline Blackwood had nothing.

She wore only her t-shirt and jeans, both black and stuck to her skin, slightly damp.

She had not a single article that could be used to escape. She had no pins in her hair, no earrings, not even shoes.

It felt erratically familiar to be trapped, to scramble for a way to escape a concrete prison. But in the hours that followed Hermione's revelation that Draco could be dead right now, she had wiped her tears and searched the cellar avidly, looking for anything she could use. There was no furniture, nothing but a chamber pot and dust. There was not even a candle and it was practically pitch black in the furthest recesses of the room, where the light from the stairwell light fixture did not reach.

"I've told you, there's nothing here. There's no way out," Hermione snapped when Evangeline started running her hands along the walls, looking for a loose piece of rock.

"Shhh," Evan hissed, turning to look over her shoulder momentarily before drawing her attention back to the wall.

Her concentration was keeping her mind from unraveling. The shock of the memories was dissipating because, as she remembered, she had experience with new floods of memories that she had otherwise forgotten. She had done this three times before, as the Countess, when her memories had been locked up so tightly behind her Occlumency walls that they were almost unobtainable, when Draco had coaxed them back out. It was a familiar kind of heartbreak, the fast movie of flash memories a form of deja vu.

"What will you even do if you somehow escape?" Hermione hissed. She was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, picking at her fingernails as Evan kept walking around the outskirts of the room.

Evan knew exactly what she would do. First, she would find Draco Malfoy by any means necessary. If he was alive, she would fucking find him. She would take him somewhere safe, lock him up like a princess in a castle, and grab the Sword of Gryffindor. She'd fillet the shit out of Nagini, make some fucking snake soup, and then. . .

Severus was dead, no longer able to research a way to save her. Evan swallowed the heartbreak, pushed back the mourning process. There was no hope of Evan surviving, and she didn't really want to. 

It is called. . . a Horcrux.

She knew, had remembered semi-fully now, that she contained a piece of Voldemort's soul. She wanted him to be obliterated, killed by her own hand, to watch the red light in his eyes seep out. Maybe she would gouge the red eyes out herself, just for sport. And then she'd fulfill her suicidal destiny.

In a way, she was acceptant of this. The pain would end. And maybe, if she were extra lucky, she would be able to tell Draco she loved him one more time before she died. That is, if he weren't dead already. And if he were, she'd join him soon.

It was necessary. She was the collateral damage, now.

She had nothing, no way of escape so long as she was trapped in here. But she had her Occlumency, what had always been her final defense.

When she grew tired of tracing her hands along the walls, finding nothing of use, she sat opposite Hermione, closing her eyes and concentrating hard on putting the walls up. It was no use to protect herself anymore. She worked on protecting Draco, shoving back every memory of him that she could find. She shoved back her status as a Horcrux, the sword, how they had destroyed the other Horcruxes. That was all she needed to hide. Every memory of Draco, even the most innocent ones, were shoved back behind the walls. She let the rest of her memories stay in tact. Anything else would put only herself in danger, not Draco.