Book 1: Of Thorns & Roses

27: Have Mercy on my Soul

Scrapes and bruises littered my limbs as I begrudgingly sat upright to wake up the rest of my disgruntled body. Tiny noises of pain escaped my lips as Hermione adjusted the hospital's pillow for more support.

The soft voice of Professor McGonagall forced my attention, "Grier, I think it's best if you start from the beginning."

I opened my mouth to speak but the flashes of faces destroyed any conducive thoughts. I felt his hand on my shoulder as tears slid down my face.

"It's okay, Grier. You're safe my love," his lips brushed my temple in an attempt to soothe me, even though each pair of eyes watched us closely, but it was working.

"I feel like I was hit by a truck, a massive one, and probably look it too," I mumbled and soft laughs dissipated the tension.

I took a deep breath and began. From the harmless initial dreams that simply felt realistic to the one today that was far more dangerous and traumatizing. "I was in Malfoy Manor with Voldemort, Bellatrix, and Lucius Malfoy," my eyes slide to Draco, but his face revealed nothing. "They were talking about Draco and I's relationship, saying there was a reason I hadn't been disposed of yet."

Chills tumbled down my spine at the thought, and Draco's soft expression morphed into one of pure anger, "How does my father know about us? I was so careful to keep the truth from him."

Biting my lip I shook my head, "There must be a spy in the castle."

Suddenly, there was a large bang as Fred and George strutted in with mounds of sweets and jumbles of other foods in their arms. "Ahh, looks like we were late to the party," whistled Fred.

I couldn't help but laugh at the pair and welcome their much needed jokes.

"We'll come back later to see how you're feeling, and if we can uncover anything else. In the meantime, I'll update the Ministry on all that has happened," said Dumbledore, a look of pity in his eyes as he and the other professors turned to leave.

I couldn't help but notice the odd glance from Snape as he stepped through the threshold of the hospital wing's wooden doors. Draco would hound him later for answers.

I had come to hate the look of pity from those around me, beginning with my mother's death. I hated the way they sought to tell me how sad my situation made them, but I needed support, not pity. There would never be a day where I would let my guard down and show my weaknesses, my vulnerability, or my cowardice, which I liked to pretend did not exist. 

I turned my attention to the friends surrounding me. How did I get so lucky?

"So, you wanna tell us what happened troublemaker?" said George as he and his brother sat at the edge of my bed. A look of worry I had never seen before gracing their eyes and faces, leaving me tense and far more worried.

A soft laugh escaped my lips, "Let's just say I pulled a Harry." I was failing miserably at trying to lighten the mood as weary eyes met my own.

"Well in that case, here," said Fred and George in unison, extending the obnoxious amount of sweets and other goodies to me.

My eyes began the water. Not necessarily at the sentiment, but at the thought that someday soon, Voldemort and the aloof abuser would finally catch me and do Merlin knows what.

I wiped away at the tears and attempted to smile, but they all knew better.

Harry was the only one who truly understood the sinister feeling lurking inside me. Us.

Draco's embrace was welcomed, but a surge of unrelenting pain racked my body as he pressed down on my stomach.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Said a frantic Draco.

The others quickly closed around me as I slowly lifted the shirt I was given up to the base of my breasts.

They all gasped.

"Bloody hell, Grier. What is that?" Murmured Ron.

A ghostly white scar twisted around my body from the base of my collarbone to the ankle of my left leg, like ribbon around a street pole. A brutal scar and permanent reminder of everything that had happened.

"Holy shit," I exclaimed as my fingers lightly glazing over the the mesmerizing scar, pain once again coarsing through my veins.

Hermione's own eyes were wide with surprise, "Do you think it's from the Cruciatus Curse? I- I'm going to go get the nurse."

As Hermione fled to find Madam Pomfrey, Draco whispered in a deadly tone, "I'm going to kill my father for doing this."

I pulled him closer to me as the others attempted to look busy and in conversation about what this scar may be. "I'll be okay," I murmered, but we both knew that my words were a hallow promise. "But I need some firewhiskey."

Fred's head shot up, his eyes glimmering with mischief, "I can certainly help with that one, love." Without another word, the boy sprinted from the room like his life depended on it.

"You know, I'm sick of helplessly comforting you while you suffer in pain because of your connection to me." Draco's words drifted off, floating away like a feather on a breezy spring day.

"I wouldn't change anything for the world, Draco," I pressed as a bolt of dread laced my bones. I couldn't help but acknowledge the inclination that not everything was going to be okay. Not for this school. Not for the people in it. Not for us.

It was terrifying, not being able to control my own life.

I was ripped from my thoughts as Hermione and Madam Pomfrey quickly made their way back to my bed, "Show me, dear. Show me." She quickly shooed the others out of the small space, closing the curtain-esque lining around my bed.

I hesitantly lifted the shirt once more and allowed the woman to inspect my body. She frequently murmured undistinguishable things as I tried to ignore the staggering pain of the scar as she pressed and poked at my skin.

It felt alive. Like it was breathing just beneath my skin, lurking in my veins, bones, and soul. A prompt threat that was forever permanent.

I would never be the same.

I was suddenly reminded of the dull reminder of my father. Of his abuse and hatred towards me for reminding him of my mother. That lingering pain that never seemed to go away. I would never get him back.

Like this scar would never leave me.

Since the death of my mother, I had become the shell of a person, but with Draco and the others, I was just beginning to put the pieces back together. I had hardened from the death and my ongoing abuse.

I was just blossoming into myself again. But I was slowly losing my life. I could feel it. The physical hollowness of my body, and with every breeze, I felt myself slowly turning to dust and nothingness.

"I've seen this before," said Madam Pomfrey, "and it isn't good, dear." Her hazel eyes dulled as she began her explanation, "It is a scar, yes, but a peculiar one." My heart stopped. Merlin have mercy on my soul.

She continued, "This particular scar is almost like a marking or a label. One that marks you as a target, and if seen by the wrong people, can turn deadly." She took a long deep breath, "This is one from He Who Must Not Be Named. He wants you."