*✧･ﾟ:* DEAD TO ME *:･ﾟ✧*
TW: child abuse :/
✧━━━━━━━━━━━✧
"I SIMPLY CANNOT understand how someone could be so irrefutably inane!"
Indiana Jones' chocolate colored iris' were staring inwardly in front of her, her mind's eye trying its absolute hardest to pretend as though Jack Jones was not staring before her. Perhaps she could imagine she were elsewhere, but just as she reached the brink of drifting off, that booming bass of a stern voice would bring her back. It always brought her back.
"Have I taught you nothing, daughter?" He bellowed, his being so very close to her that she felt if she had breathed too heavily he would only grow angrier. "You would think a Captain with such an aptitude towards Quidditch would know it is nothing short of moronic to aim a Bludger with such force at another player!"
Indiana could not and would not respond. She had practically trained herself to not utter more than a few words whilst being scolded, for she knew she sometimes lacked the ability to control the things she articulated towards others. No, not a sound would escape from her until the man was out of her sight and out of earshot.
"You stupid, stupid girl," He scowled, shaking his head with such great disappointment tracing his aged features that Indiana could not help the twisting of guilt in her stomach. "You are quite lucky we are not in the Manor, or else your punishment would have been most severe. Most severe, indeed."
The silence was killing her, creeping into her ears and into her brain where it festered up into a large clump like a snowball growing larger as it tumbled. Her heart was thumping in her eardrums, and the mere idea of meeting her father's eyes caused a rather strong feeling of nausea in her stomach.
"You mustn't be stepping a toe out of line during your remaining time here, daughter," He hissed, and when Indiana glanced at his face, her stomach twisted at the obvious lack of guilt or pity. "For it is unlikely the Ministry will find you innocent. If I find out that your remaining days as a free girl have been spent with such foolishness as this, Azkaban will be the least of your worries. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Fa — fa —"
SLAP!
"We have been through this many times!" He roared, and Indiana knew better than to bring a hand up to soothe the redness of her cheek. "I will not stand for such idiocy under my own name. You will speak properly, as a Pureblood lady should."
Acknowledging that I'm not a bloke, are you? Indiana thought bitterly. You'd think after seventeen years he'd notice I don't have a penis between my legs.
"Indiana!" He snapped. "I will not be repeating myself!"
She inhaled a shaky breath, clenching her fists at her sides. "Yes, fa — father."
She had been expecting the punch that came; it wasn't like she could control the stammer of her voice, and she knew he would not be pleased with hearing her speak as such, especially after he had instructed against it. And even when she fell back onto the floor, clutching at her mouth and lower lip where she was sure she had felt it split and begin to bleed, she did not dare cry. She couldn't give him the satisfaction.
"How lucky I am to have a second child," He towered over her, black beady eyes blinking shamelessly down at her. Indiana ran a tongue over her lower lip, cringing at the irony taste of her own blood. "I do hope Simon will fulfill his duties as heir more admirable than you have."
Indiana remained crumpled on the floor, staring up defiantly at her father's seething figure. He sneered at her as though she were no more than dirt on the sole of his leather shoe, and with a dry scoff, he turned to the door.
"I shall be attending your final match," He spoke, his back facing her with his hand on the door knob. "I do hope you will fly faster next time."
Indiana stayed on the floor after the door was slammed shut, the blood still slowly seeping through the split of her swollen lip and her cheek still overly sensitive from the harshness of his calloused palm. She didn't know how long she had stayed there, nor when she had begun sobbing like a child. It seemed to all have happened at once and she hadn't even known when she had allowed herself to let go.
"Oh, baby, come here," Nancy's sweet, motherly voice had coaxed her out of her cries, her soft hands gently coming to rest along the curve of her back and the hardness of her arms. She cradled her like a baby, and Indiana guiltily allowed herself to hide her face in the girls soft chest. "Sh, you're okay... you're okay..."
She hadn't been held like this in a very, very long time. The closest had been, dare she say, when Potter had touched her face so gently, or perhaps when his hand had benevolently fiddled with her own. His lips ghosting silkily against hers, his calloused fingers brushing the surface of her flushed skin like she was some sort of rare specimen.
