Rose Lily Lightbourn always knew she was adopted. She remembered the bright green light when she was only three years old, she remembered a red haired woman fall lifeless to the ground. She remembered a baby crying on the crib. She remembered a tall...
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• • •
Rage, maybe rage would
Lift me up, make me stand,
Make me walk
• • •
"Tell me, Miss Potter, has there been any new developments that I should be aware of?" Healer Becker asked Rose as the young girl sat on the examination room of St. Mungo's.
"I've been home for two weeks," Rose shrugged carelessly, as if she didn't care for being there. Truth was, ever since she woke up in the hospital, headaches had kept her up all night and day. "Not much room for developments, is there?"
Rose knew what Becker was talking about, the Healer had insisted Rose had gone from manic into depressive in the two weeks she had been home. Either leaving in the middle of the night to god knows where or not leaving her room and starving herself to near death.
Healer Becker raised her eyes towards the girl, for once tearing her attention from the files in her hand. She huffed indignantly before speaking, "Have you gone to the mind healer I recommended?"
Rose flickers her gaze down to her lap before going back to the Healer with the same bored expression from before, "Haven't had the time yet," she admitted, twirling the hem of her dress in her fingers. "But I've taken the potions you've given me."
"Those are only temporal, Miss Potter, you can't take them forever," the Healer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before bending to scribble on her clipboard. "Your body received enough trauma for a lifetime; you've got to see a mind healer."
"My body may be weakened for now, but my mind is perfectly fine," Rose insisted, raising her chin as she squared her shoulders; she hated the idea of having to stop taking the potions that provided her so much peace. "I haven't gotten the need, nor the time, for a mind healer."
The Healer sighed again; disappointment written all over her face but Rose's head was only focused on rage. Burning, red, rage clouded her insides and made her want to burn the whole place to the ground with the flick of her wrist. The feeling had been there since she saw Cedric on the floor, and she was sure it would not be leaving until she had Pettigrew begging for his life; a life that she would gladly take with her bare hands.
She could imagine it perfectly; the man who betrayed her parents and killed the man she loved, screaming and pleading on the floor for his life. She wouldn't be gentle, no, but she would be slow and careful. She would make him hurt and cry and scream as loud as his lungs would permit him until it all hurt too much that he would be deprived of even screaming. Rose could imagine herself soaking with the blood of the man she hated the most; looking at herself in the mirror with a sadistic smile on her face as red crimson blood dripped from her hair.
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