Elysia

Chapter Fourteen ~ Shellshock

"Elle?" Niamh whispered gently.

 My throat ached, as if it had been scratched open slowly and painfully. Eyes still closed I sent my hand to it to rub it, hoping for some relief. As I moved my arm traces of a heavy fatigue still lingered, slowing my movement ever so slightly. Frowning, I struggled to organise my thoughts.

"Where am I?" I questioned, checking to see if this was real.

"The dorm. Neville brought you back two days ago." she sighed, the sound of an armchair sinking alerting me of her sitting down.

"Where is he?" I continued, now opening my eyes and turning a sore head to her.

"I- I just don't know... He brought you back and slept beside you, wouldn't let a soul in the room, then left."

Looking from side to side I saw, with significant relief that I was in my own room and not the medical ward. Pushing myself upright, I laid my head against the wall and stared blankly ahead trying to remember. Remember, come on, remember! It's all there waiting to be remembered!

Slowly a foreboding sadness filled me as Gerard's face flushed into my mind, his promises and his attempts to escape his bitter life. Laying my hand silently over my mouth, I felt sobs begin to bubble up my throat like a simmering potion. Oh no... No, no...

"Niamh... I- I want someone who followed Neville to go find Leon." I croaked, my voice so terribly worn down by grief.

"Sure, but is it wise to go down to the forest this late?" she replied, anxious due to my unravelling composure.

"He won't be in the forest. He'll be laying near where they found me."

"But, Elle-" Niamh interrupted.

"Niamh, if I say so you do it, immediately." I growled, turning to her with anew ferocity.

The look she gave me seemed to verge on revulsion, but she complied silently, avoiding contact with me entirely. I regretted my outburst, of course, because I am Elysia and I am Niamh's saint. But part of me didn't care, part of me knew I was their leader.

Leon, my first gift, my first company, my first friend was dead. Voldemort didn't even give me the courtesy of being able to hate some anonymous death eater, instead I was left with my Nev. I couldn't face him, though, not after knowing that he killed those children.

My love was a killer, and the thought was killing me.

Curiously I felt the length of my nail scrape across my forearm, peeling away a layer of skin easily. It was a different kind of self-infliction to what I had done in captivity, this was pointless to anyone but me. With an air of discovery I continued to scrape and scrape until blood welled up in the wound that was the length of my thumb.

Ending the cut, I instead pressed the pad of my thumb into the wound, a sharp intake of breath my only reaction. The thought of my newly acquired cures made me frustrated, because I knew something more was missing. I had done something important, and all I knew about it that was it lost.

Red eyes hovered in front of me when I struggled to recall, he had taken it, Voldemort had taken it. A spell, it must have been, a spell or a mere collection of words vital to me. Voldemort had taken it out of spite, and I would never get it back it seemed.

The pain welled up and up as all my losses gathered in front of my eyes, wisps of ghosts travelling through my room. Leon scampered with them now, and Gerard. My collection grew evermore, now with Neville contributing to the losses. Edging off of my bed I saw an oval mirror opposite me, my face dishevelled and worn.

My fists slammed again and again against the reflective surface, sending spider webs of cracks across the glass, distorting my face. It felt good to see me disappear in flakes of glass, destroyed by more own fists. It felt like justice to see the world rid of me.