TW: death, psychological trauma.
—
VIOLET
Until I was four, when my parents had split up and my father had left our house — we had an owl named Dina.
Her feathers were snow white, and her eyes were two topaz stones that burned through me every time she looked at me.
It always seemed strange to me how she would bend her little neck, almost making a circle with her head, and her eyes — her eyes, seemed to hypnotize me.
She belonged to my father, but my mother loved her as if she was hers. In fact, everyone loved her, except me.
She scared me, my childish brain was afraid of the sounds she made, her sharp, long claws that she used to cling to the bars of her cage, her beak that she could easily pierce my skin through — I was afraid of Dina like fire, and all I could do was just sit next to her cage, looking into her mesmerizing blue eyes.
I didn't want her to leave the cage. I could cry, scream hysterically, or run to my room in a panic and hide between the window and the bed when my parents wanted to open her cage and let her fly freely around our house.
"Violet, she can't stay in a cage all the time, she's a living thing," My parents always told me when I begged them not to let her out, "Would you like to be locked in a small cage all the time, without even being able to spread your wings?"
It should have weighed on my guilt and changed my mind, but it didn't. I still didn't want Dina to be released from her cage, and I didn't care that she needed her freedom.
Then my father left our house, taking her and her cage with him, and I couldn't be happier. I no longer had to be afraid and tearfully beg to leave Dina locked up.
I was free of her, and she was free of her cage, because after moving to another house, my father could let her go whenever he wanted.
Many years had passed since then, and Dina had died long ago — long before my mother had died, and now the little owl was free forever.
And I — I was trapped in a cage now, and no one wanted to let me out, just like I once didn't want to let Dina out.
Voldemort had said that a few days should have been enough, but two weeks had passed, and I was still sitting there, on the cold floor, next to the iron bars that hid the unattainable freedom.
The strip of light was a beacon for me, and I refused to move from where I was, so as not to get used to the darkness, because most of all I wanted to return to the light.
My bones ached, my muscles were numb, I didn't seem to stop shivering from the cold for a second, and I felt like I was completely soaked with mold, both inside and out.
My throat hurt like there was a fire, like there were needles, and I managed to stifle a cough most of the time since I wasn't talking — I was weak, and I didn't want to waste too much energy talking.
Maybe I could have died of pneumonia, but I didn't really care, it wasn't the worst outcome.
At first, I struggled to stay sane, scratching lines on the loose, concrete wall to indicate the days I'd spent there — when I'd heard voices from above and the streak of light was bright, it was day. When the dead silence fell, and the light was very dim, barely visible, it meant that night had fallen.
But every day I felt worse and worse, I often unconsciously drifted off to sleep, or it was a loss of consciousness, I could no longer distinguish what I heard — a noise from above or a noise in my ears, it was difficult for me to focus on the strip of light, because my eyes were heavy and constantly closed, and my lines on the wall stopped at thirteen.
Luna was sitting in another part of the cellar, and all I could see was her blond hair standing out in the dark.
Sometimes she would tell me something that I couldn't remember, to brighten up our time there, but most of the time she, like me, just kept quiet.
We had unconsciously become friends in misfortune, and I even thought about the prospect of continuing to communicate with her, if we came out of there safely — I was definitely not myself.
After what seemed like an eternity, Mr. Ollivander, who had been locked up elsewhere, was brought in and told us that it was already the middle of March. We'd been there for two months — and it felt like more than a few days.
The man was weaker and looked more ill than Luna and I combined, so my coat became his lounger, and our food supplies, or rather the leftovers, that were brought to us with water every few days, also became his.
He was wounded both inside and out, when he coughed, it seemed that right now he would die, and after three days of being in the cellar with us, he could no longer drink and eat. He just lay there bleeding on my coat, and eventually, it happened. He died — we realized it, when he no longer made a sound — he died in that cellar, in a dark corner, and no one bothered to remove his body from there.
Luna and I had to drag him to the farthest corner and cover his rotting body with my coat. But that didn't help protect us from the smell of decomposing flesh mixed with the sickening smell of blood — the stench could send me to my grave at any moment.
With the arrival of spring, the cellar had become significantly warmer, and his body was decomposing at lightning speed. I didn't look in his direction, but I knew that he was lying in a pool of blood and fluid from the rotting of his organs, there were carrion flies, and maggots, on the exposed areas of his skin. Luna vomited several times.
