WILD FLOWERS ✿ d.malfoy

1.

Bile rises in my throat as I get up. The echoes of his screams have long since died. His wide eyes still staring at me, they were still glazed with panic, surprise, pain. I kick his body. 

My palms were sticky, and the sickly smell of blood was no help. His black robes lay torn on the forest floor, the pic-axe still jammed in his gut.

Incensed, I kick his body again and again and again. He killed mom. He told me so, laughing.

So, I killed him, laughing.

No remorse. None.

He was a Death Eater, whatever the eff that means. Guess Death ate him. A stick is fastened around his waist. Oh, I must be insane. It was a wand. A bloody magic wand. I snap it in two and then into fours and crush it until its nothing but dust.

The forest senses my rage. Vines grow alarmingly fast and around his body, squeezing it, torturing it. I feel good. Yes, I killed a man. I jammed a pic-axe – I found it on the forest floor – into his gut. He said I could do nothing to him. Snort.

I rub my palms on dry leaves, painting a crime scene.

This is me, now. A poor motherless – sister less – heartless – lifeless girl. My heart died with mum. With Rosie. My soul is buried in the ashes of my house. I am dead. Because surely no live person can kill five people and not feel a thing, right?

I run a hand though my short hair – cut them off some time ago, twelve inches of hair – and turn around. My bruises and wounds prickle. I am more wound than skin. The dagger and gun press firmly against my thigh.

There's rustling behind me. I run. I don't turn around. I run.

There are footsteps behind me, heavy and fast. I would say, they're six meters behind. I weave through the trees, they seem to be stepping aside, as if making space for me. My thighs burn, everything inside me screaming. I don't care. I need to get the eff away from them. The man that I just killed – never got his name – said I was valuable to his 'Dark Lord.' Gonna kill myself then. Death can have me but not Death Eaters.

The light never reaches the grounds in these woods, so it's always part midnight. Like the twilight zone in the ocean. I hear the gushing of water. A stream. It grows louder the further I go. No stream screams that loud. It's a bloody river. Crap.

And I would have fallen, had two trees not stopped my path. Shit. Crap. Fu**. My mind can't find enough curses. A world full of curses and it still falls short.

I turn around. It's three of them. They come to a stop near me – three meters away – their wands held high. None of them is wearing a mask. One is blonde, his hair falls onto his shoulder and seem to shine, even in the absence of light. That color would have fascinated me, and I would have asked him to model for me as I set up my canvas and mixed the perfect shade – before. Now, knowing how peaceful his sleeping – dead face would look would fascinate me. The other two are brunettes with short hair. All of them have the identical uptight and disgusted look. But they're fearful. Afraid. I can see it.

I take out my gun. "Get lost," I hiss.

They laugh. The other man was laughing too. Look where it got him.

"You have some spirit," says the blonde one. His face grows grave, dark, murderous. I mirror him. "You murdered five of our friends."

"And you murdered my family," I grit my teeth. My eyes are narrowed. I scan the woods around me. There's no escape from here. But there's a back. The river.

"Your family?" he cackles. "They weren't your family, Celestia."

"Have the courtesy to at least know my name," I spit. "I'm Amabel."

"Is that what that filthy muggle has been telling you?" one brunette spits. "That is –"

"She was my mother," I growl. "She was anything short of filthy. She was braver than all of you. Combined."

"She wasn't your mother!" All of them are laughing now. Cowards. Asshats. What do they know? I load the gun and fire. The sound of the gun shot resonates through the woods. They stop laughing. But Mr. Blonde is not bleeding. What.

I see the light shimmering around them, surrounding them like a bubble. Oh. This again? They think it can protect them. The other man thought that too. I smirk.

"What are you laughing at?" they seethe.

"I don't know, you tell me."

I feel faint. No food, no water, no energy, but it's okay. For now. I muster up energy, extracting it from every cell in my body. I feel it travel off my fingertips and buzz into the air. Every cell in my body seems to be on fire, not burning, but lighting me up.

They have no idea. The wind stops blowing. The air stills. And then it's all onto them. It's crushing them. And they can't figure out what's wrong.

They're screaming. "Finite Incantatem," one says. Nothing works. Their bodies are crumbling, like buildings. They are screaming. And I'm laughing.

"Tell your 'Dark Lord' that this precious weapon will never come in his grasp." I'm laughing at their struggle. Maniac laughter. Oh, I am going insane.

"You will pay dearly for this," the blonde just about gets out. I stop laughing. I'm Joker. The Joker.

"Yeah? And who's going to make me pay for it?" I mock viciously. "You?" The air is crushing them. I'm crushing them.

I turn around and climb between the trees. The rives is gushing and crashing against the jagged rocks.

"Come back!" they scream.

"Make me." And I jump. The fall takes forever. It's like a parachute has been slung on my back. I stay suspended in mid air for a long time. I land in the water without a splash, like I haven't gained any momentum on my way down. This is against science. It can't happen.

But magic is against science. And it's real. It happens.

The water stings me. I hiss in pain. The cold seeps through my soaked clothes through to my bone, sending a violent chill through my frail form. Faint. I feel faint. And half awake. Half dead. I look around, there's a shore nearby. And rising from it is a castle which looks straight out of fairytales. I don't even know if it's real, or I've just made it up. I don't know if anything is real anymore.

I might as well be dead. Or dreaming. I prefer the latter because that means I can wake up. But I can't.

This is not a dream. I know it's not. But if it is, it's the worst nightmare.

I don't know if I can make it, but the water is freezing, and I can't swim with a body like this. I never got taught to swim in freezing waters with a body covered in bruises and cuts and no food for days in training. After having lost just about everything – everything, I've lost everything.

I put all the energy I have left and the water waves me forward. Spots are dancing in my vision. Shit no.

I stumble onto the ground, coughing and panting. My bones are lead. A dead weight. My muscles stone. And my soul gone.

I hear footsteps. Heavy ones. The sun was shining in my face, not like I would be able to see even if it wasn't. My breathing was frantic. Even my heart was trying my best to keep me alive. What for?

There was nothing left.

Not. One. Fucking. Thing.

I feel a firm, massive hand lifting me up; the world dissolves around me, and I let it.

--a/n--

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