Davina | hp. ✓

48 | The Hallowed Ones

THEODORE NOTT WISHED that he could say he survived this far because his sense of purpose was greater than his pain, but the truth was that he chose to live with the pain because he deserved it. Of course he deserved it. He had one purpose in this life, and that was to protect the woman he loved with every fiber of his being. He failed her, and her death ripped him apart at the seams. It struck him like a knife piercing through the fabric of his being, tearing his soul apart in countless worthless scraps that couldn't be stitched together again. He told Davina once that by her hand was the only way he wanted to leave this world, and she wasn't there to put him out of his misery now. He always wondered what it was like to destroy a man, and now he knew. He was a man with no purpose, no love, no light in the darkness of his life -- he simply existed and was watering his broken soul with alcohol and feeding it with horrible misdeeds, wondering if perhaps what would soon emerge was a monster. 

The bar was shrouded in darkness. The dry smell of stale beer and misery hung in the air, and it burned his nostrils as he slouched in a corner booth. There weren't many people in the bar, but those who were either shared the same mark on their arms as he did, or watched him warily out of the corners of their eyes. It wouldn't be the first time that the customers witnessed a meltdown, but it wasn't going to happen tonight. 

His eyes brimmed with tears that refused to fall as he fixed his inebriated gaze to the other side of the booth. He ran the pad of his finger around the rim of his half-drunken bourbon glass, rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he savored the strong taste. He blinked heavily, his mind piecing together memories behind his eyelids. He remembered sitting in this very same booth a very long time ago, watching the girl he loved with his heart in her hands as she sighed. "Oh, Theodore...I'm the drug that'll kill you one day." God, how he wanted her to be right. He wanted her to be the drug that killed him. He told her once that by her hand was the only way that he wanted to go, but she wasn't here anymore. She left him behind, and he was painfully aware of his own mortality.

After the death of a loved one, many people think about the good memories. Theo thought about all of those, of course. The way her nose crinkled when she smiled with her eyes, or the way her rare laugh could brighten the darkest room, or how she always managed to see the hope when there was none. The day he proposed. The day they were married. The day that he realized he wanted to have a family with her. His mind always ran down this track until it plunged into the tunnel of despair. That was normal. But he always circled back to one memory. 

It had been almost two years to the date she died, and yet one single memory kept returning to him. The day she was marked. She could have run away; she could have escaped to some far away place and never looked back. The door was open for her, her history buried and hidden, but she chose to turn around and lock herself into a lifelong trap. She chose darkness and sacrifice to protect those she loved without so much as a single thought for herself. 

At the moment when Davina offered her forearm to the Dark Lord and relinquished her free will to his sinister cause, the righteous and compassionate young girl she once was was no longer. She balled her hand into a fist as she reveled in the searing pain on the mark as it seeped into her flesh and began to take form. Davina raised her head and met her brother's gaze. An understanding passed between them in that moment: they were no longer young Malfoys; no longer helpless teenagers under the thumbs of their abusive father or neglectful mother. They were to be leaders now. This was their chance to start anew and turn all of that hatred and horror into raw power. They were going to do more than merely survive. They were going to be the most ruthless deatheaters ever to exist.

Davina stared long and hard at the brand on her arm as she came to accept the fact that she would have her entire life to memorize every intricate detail of the sinister snake and skull. The dark magic leaching into her veins and spreading throughout her body inspired a sudden swell of impulsivity and darkness as if a trapdoor in her soul had been forced open to unleash all of her demons.