And I just wept helplessly, wanting to end this torment in some way — even in the most terrible and deplorable way.
DRACO
For the first seven weeks after she disappeared, until the moment I dreamed about her, I just waited for her. I'd spend time at the manor, or go to see Mariel, and just wait for her to come back. After all, she had written in a note that she would be back soon, and I believed it — after much effort, I began to believe in her words written on a piece of paper in a hurry.
But when I dreamed of her, and she said how cold she was, on the verge of tears, I stopped believing in this. She was in danger — I could feel it. And did I need to say how guilty I felt for wasting seven weeks?
In secret from everyone, I was looking for her. I often went to that place near the lake, I walked all the woods around the manor, I went every day to Mariel's house and to the house where she lived with her father, I went to Adele's several times — and it was all useless. She was nowhere to be found.
I had no intention of returning to Hogwarts, since there was no point in doing so. It had been a long time since any useful lessons had been taught there, and even Luna I was supposed to be watching had disappeared.
I continued my search.
Until Voldemort, one day in January, abruptly instructed me to find Ginny Weasley, at all costs. And I did, gritting my teeth, I obeyed, and I went looking for the Weasley girl instead of Violet.
It was like a bolt from the blue, as if his life, and the life of all mankind, depended on it. He just kicked me out of my own house, threatening the great torment he would bring to me and my family if I returned without a girl or any useful information.
So for the last three months, I've been wandering all over the northern hemisphere, looking for not only Ginny, but Violet as well.
Day followed night, the sun became my companion, the months followed each other, and with the arrival of spring, I was already exhausted.
My feet no longer wanted to carry me along the dusty roads, because they seemed to feel that it would do me no good. My brain was no longer able to think straight, because from all the thoughts that had been swarming in my head for the past few months, it seemed to have lost the ability to function.
I had lived the monotonous days alone, away from home, and had already accepted that it was my fate never to return.
Until the day when I'd received a message from my mother, asking me to urgently return home.
It became my outlet.
Without thinking for a second, I headed home, my head spinning with the worst of the worst thoughts about the reasons for this sudden urgency.
Someone died, someone was found, the war began, or vice versa ended — all these thoughts whirled through my head, trying to prepare me for a possible shock. If I only knew...
"Take this down to the cellar." My mother said, handing me a round platter of food that I didn't even look at.
There was urgency in her eyes, and a hint of something, but I didn't have the strength or desire to unravel it.
"Are you kidding me? You called me here to take food to someone in the cellar, like we don't have a maid?" Irritation flared in me, mixed with a growing anger — I couldn't understand what she was playing at, or what it all meant.
"Draco," She shoved the tray right into my hands, leaving me no choice but to place it in my palms, "This is important, just go." She said it and immediately left, without giving me a chance to say anything — she was acting strange and suspicious, and, once again, I had to do what other people wanted me to do.
I went straight to the cellar — straight to my least favorite place in the whole house, straight to the mouth of hell, which was dark and cold.
To the place that always stirred up my emotions, the place that I associated with the cold and sticky death that comes after a long torment.
The cellar in our house was our little Azkaban, and I would never willingly go there in my life.
"What—" I couldn't even finish my sentence when, halfway through, I smelled a sharp, foul smell that made me want to turn my stomach inside out.
The stench seeped into me, and I felt like I was being poisoned right now, soaking up the haze of that heavy, disgusting smell. It seemed that someone had really died there, and I wondered why and to whom I was carrying this tray of food. Was anyone going to eat — was anyone capable of eating in such a setting, in this shroud of sweet rot that stung the eyes?
I stopped in the middle of the stairs, staring at the iron bars that were supposed to be a door, and behind them there was something other than unenlightened darkness — I had to take my wand out of my pocket, shifting the tray in one hand to be able to light my way.
Taking a deep breath and immediately regretting it, I started walking down the stairs again, slowly, feeling the smell only grow stronger, and as I got closer to the door, I could see someone sitting next to the bars, with a head bowed, and knees pressed to the chest.
In the pale, silvery light of my wand, the black hair glinted, the head slowly lifted, and the haggard, sightless eyes found mine.
Light blue eyes the color of ice that I'd last seen seemed like an eternity ago.
A pale, trembling hand slowly, as if in slow motion, rose to her face, shielding her eyes from the beam of my wand, and I couldn't tell if she realized who was standing in front of her.
