✦ᴀᴍʙɪᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴄᴇ✦ - 𝘚.𝘖.𝘉

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 79

𝖂hen Euphemia Potter ventured down into her kitchen early morning, fastening her robe snug to her body, she was in for a surprise.

A surprise of snowy hair and monochrome eyes waiting on the porch, the opposite end of the door. Her heart throbs and her hand flies to her lips, covering the quiet gasp escaping. A gasp of surprise, happiness, and worry. Because she has no idea how long Mallory's been there, waiting outside, suffering from freezing temperatures of the Winter.

Once clicking the kettle on, she unlocks the door, approaching the young girl. At the first glance, she believes her to be asleep, clueless to her surroundings. But as she draws closer, she realises she's wide awake, monochrome eyes staring ahead to the gardens, watching them being covered in a blanket of white, appreciating the beauty.

Swallowing the incessant urge to wrap her up in a bear hug and take her inside to warm up, she silently perches on the steps near to where she's resting. By her unmoved stillness, Mia decides it's probably best for Mallory to take her own lead through this. And she soon does.

Mia's gaze follows down to where she's rustling in the pocket of her leather jacket, then extending her hand full to her, refusing to meet her eyes. Uncontrollably, her stomach lurches and tears well up in her eyes, finding that urge to hug her close and never let go more powerful than ever. Because there, in her trembling, cold as ice, hand, is a syringed needle, tablespoon and miniature sealed bag of white powder.

Exhaling deeply, she takes it off her hands, and places it to the side to dispose of later, remaining calm and soft as she asks, "Is there anything else, love?"

Laughter tumbled through my throat, hoarse and slightly unhinged, enough so that if it were to be anyone else here right now, they probably would have cringed, or backed away. Not Mia Potter though. Not Mia Potter that knows me so well in such a short space of time, Mia Potter who treats me as her own.

Digging my hand into my other pocket, I handed over my flask overflowing with fire whiskey with the help of an undetectable extension charm, mumbling darkly,

"Turns out the high of torturing your abusive guardians doesn't last very long. And leaves you wanting more"

Mia's heart sank, wishing with every fibre of her being to take the devil's torment away from this poor girl and set her free. They'd all seen it in the Daily Prophet, Sirius had been furious, the elaborate stories that Gellert's broke free to join his daughter on killing sprees, taking over the world. She'd only agreed to visit the ones who should have cared, loved, and been there for her through her life. For once, she doesn't feel an ounce of guilt for the Flint's, they deserved the revenge Mallory gave them.

And she came back home.

For the first time, monochrome eyes drifted to find hers, another pang hitting her chest. Before, her snowy tresses had been cascading down the side of her face, obscuring Mia's vision. Now, she's seeing it, with her own eyes, the plum smears of exhaustion underneath her eyes, the thin lines of hatred chapping her lips — the generous slice tracing from underneath her ear, and down to her throat.