The Devil Doesn't Bargain (MatD part 2)

Chapter TWENTY - Explicable Silence

A gentle warmth caressed my face as I stepped over the threshold, fingertips kissing the wood of my wand but never pulling it from my pocket. The toe of my boot skipped a loose rock across the floor ahead, retreating it to the shadows. A single wall hung torch near the entrance wiggled with the shift in air and sent dancing light fragments across the stone walls, dipping over carved empty inlets and cracked pillars. At first, the room appeared no wider or longer than a broom closet, but then the flame shifted once more and a set of small stairs downward peaked from the darkness.

A heap of interest pooled deep within me before spilling over and hooking around my ankles, pulling me forward.

I wasn't nearly as surprised as perhaps I should have been when a handful more torches burst to life and the familiar sound of shifting stone scraped behind me - the doorway I had just walked through replacing itself brick by brick. I didn't turn around though, eyes fixed on a now illuminated room ahead.

Three arched windows settled within the walls from floor to towering ceiling, ornate snakes and curving creatures I didn't recognize etched within the stained glass. A few of them shifted as I took the final step into the room, beady glass eyes watching me curiously and a small pink tongue flicking from one of their mouths. The base of each window was nearly hidden behind piles of books and papers, their spines varying outward and inward facing. A large round wood table with chunky legs curled itself in a curved alcove in the wall, its worn surface scattered with even more books and scribbled papers. Other items littered the remaining space on top - black feather quills dipped within ink vials, large gold bowls filled with wrinkled purple fruits, large tan pots overflowing with dirt and curling roots, half-burned candles and soot covered chambersticks.

As my footsteps drew me closer still, my eyes pulled up the wall within the alcove. Its grey blue stones were plastered in ink covered parchments, some filled with drawings of various plants or scribbled notes in messy handwriting. Thin veinous blood red strings looped around brass nails, the line leading from parchment to parchment and hanging limply between others as if snipped in the middle.

As I continued around the room, noting the countless empty cauldrons, potting stations and stoves lined in a thin layer of dust, I wondered how long it had all been abandoned. It was clear someone had been here before me - I didn't imagine there were many places, if any at all, within the castle that were untouched. Yet, I couldn't help but imagine the soul here before me and their stories left untold. Despite its well used nature, the space still felt entirely welcoming and I was quick to feel at home, tumbling into one of the high backed chairs and thumbing through a stack of books aside it.

Specimens and Seedlings of Abyssinia, Magical Maladies and Injuries, The 69th WSPC of 1883 - champions and potions, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures

Pulling a rather thick, ragged black book with no title into my lap, I dusted off the spine and gently pressed open the cover. It cracked quietly and a couple of small folded papers slipped from their hiding place, tucked within the front pages. My fingers reached clumsily down to the floor where they had landed, unwilling to make the effort to stand up again and nearly tumbling out of the chair in the process. After successfully pinching them between my middle and index finger, I pulled them up to the light so that I could better make out the inked bits. The first was a familiar folded brown parchment no larger than my palm with a neatly inked title across the top.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY - LIBRARY PROPERTY - REFERENCE SECTION 202

Below that were scrawled checkout and return dates along with student signatures, each newer than the last. The final checkout space however was left entirely blank. I wondered if perhaps the reader had forgotten to check it out or maybe it had been a discard from the library altogether.

The second slip of paper was a muted shade of blue, a foiled crest shimmering at the top. A large "M" hung over a crossed thin bone and simple wand, a waving banner swooping over the top - "St. Mungos" - swirling within. Below, was an entirely illegible scrawl of handwriting. Squinting, I tried to decipher small bits and pieces but was only able to pull a few words from its mystery. Inpatient admitted, regimen, unavailing, discharged, unknown expectancy. The entire page was littered with messy letters and numbers fumbled between bolded words and swirling notes and my head began to swim within the lines. Feeling the nagging pull of a headache at the back of my skull, I returned the parchment to its place and instead leaned back further within the fabric of the chair. Page after page, I lazily pulled my finger across each line of the book until the words became hazy and the tug of my eyelids held a heavy weight over my vision.

I fell asleep there, content with the distraction of my thoughts.

A life flipped atop its head once more only a nightmare as I drifted off, letting the comforting flicker of the surrounding flames lull me into a dreamless sleep.

----

The next few days, I felt a shell of my former self. With the school year nearing a close, all attention was pulled to the remaining defining tests including the ever terrifying N.E.W.T.s.. Students who had not received letters the previous summer were also beginning to receive owls with offered internships and inquiring course studies from prospective professions. The entirety of it felt too heavy to hold alongside my tattered heart, broken past and shattered future. My bones worked on rehearsed memory as I wound through my classes and desperately tried to avoid the gaze of my three closest friends. 

I hadn't intended on distancing myself from them for so long, but it hadn't felt right to return just yet. My soul ached for the comfort of Sebastian's touch, Anne's smooth voice and Ominis' firm familiarity, but I just wasn't ready. 

I wasn't ready to let them back in when I felt so useless and confused,

so astonishingly terrified.

Whenever I caught sight of a flash of green, a wavy head of brown hair or the light of Ominis' wand, my lungs would pull hard - threatening to squeeze, press and suffocate my body until my bones were hollowed out. My eyes and nose stung as I fought back the tears in the halls, having to sidestep into a broom closet whenever one of the three of them got too close.

I made the mistake of catching Sebastian's eye one day after DADA. I had forgone my seat near the boys and instead tucked myself into the farthest corner where I could zone out on any of the oddities within the classroom. Class had just ended and while I was normally quick to leave, I'd hesitated, my traitorous heart pulling towards my Slytherin correlative. 

An explicable silence tangled between us.

Sebastian's deep brown eyes held similar dark bags below them but sparked as they met mine, the corner of his lips tipping upward as he took a step toward me, nostrils flaring a moment as he sucked in a deep breath. I'd quickly ducked and turned my head but dared to peek up a moment later only to find Ominis' hand around his wrist and Anne, who had at some point snuck into the classroom with the retreating crowd, pressing a hand to his chest, holding him back.

"She's not ready Sebastian. Give her more time."

Her words curled around my ear as clearly as if she had been standing next to me.

My eyes met his again and my shattered heart collapsed once more to a pile of cracked little bits. His jaw was clenched, the tip of his nose red and mirroring the wet scarlet now framing his eyes. His brows had been gently pulled together as he watched me and I was almost sure his bottom lip had trembled a moment before I had all but sprinted from the classroom.

Nausea swelled in my stomach.

I was sick of feeling fragile.

Sick of feeling too delicate to hold,

too weak to even look at without sorrow filled irises.

I was sick of feeling useless

I was sick of feeling guilty

I was sick of feeling responsible

I was sick of feeling betrayed

I was sick of feeling hopeless

I was sick of feeling alone.

I was sick of feeling alone most of all, though I didn't let myself linger there long - couldn't let myself linger there. My initial reaction to the overwhelming knowledge dumped on me a few days ago had been to pull myself from my comfort and it was all I knew.

I had forced myself to pull away from the ones I loved though I hadn't realized entirely why until now. My scattered, muddled mind sank into the thought as I tossed myself down the hallway.

I was terrified of losing them too.

How ironic.

What good was a girl whose only happy memories before had all been a lie and whose old life and family had been so brutally ended by her own hand? And what good was a girl who possibly harbored something so dangerous within her just as naturally as she did her own beating heart?

I was petrified that the tangled darkness within me would destroy my new family too.

How treacherous a world where death traces hearts across the skin and presses kisses to its lies.