"Violet," I exhaled, setting the tray down and rapidly closing the distance to the iron bars, my heart racing, afraid to realize that I had made a mistake, that it was just my mind playing tricks, afraid that her image would disappear before my eyes again, just like in that dream that I had had weeks, months ago.
My fingers curled around the iron sticks that bit into my skin with a sick cold, but I didn't pay attention, because she wasn't disappearing, Violet was still in front of my eyes, trying to get up from the floor, barely moving, and then she was standing in front of me, her eyes darting over my face in disbelief.
"Draco," She whispered almost inaudibly, and then coughed, covering her mouth with her hand and bending over.
Her dry, loud cough, which seemed to choke her, echoed throughout the dungeon, and it was a good few minutes before she could look at me again, her eyes watering.
"Get me out of here, please, get us out of here," She wheezed, and her head sank, tears streaming down her haggard face, "Or at least get him out of here, I can't take it anymore, Draco, I just can't take it anymore." Her tears choked her along with a heavy cough, and it all seemed so surreal, my eyes darting around the dark cellar, trying to figure out who else she was talking about.
"Just tell me you'll try," She said, placing her hands on my mine, still placed around the bars — as usual her hands were pure ice, and there was a plea in her eyes, clearly visible behind the veil of tears,
"Don't promise you'll get me out of here, just say you'll try."
I felt more helpless than I had ever felt before. She was right, I couldn't promise her that, but I would try, I would try my best to get her out of there, so that the sadness and pain in her eyes would be replaced by relief and at least a little joy.
So I gave her a weak smile and nodded,
"I will try." My finger wiped the wet trail of tears from her soft, pale cheek, and I nodded once more to give her even more reassurance that I wouldn't stop until she was out of that ill-fated cellar. And If I broke one more promise I made to her, I would never forgive myself in my life.
"You always manage to save me." Her voice was low, but not so desperate anymore, her head tilted slightly to the side, her cracked lips were not a smile, but only a shadow of it.
"I haven't done anything yet."
"You will always be my hero, whether you succeed or not." She tried to chuckle, but immediately started coughing again, and my heart felt heavy for her.
"And you will always be looking for trouble?" I repeated the movement of her head, tilting mine to the side in the same way, catching the look of her watery, reddened eyes, "When you get out of here, I'll expect you to tell me about your days on the run."
"Only if you tell me how you got that scar."
Her finger pointed to my jaw, where I had a pale, still slightly red streak that I got from one of those strange, wild wizards I met in the woods of Lithuania a month ago.
I'd seen the body of a girl with black hair hanging from the branch of one of the trees in that forest, and the Lithuanian wizards didn't like the fact that I wanted to get close to her.
"Deal." I said, coming back from my thoughts to her.
And I thought that little promise was the easiest to keep.
VIOLET
Maybe I was dying, and this was my last vision.
I'd once heard a phrase that said that before death, people see what their hearts most desire, hear what their souls most want to hear, and, falling into an eternal sleep, they go to the place to which they were most drawn when they were alive.
And it made sense, when in that cellar, I saw Draco, whom I most wanted to see along with the sunlight that he had replaced with the light of his wand, I heard him say that he would try to get us out of there, which I had wanted to hear for so many weeks, and following the phrase, there was only eternal sleep and the road to the sun.
But instead, we had to spend many more hours there, until we heard voices from above, which were louder than usual, and the sounds of spells cutting through the air, which I had already forgotten during my stay in the cellar.
"Do you hear that, too?" I asked Luna as she approached me, her sky-blue eyes looking up.
I wasn't sure about my hearing, and I wasn't sure about the state of my mind, because I could feel my sanity drifting further and further away from me every day. But Luna had heard it, too, and it was good to know that I wasn't completely going crazy yet.
At least, I hoped that two people couldn't hear something that didn't really exist, at the same time.
We heard the sound of breaking glass, the sound of broken furniture, the crack of something wooden, shouts and curses, and then we heard heavy footsteps on the stairs leading straight up to us, and I felt my weak body tense up.
My weak body hadn't lost its ability to defend itself yet, and my hand went to my pocket, but how stupid it was, looking for something I hadn't had in a long time.
I'd been living without my wand for months, and as the footsteps got louder, I cursed myself and the day I decided to get it out in front of Barty Crouch.
Fear clenched its claws on my already exhausted lungs, and with a sinking heart, I waited for the worst, clutching Luna's cold hand in mine.
"Maybe they finally decided to let us out?" She whispered, sounding positive as usual.
