Hell Heart ❤️‍🔥 Harry Potter [1]

xix ⟶ Dead Girl Walking

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xix. Dead Girl Walking
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TW: references to torture/violence.

THE HALLUCINATION ENVELOPING Thea calms her. It slows the spinning of the world around her, that is sometimes so fast it's like it might leave her behind, and she's left floating through space. Through emptiness. It has the softness of a strand of her hair brushing her cheek, of autumn leaves twirling through an October breeze, of a snowflake landing on her face in the morning as she makes her way to class on a frosty December morning, whose sky is only just breaking with the first ray of sunlight.

It's like a strong, reassuring hand is gripping hers.

It's Harry's hand.

At least, in her hallucination.

In her reality, as her eyes begin to open and voices break through the searing, blinding headache that lives in her skull, pain is all she is aware of. In her left arm is a wave of fire, not unlike the one that lives within her chest. Only as more clarity replaces the confusion in her head, does she notice the dripping that falls down it. Then, a metallic scent fills her nose, and before she can stop it, bile rises up her throat and it takes every ounce of strength left for her to not vomit across Bellatrix Lestrange's shoes.

"Haven't I taught you a lesson, Cinders?" she screeches.

Her voice is a set of knives cracking her skull and piercing her brain. She frowns, because although she's gaining more awareness, everything around her is still so hazy.

So. Hazy.

"Give it up! Can't you see that we are winning? You will bow to the Dark Lord, Theabel!"

So...hazy...

"That's enough, mother! She's so pale, you're going to kill her..."

A wail leaves her lips as someone picks her up, and she can see Bellatrix's dark cloak swish out of the room.

"You're OK, Cinders. I've got you."

Her eyelids drift shut, and the back of them remind her of the night sky.

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When she wakes up, sitting up takes every ounce of effort left in her body. A cup of tea is sat steaming on the bedside table on her left. She looks at it suspiciously, but notices a small piece of paper underneath the cup. Picking it up with a furrowed brow, she begins to read handwriting that she doesn't recognise.

Thea,

I'm sorry for all of this.

You can trust the tea.

D.M

Her mouth drops open in shock. It's then that she notices the dryness of her lips, that are stinging like salt in a wound, just like her arm. She looks down at her arm, to see nothing but a tight white bandage wrapped around it. There isn't a speck of blood.

Before long, she has to lie down again. This is how she spends most of the day, as no one bothers her except the House Elves who bring her meals and fresh water.

She glances to the window and pulls back the curtains, to see a navy, star-speckled sky hovering over Malfoy Manor. The days have dragged her into late August already, and she wonders if she'll make it back to school on time, and if she'll have her birthday at school as normal, with her friends.

Thea misses her friends. All she wants to know – needs to know – is if they're OK.

She doubts it; they probably think she's long gone, maybe even dead...