"Oh, Ana..." Nancy cooed as the shaking of Indiana's figure had calmed a bit. "You're okay... everything's all good..."
"M'sorry, Indie," It was her brothers voice. How Simon had managed to get into her dorm was beyond her, but she was oh-so-grateful for his presence. His kind face, his loving smile. Her family... she still had good family, she had to remind herself. Simon was good. "I shoulda stayed with you, shoulda told him he couldn't come in —"
"Shut up and c'mere," Indiana hiccuped, extending an arm for him to embrace her. Nancy's hands slipped away, but Simon had hugged her tightly and brought warmth to her cold skin again. She glanced up from over Simon's shoulder and furrowed her brows a bit when she noticed Hermione Granger standing beside Nancy, looking empathetic.
"Oh, Indiana..." Hermione's lower lip was trembling, and she shook her head twice as though she could simply not believe the sight before her. Indiana gave her a weak smile as the Gryffindor knelt down before her. Simon slipped away and allowed the girls to embrace. "I'm so sorry... I had no idea that this was — that you have to —"
"S'okay, you had no way of knowing," Indiana told her, her voice muffled by the girls shoulder. Hermione truly gave amazing hugs. She must have studied up on them before coming. "S'all good."
"I wish we had been friends before the war," Hermione confessed. "Perhaps I could have helped you sooner."
"I was too big of an asshole back then," Indiana jested, to which all four of them laughed. "You'd've killed me on the spot, Granger."
"Suppose I would have," Hermione smiled, rubbing her shoulder affectionately. Indiana swallowed, licking the blood off her lip again. "Oh, you're bleeding!"
"It's fine, it'll stop soon," Indiana said dismissively. "Had to get my left-hook from someone, didn't I?"
Simon snickered a bit, although his face was sad, and Hermione and Nancy only smiled weakly at the morbid joke. It was nice, Indiana thought to herself as the three of them stuck around for the remainder of the afternoon, to have friends. Or, perhaps, family.
Simon, unfortunately, had a huge History of Magic test to get to, resulting in his departure, and although Nancy and Hermione had planned on working on their Moonstone essays together, the latter of the pair had insisted on staying. Indiana and her were resting on top of the bed, flipping through the pages of an old photo album that she had found under her bed.
"Who's this?" Hermione asked, pointing to a larger woman with deep purple painted lips and pointed teeth. Her arm was wrapped around a young and eleven-year old Indiana, who had a stubborn smile on her face as the older woman embraced her, a warm and effortlessly welcoming smile adorned on her face. Indiana smiled wistfully as she stared down at the sepia tinted photo.
"That was my Aunt Hattie," Indiana replied. "Father's sister. She died in third year."
"She looks lovely," Hermione said gently.
"That weekend, Father had traveled to Bulgaria for Quidditch, so Mum asked Aunt Hattie to come and stay," Indiana went on, running her teeth along the inside of her cheek with gentle eyes. "That had to have been the best weekend of my life."
Hermione shifted her eyes to the Slytherin girl, light brown eyes staring sadly at the softness that had come over her face. As she flipped the page, she watched as that softness morphed into sorrow, eyebrows twitching upwards.
"Is this your Mum?" Hermione asked hesitantly. Indiana pressed her lips together and nodded. "She's beautiful."
"Yeah," Indiana uttered delicately, moving her hand up to run the calloused pads of her fingers along the glossy photo, stopping at the raggedness of the torn edge. The image of Serena Jones began to move, the woman's rich skin glowing and her bright hazel-honey eyes sparkling under the bright beam of sunlight that flooded in from the window behind her; a ring littered hand lifted up to block the camera's lens, before it came back down and she accepted her photographed fate with a toothy grin. "Simon took this photo. Mum hated cameras."
"Indiana," Hermione began carefully. "Might I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
"Why won't you go to the courtyard?" Hermione inquired. Indiana licked her lips, her dark eyes still trained on the photo of the beaming woman, dark curls falling over her face. The Gryffindor watched closely as Indiana's fingers fretfully fiddled with the pages of the album.
"Uhm," Indiana croaked. "It's... uhm..."