After so many months there, she still hadn't wasted her inner light, and to some extent, that was what kept me in my mind, what motivated me to fight, not to let myself drown in my own fears and powerlessness.
She was always the one who cheered us both on, the one who made me eat when all I wanted was to be completely empty. She was the one who kindly provided me with her lap so that I would not sleep on the cold ground, because she saw that my illness was progressing, and sometimes I would just lie on the floor in delirium, unable to even open my eyes.
We became friends in misfortune, but most of all I wished her happiness, as she deserved.
Luna Lovegood was strong, and if it wasn't for her, I'd probably be lying next to Ollivander right now.
"I don't think so." I whispered back, not taking my eyes off the door, as three silhouettes appeared and then two of them were thrown towards us.
The door closed, no one was going to let us out, on the contrary — we were brought company in the faces of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.
"Bloody hell, what is that awful stench?" Ron groaned, covering his nose with his elbow.
I didn't want to admit it, but I'd gotten used to the smell, and it no longer seemed so pungent and toxic — probably because it had already poisoned everything inside me.
"We need to get out of here, Hermione's still up there," Harry muttered, looking around, "Are you two okay?" He asked, but I couldn't even move my tongue to say a simple "yes."
I was numb, looking down at my feet, because Ron was there, reminding me that I'd killed his brothers, and the rest of their friends.
I didn't dare look at him or make a sound, even if Ron's behavior suggested that he didn't know about my terrible act.
He was the exact opposite of Luna, and I was sure that if he had known, he wouldn't have reacted with the calm and understanding as Luna had, when I'd confessed to her, trying to ease the weight on my heart just a little.
She must have sensed my condition, because I felt a slight squeeze of her hand, which was still in mine, and looking up at her, I saw her smile — a reassuring smile.
"We're okay, but It won't be easy to get out of here, since everything is enchanted." She said with a resigned sigh, which made Ron mutter curses under his breath again.
"Where did they find you?" The question had been playing around in my head like a broken record ever since I'd first seen them in that cellar a few minutes ago.
I had hoped that the false trail I'd given Voldemort would help put an end to him, but something had gone wrong again, I thought. I had terrible luck.
"Denmark." Harry replied with a frown, something akin to shame in his eyes for not being able to outwit the Dark Lord.
My heart fluttered at the question in my head, did Voldemort find out about my lies, did Seth tell him about all my mistakes, or was I paranoid again, and Harry and his friends were only found because it had been eight months since they'd escaped from the cafe?
In eight months, it was possible to circumnavigate the entire planet.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sharp impact of the iron door that had shut us off from the outside world all this time, and I flinched as I took a step back.
The door was open, and as we carefully approached it, we saw Draco standing at the top of the stairs, holding his wand in his hand and nodding at us in the direction of the drawing room, signaling us to leave.
I tensed again, taking my time getting out of there, unlike the others. I felt like it was unreal, like it was a trap, or just my imagination playing tricks on me again.
How was it possible, after so many months, to get out of there so easily and simply?
"Violet, come on." Luna whispered loudly, looking at me from the middle of the stairs. But I was afraid.
I felt like a wild animal that had been alone all my life and now had to deal with the rest of the world, and I felt like I wasn't ready to deal with the rest of the world, because after spending almost four months in a dark cellar, I was, to some extent, used to it.
I hated the place and what it had done to me with all my heart, and I dreamed every day of how we would get out of there, and breathe clean air, not filled with humidity, mold and ptomaine — but once I was one step away from this freedom, I doubted.
My mental state must have taken a big hit, because I was seriously choosing between going upstairs, to freedom, to what seemed like heaven, and staying down in the cellar, which was hell for me.
I was lost and I didn't know what to do, standing on the threshold of the cellar, between up and down, between heaven and hell, between freedom and being locked up, between light and darkness.
I couldn't do it on my own, but I didn't have to.
Luna came down to me, taking my hand in hers, lighting my way with her smile and crystal blue eyes like a guardian angel, and she pulled me up, away from the cursed place that had been our prison for the last few months.
The whispering of the demons that were pulling me back to the cellar was loud, but I was able to drown it out, leaving everything evil and devilish below, in the darkness, filled with the ghosts of my fears.
"Hide under the chair." Luna whispered in my ear when we were in the drawing room, and pulled me a little closer to the huge chair that Lucius usually sat in.
