FINDING YOUR FOOTING
✩
A week. I had been back a week and still hadn't found my footing. I was home, a place that should feel comfortable and familiar but instead, my body was floating through the hallways like a ghost, the floor no longer feeling like the floor and the walls no longer feeling like the walls. My own body couldn't recognize home.
My parents and Sirius were adamant on me taking the rest of the year off, going back home so I could "heal". The idea didn't seem appealing. I considered, then decided I needed to be at Hogwarts around my friends. I needed my friends right now. I needed to be with them. I needed to know they were there, around, everywhere, a mere few steps away.
I couldn't remember the last time I slept.
It had been so long.
I laid awake, night after night, staring at the ceiling. I could no longer close the lights in my room.
It was so cold. So dark. So-alone.
I wrapped my arms around my body, pulling the blanket over my chest. Inhaling deeply, I would close my eyes and pray for sleep to come. I could feel my exhaustion in the tips of my fingers. My eyelids could no longer keep themselves open from how tired I was.
But the sleep would still never come.
Every time my eyes closed, the coldness would consume me. The darkness would wrap its arms around me, trapping me in. The loneliness, a sea, slowly rising and rising until my head was bound under the water.
My screams and cries echoed in my head, so loud I couldn't hear myself think. I could hear nothing by wailing, screeching screams that shook me to the core. Sometimes, I wouldn't immediately realize that the screams I heard belonged to me-the screams from the basement.
Closing my eyes apparated me right back into that basement-chained, trapped, cold, in pain. Samael's face would appear in my mind. Images of myself surrounded, soaked in a pool of my own blood on the cold concrete floor.
Samael gripped my face in his bony hands, bruises the tender flesh. "You make a rather-enchanting plaything, dearie."
My own room-the place that should have been my safe sanctuary, my comfort zone, had now been tarnished and iron-cladded with danger. I was not safe. I couldn't feel safe in my own room. I had been taken from my own room.
I had come into my room to see a hooded man standing by the window. I backed into the door. "Who-who are you?" The man stepped towards me. "You'll find that out in due time."
My body trembled and shook all night long. I would cradle myself.
My hands wouldn't stop spasming. I would clench my fists.
I would toss and turn. I was so cold. With multiple sweaters and blankets on, I felt as cold as I was in that concrete basement, wearing nothing but thin pants and a thin black tank top. In my mind, I was still there, in that basement; imprisoned.
It's so cold.
I couldn't breath.
Like the moon, I was left with only the side of me that the stars couldn't even shine on. The side so cold, even the sun couldn't burn on. It was the only side of me left.
My chest ached. My heart ached. I couldn't breath. My lungs burned. My heart felt like it were slowly being split in half, each tendon being pulled apart, so slow that I could feel every ounce of pain. When it would finally stop, when there was nothing left of my heart to tear, it would become whole again, just to split in half all over again. Like that, the pain would remain endless.
As the sun seeped in through the window and day begun, I would find myself cradled into a ball in the corner of my room. Sitting on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, rocking myself back and fourth.
As if I had never left that basement.
There was nothing left of me.
Not having slept, any night, I would be the first one in the Great Hall. In the beginning, the emptiness would always suffocate me. Closing me in. The walls growing closer and closer until my lungs wheezed for air.
Then people would fill the room. My friends would join me-and a rare comfort would ease some of that suffocating tension.
"You look like rubbish," George grinned as he slid into a seat, across the table from me. "Tell me you've been getting some sleep." Despite his playful tone, I could see the concern lingering behind his eyes.
Everyone had been walking around on eggshells. They tried to hide how worried they were but the strain behind their gazes, the caution in their tones when they spoke to me-it couldn't be hidden. As if they were afraid I would miraculously combust at any moment.
I think, I might just.
I forced a smile, laughing off his comment. I didn't want to worry them any more than they already were. "I stayed up studying. I have a lot of catching up to do."
Hermione frowned. "You know the professors aren't expecting you to-"
"I know." I nodded my head, cutting her off. I picked at my slice of toast. "I want to."
Hermione only nodded, not saying anything further.
There was a thin line drawn, one so invisible it was hard to see.