She offered a glance to Hermione before shifting around so she was sitting upright, criss-crossing her legs. The other girl followed, mimicking her actions so the pair's knees were just barely touching. Indiana drew in a deep inhale, shutting her eyes momentarily to compose herself.
"During the Battle, I had spent the majority of my time fighting alongside Blaise," Indiana began carefully. "We had decided we were fighting for Hogwarts after we realized Potter had returned to school, but we lost track of who we were dueling far into the fight."
Hermione sat silently, listening attentively.
"I found my Mother after we realized Potter was still alive," Indiana swallowed, the stammer in her voice returning. "And I suppose everyone believed we were fighting for the Dark Lord. And uhm... she was hit with a Ch-Choking Curse by a member of the Order. Don't know who."
Hermione gasped but said nothing. Indiana blinked furiously, bringing a single finger up to her lower lashes to prevent tears from running down her cheeks.
"She died in my arms," Indiana said faintly, her voice breaking. Hermione, however, did not prevent her tears and allowed herself to cry, innocent orbs of emotion rolling down her tanned cheeks. "It was in the Courtyard."
Neither girl spoke for a prolonged minute, the former blinking madly and the latter hesitating. And then, as though she could not help it, Hermione leaned forward to wrap her arms about the girl, allowing her to sort of fall into her arms. Indiana was not sobbing, but she felt more comfortable to cry. Perhaps Granger wasn't so bad after all.
✧✧✧
INDIANA'S MOOD HAD significantly picked up over the next few weeks, and although the impending dates of her trails were looming in the back of her already whirring mind, she had made it a point to make the most of her time as a free citizen.
Indiana had begrudgingly accepted her unavoidable fate; the Ministry would not care if she hadn't wanted the mark, nor would they care that her mother had tried to stop the branding of her daughter, nor would they care that she was only seventeen-going-on-eighteen and still had so much left to do and see. Another number in the cell, another Death Eater gone.
She had received the official letter from the Ministry on March 10th, stating how the trails would take place. She would have two separate trials, of course, but the night between the first and second she was to stay in Azkaban, as though the Ministry wanted her to get a taste of her new home before trapping her in permanently. She wondered if she'd be branded with her prison number in between trials.
The Potter Problem, as Blaise had trademarked it, had been eating away at her as the weeks flew by. She would not meet his desperate eyes, nor would she indulge with him even when he'd purposefully collide with her in the hallways. He'd hand her a book she may have dropped, and without a thank you, she would rush away. She couldn't for the life of her figure out what he wanted. It's not like he would ever want to kiss her like that again, especially once she had those numbers tattooed to her chest.
"Oh, sorry," Potter had bumped into her again, shoulders brushing with such a deliberate energy that she knew he had purposefully changed the course of his patch in order to collide with hers. Indiana could not bare to meet his eyes due to that stupid flipping of her heart, even when she felt the warm touch of his hands brushing her arm when he tried to help her balance herself.
Potter paused at her side whilst she composed herself like he was expecting her to say something to him, but she only tugged at the hem of her skirt and turned on her heel. Unfortunately, it seemed the taller boy had finally gotten fed up with her avoiding him, because he wrapped his calloused fingers around her right wrist and pulled, dragging her along with him down the corridor.
"Let — go — of — me!" Indiana told him violently as he swung open the door of a currently abandoned classroom, tugging her in and slamming the door behind her. His grip was tight, tighter than she had truly expected from him, and she was significantly taken aback that she could not rip herself from his clutches.
When he let go, he stood in front of her expectantly, his brows curving upwards and his jaw twitching. She still could not meet his eyes, even when they bore into her so profoundly. Her gaze twitched down to his hand — those warm, calloused fingers that had run along the surface of her cheek that night — where his thumb was rubbing over the knuckle of the pointer finger anxiously.
"What do you want?" Indiana muttered, staring away from him and shuffling her feet a bit. God, since when did Potter make her so... fidgety? She couldn't stand to be in the room alone with him, the afternoon sun leaking in through the cracked windows and casting stripes of delicate sunlight onto the sharp lines of his neck and jaw. "I have to get to History of Magic, so, if you don't mind —"
"Don't go," Potter took a step forward towards her when she had stepped back. "You've been avoiding me."