I limped over to it, carefully, on bent legs, hiding under the chair, and covered my ears with my hands, not wanting to hear the noise of the spells.
I'd been in silence for too long and now I flinched at every sound, I'd been in the dark for too long and now my eyes were watering, despite the fact, that the light in the drawing room was dim.
I was sitting there, back on the floor, something I'd already gotten used to, my eyes squeezed shut, my ears covered by my cold hands, and I was muttering to myself that this was all over, that the noise would stop and my fear would go away.
And to my surprise, it happened soon.
I heard a loud sound, like a pop, that startled me and made my eyes open unconsciously — and then silence fell.
I sat there for a few more seconds, and when I finally decided to get out of my little hiding place, I was pierced by the shrill cry of Narcissa, who called out her son's name.
Her scream was filled with terror and despair, and it made me wonder again whether I should have crawled out from under the chair or stayed where I felt a little safe — but it was Draco, something was wrong with him, and I just couldn't stay there when my heart was breaking from Narcissa's screams and cries and my stomach was churning with fear for Draco.
He had saved us, he had saved me, he had kept his promise, and now I couldn't leave him alone. He needed me as much as I needed him, I knew that. So, with all my willpower, I crawled out from under the chair, noticing that the room was empty except for Narcissa, who was on her knees next to Draco, who was lying motionless on the floor.
My insides went cold — his face was pale, too pale for him to be okay.
I walked slowly over to him and knelt on the other side of Narcissa. My hand hesitantly reached for his, and as I touched his skin, I felt my eyes burn with tears that immediately cascaded down my cheeks. His hand was cold, icy — but his hands were always warm.
I could always feel the warmth spreading from our entwined hands all over my body when his warm hand was in mine, and now it was as cold as ice, and I didn't feel a drop of warmth next to him.
"Draco..." I whispered, looking at his pale face, which was frozen with an expression of relief — of release, as if he had already gone to the best of worlds, leaving his cold body in the worst.
I started to choke.
"Draco, I haven't told you what I did while I was on the run yet. I have a lot to tell you," My vision spun, but I fought down the dizziness and nausea as I squeezed his fingers, feeling the metal of his rings, which were even colder than his skin.
I'd felt this way a few times before, losing my mother, Kristen, and then my father, but if I lost Draco, I wouldn't be able to take it anymore. He couldn't just die. After everything he'd been through, after everything we'd been through together, he couldn't die without knowing a happy life.
"You didn't tell me about your scar," I carefully traced the pale pink line on his jaw with the finger of my other hand, "Are you going to break your promise again, Draco?"
Through my tears and grief, I found the strength to force a smile, which immediately faded as I realized that he couldn't smile back at me.
"Are you really leaving me now?" A question popped into my head, and I felt empty.
How many more cracks did it take for my heart to stop feeling such pain, excruciating and unbearable?
How many other people that I felt love for had to leave me so that I, and all my feelings, would die too?
How long would it take for my wounds to heal and my soul to turn to cold stone, so that I would never feel anything again?
How long did I have to hold my breath for Draco to breathe?
I was cursed, from the day I was born — from the day I came out of the womb of my mother, who was also forced to suffer all her life.
I was my mother's daughter, we had the same fate — never to see happiness and die in pain, when the soul and heart were full of holes.
And when was my time supposed to come?
— Because sitting in the living room of Malfoy Manor, on the floor next to Draco, I felt a rush of pain, that I'd never experienced before — I even thought that my chest could explode.
My silent tears fell on his face, and it seemed to me that my imagination was mocking me in an evil way, because his eyelids moved, his lashes fluttered, so faintly that I really thought I was just imagining it, but when his throat moved up and down his neck, as he swallowed, and when his head turned slightly in my direction — I was dumbfounded.
He slowly opened his eyelids, letting me look once more into his eyes the color of a cloudy sky, letting me to feel my heartbeat again, letting me to live with him for at least a little longer.
He didn't leave me.
"Draco—"
"My face is wet." He interrupted me, grinning weakly, his voice almost a whisper.
"Sorry." I mumbled and held his shoulder as he rose from the floor, groaning in pain.
He was in pain, but at least he was alive, and that was the only thing that mattered.
When he felt steady on his feet, we went upstairs to his room, leaving Narcissa sitting on the floor with an expression of blankness and shock on her face as she watched us go. She had almost lost her only son, and it must have taken her a while to get out of the daze that was usually so familiar to me.