The events that took place-having been taken, everyone knowing I was tortured, everything that happened with Samael-there was another unspoken, silent understanding between everyone that the topic is off limits.
I knew they wanted to ask me things. I knew they wanted to know if I was okay, to just ask that question, be able to say it out loud.
Like it was dangerous or even sacred to bring it up, anything to do with it. They were scared to bring it up. We acted as if nothing had happened, as if there was nothing to say at all.
Maybe it was easier that way.
For all of us.
I didn't need the reminder. I didn't need to rehash what happened.
They didn't need the reminder either.
So, we avoided talking about it. I acted as though I was truly well-that I was all healed up now that I was safely back at Hogwarts with my friends and Samael is dead.
Really, I was in bits and pieces, desperately trying to hold myself together. I was a shell of a person. My mind was still living in that basement. I was drowning inside my own body.
My friends, they acted as though everything was back to normal now. Things were the same as they were as if I never left to begin with with.
Really, the watched me carefully, standing on the heels of their feet as if one wrong blink would cause my heart to stop beating entirely.
Things were not back to normal. Not at all.
That night, I asked Hermione to have a sleepover in her room. It had been too long since I had slept and it was starting to both show and weigh on me.
I played it off, as indifferent as possible.
"So much has happened. I've just missed you, we can have a girls night," I said, casual as ever.
Hermione didn't think a thing of it. She was eager and ecstatic, bouncing on her toes as she planned what muggle film we could watch.
It was exactly what I needed. To not be alone, not feel cold, not hear my own screams in my mind, to be with someone.
It may be exactly what I needed but it didn't help. Not one bit.
I didn't know what time it was. I only knew it was late.
I glanced at Hermione's bed. She was snuggled up under the blanket, her hair sprawled all over. Her chest heaved up and down evenly as she slept. Peaceful, relaxed, serene.
My hand spasmed uncontrollably. I sat in the recliner in front of her window, looking out at the moon.
It's so cold.
I didn't think it actually was cold in the room.
I just felt cold.
-
Being alone made me forget how to breathe.
No. I don't think I forgot how to breathe-I just merely could not breath.
Alone in my room, walking the hallways alone, sitting in class or the Great Hall for even a few minutes alone-it trapped me back between concrete walls with steels constraints around my wrists.
Being alone made me feel trapped again.
It terrified me. It shook me to my core. It made the blood running between my veins turn piercingly cold.
I would walk down the hallways, desperately glancing everywhere to find any familiar face. My screams would echo in my ears, nearly making me want to scratch off my own skin just to get the sound of my agonizing cries to stop.
I was traumatized by the sound of my own screams.
I would flinch when someone walked too close to me. Looking over my shoulder, my heart racing at the sight of my own shadow-as if it were Samael hovering over my head.
Another night, not a blink of sleep.
Everything felt so cold, all the time. The same way it felt in that godforsaken concrete box.
"Crucio."
A scream escaped my throat as I withered out on the ground, my body shrinking into a ball. The effect was mind-numbingly painful. The pain went on and on, never ending, until I eventually felt like my entire body would detonate into liquid matter from the pain.
The tremors in my hand were now normal. I hardly noticed my hands spasming anymore.
I was back at Hogwarts; my physical form was back but my mind was still trapped with Samael in his concrete basement.
I sat in the library with Hermione and Luna. Hermione studied potions, Luna read a book and me-I folded one paper crane after the next.
Despite the boundless quavering of my hands, they moved at lightning speed, frantically folding the paper over and over again until dozens of parchment cranes sat in front of me.
Hermione and Luna had both stopped what they were doing, watching me carefully, apprehension in their eyes.
"Elysia..." Hermione sat across from me, leaning over the table slightly. She spoke almost cautiously. "Are you-are you doing alright?"
"Fold the paper. Crease. Fold it again. Crease. Flip it over." I ripped another piece of parchment, speaking aloud as I folded it into a crane. "You have no idea how many paper cranes I've folded in my mind. I need make them physically now. It's practically engraved in my bones. Bloody paper fucking cranes."
Bloody paper fucking cranes, indeed. Essentially the single thing that didn't let my mind completely slip into a fog while I was being held hostage.
Hermione gawked at me. She was entirely baffled. "You're uttering nonsense, Elysia. What are you going on about?"