"It's not like we hung out on a regular basis before, is it?" Indiana snapped, avoiding casting her eyes over his features. Potter ran a hand over his face frustratedly before pulling it up to his hair, ruffling it up considerably like it soothed him.
"I want to talk," Potter said bluntly.
"We're talking," Indiana adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, tugging on it more than she should have as she took a few steps towards the door. "This enough to satisfy your craving?"
"Come on, Jones, don't be like this," She could hear the slight desperation of his voice and hated the way it had made her chest twist. Potter could not be having this kind of affect on her, it would only make things worse in the end. Stupid Gryffindor, stupid Seeker, stupid fucking glasses and stupid fucking warm hands that momentarily thawed the cold.
"I'm not being like anything," Indiana denied, taking another step backwards towards the door. He stepped forward. "Just gotta get to class."
"Because you care so much about being on-time," Potter said sarcastically. "You're late to Potions practically every day."
"Paying attention, are you?" Indiana turned so her back was facing him, her hand outstretched to wrap around the door knob. Potter lunged forward, this time grabbing a hold of her hand rather than her wrist to pull her back, and she could have collapsed at the simple tenderness in which his hand had laced around hers, the pads of his fingers touching her cold palm. She ripped it away as soon as she felt her own hand move unconsciously to intertwine her fingers with his.
"Can you just — just listen to me, for five minutes," Potter pleaded. Indiana did not reply, her mind flipping between either sprinting out of the room or turning around and kissing him again. She couldn't find it in her to do either one. "You won't even look at me, huh?"
He stepped around her, pushing himself fit in the space between her and door so she had no means of running away, and Indiana closed her eyes momentarily as though she could pretend that he did not exist, that he was not in front of her, that she could not smell the aroma of cologne and treacle tart dripping off of him.
The feeling of his hand forced her to lift her lids, the edge of his knuckle touching the tip of her chin to tilt her head upwards, giving her no other choice but to meet his green eyes. His dark hair was ruffled as always, but it seemed especially out of place just then, and his brows were upturned as he looked down at her. Whether it was concern, desperation, pity, or admiration, she couldn't tell.
And then, coming to her senses, she blinked and stepped away from him.
"I'm gonna be late, Potter," she said quietly. "Move."
"I don't understand," Potter's voice went up a pitch, the hand that had lifted her chin up flying to his head to grip his hair frustratedly. His glasses slipped down his nose a bit and he frantically moved to fix them. "Why did you — why did we —"
He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, inhaling deeply as though to calm himself down. Indiana's brows raised an inch, but she did not speak. He ran both of his palms down his face, the veins of his exposed arms flexing.
"Why did you kiss me?" Potter asked faintly, his voice sounding so painfully confused that she refrained from softening at his tone. He dragged his palms over his face frustratedly. "I don't understand."
"It — It was a mistake," She stammered. Oh god, she couldn't bare to look at him; his brows were furrowed with doubt, his green eyes glittering with something she had never seen in him before. Was it hurt? Disbelief? "We shouldn't have indulged with one another."
"You are the most confusing person I have ever met," He muttered, and when he removed his hands from his face she saw that the tops of his cheekbones had turned pink. "I can't even think straight."
"I'd suggest a Calming Potion, then," Indiana hated how cold her voice sounded, and she hated the way Potter naively blinked down at her. "Goodbye."
And even though Potter had called out to her, she slipped past him and out the door without another word.
SHE SPEAKS!
kind of a meh chapter idk how i feel about it but here we are anyways.
also in this fic i have a head canon that harry is like the biggest prude ever. like he kissed cho and dated ginny for like maybe a few months and he didn't do anything with either of them. hookups just don't make sense to him and he has a hard time wrapping his head around the idea that some people just make out cause its fun and not because it means anything.
in case my writing made it a little vague, harry understood that the prefect's bathroom was just a hookup. but the quidditch commons sort of opened a door for him; i wrote that they have that moment where they're sort of just being close to each other (and harry's playing with her hand) because he's becoming aware of how he feels around her. just wanted to point that out!!
anyway thank u for 15k!!! that's crazy!!! ily ily ily
- es <3