Nefarious ➳ T.Riddle

I.

       

27 Augustus, 1943

London

The raging thunderstorm that was passing over London made many people shake in their beds every time they heard the sound of lightning striking the ground. The electric current was positively prejudiced towards the high trees and the tall houses. The howling winds sounded like whispers of ghosts to the scared ears.

Children were hiding themselves under their warm bed sheets, bodies tense and eyes closed shut in a way they only could do when they were scared, or terrified, in this case.

However, at 1086 Newton Street sat a girl in front of her window, watching. Mesmerized by the marvellous display of mother nature. The sound of rain drops clashing  against her window were loud enough to erase any thoughts, along with any fears.

Thunderstorms were ravaging and dangerous, yet they calmed her.

"Ascella could you help me for a second?"

The sound of her father's voice stirred her mind from its previously calm state. She stood up from her position on the ground, her legs were aching from sitting on them for too long, but she ignored the dull throbbing and left her room. She called out for her father while she descended a grand staircase.

"In the living room," she heard his voice say. From where Ascella was standing it only sounded like a whisper passed through the walls, but she knew he must have yelled the words for them to actually reach her. The staircase came to an end and she continued to walk through hallways, hallways that were filled with luxurious painting of ancestors she didn't know. 

They didn't look very happy, not that they ever did of course.

By the time she reached her father, worry had begun creeping in.

"Father, are you alright?" she asked with a small frown on her face. He was holding a paper box in one arm, while the other arm was placed flat on a table, trying to hold up his own weight. Ascella quickly took the paper box out of his hand and placed his arm around her shoulder to support him.

"I found some old things from your mother. I was able to place them in a box, but could you please take the box up the attic?" her father asked while she guided him towards a chair.

The movements made James face contort in pain.

He tried to hide it by putting on a stoic face, but Ascella could easily see through his mask.

"She was not my mother," she corrected him simply. When James finally sat in his chair, he had to breath in a couple of breaths first, before replying "Maybe not, but she did raise you Ascella."

She felt herself tensing up.

"No, she didn't raise me, you did. All she did was treat me like the dirt under her precious, little designer shoes and she continued to treat me like that until the day she killed herself."

Ascella's voice was chillingly cold and the room felt as if it had dropped 10 degrees.

She turned around and walked in the direction of the kitchen. She took a glass from a cabinet and filled it with water. Over the sound of falling water she could hear her father say, "She didn't kill herself you know that, she died of alcohol ab-"

Ascella slammed the tap shut before he could finish.

Walking back with a glass of water, in which the water was ravaging much like the thunderstorm outside. A few drops of water fell onto her hand, but she didn't notice, she was too caught up in the anger of old memories to feel something so insignificant.

She gave the glass to her father and watched him take a few gulps of water.

"She did kill herself," she said without any hint of emotion in her voice. "She was just too much of a coward to choose a quick death."

James sighed, knowing he could not change his stubborn daughter's opinion on the woman he married so long ago. The sound of her father's sigh made her look up.

She noticed his skin was paler than usual, the bags under his eyes bigger than before, wrinkles more noticeable than ever, eyes that held a tiredness that could only be present when someone was complete and utterly drained and she noticed that his left thumb was slightly twitching.

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twitch

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twitch

1...

Ascella felt guilty.

"I apologize, father," she said with a softer voice. She was thinking about finding a broomstick to bash herself over the head with.

Merlin, what were you thinking? He has it difficult enough already.

"And you know I worry about you right? I will be off to Hogwarts in a few days and since your condition has worsened in the last few months, you cannot live alone without any help anymore. I know you don't like to admit it but it's true."

James knew she was right, but he was too prideful for his own good.

"I'm not dying yet, Ella. I only have MS," he said with a hint of a smile in his words. He was right to think she wouldn't take no for an answer, for she said "I will search for a nurse for you, even if you do not desire it. Your health is more important than your pride."

James let out a low laugh, he knew her stubbornness could rival his own.

"As you wish," he said with amusement.

Ascella was glad to see the little twinkle back in his eyes, still dim, but it was there.

"Now, if you would excuse me, I will take the box up to the attic." She picked up the box and walked away, but before she left the room, she turned around and said

"You should rest father, you strain yourself too much."

And with those passing words, she left the room.

James continued to look at where she stood just seconds ago, his face showing pride mingled with guilt.

Pride, because of the fact that Ascella was simply good, so good.

And guilt, because of the undeserving burden he had placed upon such a young and delicate soul.