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xix. NINETEEN
WEASLEY'S FAREWELL
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SHE'D FINALLY BEGUN TO ACT LIKE HER MOTHER. There were more than a few people who would appreciate this, yet considerably more who would be horrified. It was exactly as the population had wondered, perhaps even feared, once they were made aware of her birth. It was precisely as her parents had envisioned for her, and she'd be gutted if she were then to discover that they were not fond of her choices.
Choices was putting it lightly, she'd told herself whenever she'd thought about it (which was often enough, it was difficult to forget that she was representing a criminal). You were born into it, Melora. You didn't choose to feel anything.
And whilst people repeatedly told her that she could be whoever she wanted to, or that she was free to act how she desired. She didn't have to follow her mother around like a lost puppy. She wasn't a defenseless puppet; she wasn't being controlled. And Melora had believed all that was said, childishly and innocently. For roughly seven years, she'd trusted people, and bought their lies.
She wanted to act on her own accord. It wasn't a desire of hers to be shoved around, with no ability to speak for herself. Yet, somehow, if she were forced into the Dark Arts, it would not come across as her being 'evil' to join the ranks. She wouldn't be viewed as weak by her peers, or those whom she surrounded herself with, yet she wouldn't be seen as a completely dark witch.
Then, she wanted to know why she felt pleased to imagine that Ruth Prescott was suffering. Why could she not prevent the grin that emerged on her face when she thought of her old friend drawing blood from her own hand and writing with it? In what world was that deemed morally OK? There wasn't one. And she knew it.
"Look, you said it yourself, Slytherins are just born into worlds in which we grow to tolerate more pain," Ilia shrugged the following day when Melora had tried to explain herself in the most sane way possible. "Maybe you're just someone who-"
"-likes inflicting pain on others," Melora waved her hand after Ilia had paused for a while. "I give up, Ilia. I feel like I'm going insane, and I've only met my mother once."
"You're not insane though," Ilia said, sighing. "I mean, if I saw Prescott in pain, I would probably smile too. She deserves it, after everything, doesn't she? You're not at all similar your mother."
But she wasn't convinced.
Ilia gave her a funny look. "Melora, how can you be remotely close in resemblance to your mother if you speak to a Weasley regularly, and manage to enjoy his company? And not to mention be fully supportive of your friend, who's broken literally every rule your family's ever created? Bellatrix would rather die than let that happen to herself."
