When She Spoke (Marauders Era)

Chapter Twenty

 Lark felt hospitalized. As she lay on top of her perfectly soft paisley comforter, she could almost feel the life being drained out of her. After trying numerous times to make herself cry and failing, she felt like a completely blank slate. Maybe that was just what was supposed to happen to people after traumatic experiences.

She still couldn't seem to grab hold of the fact that Tom- her Tom, who refused to stay awake past ten O'clock -would murder somebody. It all seemed so out of place; so surreal. Not only that, but the mysterious mark that had newly appeared on her arm was all too ominous.

As soon as Tom had dismissed her two hours ago she'd bolted upstairs and ran her fingers over it, trying to peel away the entire design, only to find that she couldn't feel any pain in the area that the mark covered. Of course, the skin around it stung and became sore only seconds after its tainting. It was such a wrong sort of concept, as if her entire existence was rejecting that single area on her left arm. This was a truly disturbing feeling.

Sirius Black, however, did not know this, which was why he was pelting pebbles at Lark's bedroom window panes in the dead of night.

She twisted in agony, trying to block out the sharp noise and she pushed aside an unruly clump of sheets. Lark couldn't even begin to care who it was; too many things felt so wrong. One of her closest girlfriends was pregnant, her only family consisted of one seemingly active murderer, Sirius Black was in an arranged marriage, and she was slowly drifting away from the one person she'd loved for what seemed like forever: Severus Snape. She wanted nothing more at the moment than to block out the entire world and spend an eternity in that little corner of her mind.

"Lark!"

She groaned and pulled a cardigan out from under her mahogany dresser to cover her ears.

"Lark Riddle, I know that this is the right window!"

Lark groaned and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Please?"

"Go away, Sirius!" She moaned, banging her fist on a pillow as if it would solve all her problems.

"So you are awake!"

"Yeah, thanks for that," Lark said sarcastically.

There was a small second of satisfactory silence. Outside, a nearby stream crackled icily and a few nearby owls hooted.

"C'mon, please? It's Christmas Eve. Do you really want to spend it alone?"

"I'd actually very much appreciate that," she rolled out of bed and clambered over the the open window. The cool winter air nipped and scratched her skin, but she tried her best not to mind. This wasn't the sort of night for minding.

A good two stories below stood a long-haired boy leaning on one rumbling vehicle, smirking up at his damsel in distress obnoxiously.

"Is that a motorbike?" She gasped, suddenly wide awake. "Are you even old enough to have one?"

"Probably not," he shrugged. "Bought it off some slippery bloke running from the ministry. You want to come for a ride?"

She laughed. "I'd prefer not dying, thanks."

"Seriously, Lark. It's only, like, a fifteen minute ride. I'm meeting James and Peter in the woods; we do every Christmas Eve."

"Why do you want me there?" Lark asked skeptically.

"Because Prongs- James, sorry - wanted Evans to come but we both know she'd never say yes to that. Anyways, we figured you'd want to come instead," he said matter-of-factly.