I laughed. Almost manically. "Merlin-I'm not sure, Mione. It just makes sense."
"To-to fold paper cranes?"
I shrugged. "Paper cranes are my saviour."
Luna sputtered. She reached forward, placing a hand on top of mine to stop me from folding more parchment. Instinctively, I flinched from the touch but quickly covered it up.
"Maybe you could stop," she suggested in her delicate, kind voice. "You've already made so many."
I blinked, lifting my gaze to look at Luna. Then, I glanced down at the two dozen folded pieces of parchment that scattered over the table. "You're right." I looked at her again. "People who make a thousand paper cranes so they can have a wish granted, what do you think they do with all those cranes?"
Luna and Hermione both stared at me with wide eyes, staring at me as if I were truly mental.
Maybe I was.
Maybe I thought I had held onto my sanity in that basement when really, it had all been washed away.
"Um-" Hermione ran a hand down her face. "I'm not sure. What are you doing to do with all of these?"
When I looked at the paper cranes sitting on the table again, my blood ran cold. All the hair on my body stood.
I took slow and shallow breaths as I held onto anything I could find. In my mind, I folded a thousand paper cranes. I folded and folded and folded, my hands trembling but moving in mid-air as if actually holding a piece of parchment.
I'm not there anymore. I don't need to fold any more paper cranes. My mind had already folded enough.
Surely, in the month I was locked up, my mind folded more than a thousand paper cranes. I knew I had. I had nothing but those mental paper cranes-it was the only thing I did all day long to stop my mind from focusing on the coldness, the dark, hunger, the loneliness.
Perhaps, that was why I was no longer in that basement. The Gods had accepted my thousands of mental papers cranes and granted my wish.
I will fold a thousand and I will wish to see Draco again. To see my friends. My parents. My family.
"Elysia?" I flinched when Hermione's hand waved in front of my eyes.
"Huh?" I looked at her, blinking. "Sorry. Did you say something?"
Hermione and Luna shared concerned looks. "Are you okay? I mean-really."
I forced a laugh, shaking my head. "Yes, I am okay. I just cannot stand to study potions any longer, my brain is fried from trying to memorize the ingredients of each potion."
Now seemed like a good time to take my leave. They were already staring at me as if I had gone lunatic-and frankly, with this paper crane business, I didn't blame them.
However, I felt myself shrinking at the idea of leaving.
I can't be alone.
Hermione and Luna fell silent, eyeing me skeptically.
I leaned back in my chair, sighing as I pulled out another piece of parchment. Papers cranes will have to do.
It helped me-to busy my hands with the folding of a paper so they didn't tremble as much. They still spasmed and the shaking didn't stop entirely but it helped dull it marginally. Focusing on the steps of creating the crane helped keep my mind distracted-distracted from hearing my agonizing shrieking, from the occasional twitches in my muscles, from Samael's glass iris clearly visible in my mind, from the sensation of steel restraints that I could still feel around my wrists as if they were really there. Distracted from all of it.
"You and Ron are dating now?" I changed the subject, keeping my eyes trained on the parchment.
Hermione faltered, my question taking her by surprise. A blush crept up her neck. "Oh-yes, he finally asked me out."
"It was due time," Luna laughed softly. "I'm surprised it took him so long."
"So am I." I grinned lightly, my tongue lightly poking out the side of my mouth as I finished another paper crane.
"Oh, hush!" Hermione waved her hand in the air.
Hermione continued, giddy as she told me all about how Ron finally worked up the courage to ask her out. Her face was glowing bright red as she told me all about their first kiss and how sweet he was to her.
I nodded along, humming as I listened to her. My heart felt inflated with warmth as I listened to her dreamy tone. It was like ecstasy-being back in the comforts of my best friends. I could listen to her talk all day.
I missed this so much.
It was what I desperately held onto, praying to escape so I could come back to it. My friends were the only thing keeping me afloat while I was in that basement.
But as I listened to her speak, my hands continued moving as I proceeded folding paper cranes. My mind continued reiterating the steps.
Fold the paper. Crease. Fold it again. Crease. Flip it over.
I was listening.
I could hear her.
But I don't think I was entirely there.