ZILLIAH sees Sirius- but it isn't him. No. Sirius always had this warmth to him. Always wore a much charming smile. But this man before her- with ghostly eyes and a scowled up face- it isn't Sirius. She knows it isn't. But somehow, it is.
"You could've saved me", he hisses, right at her face, his eyes terrifying and his voice seething. She couldn't seem to move at it- couldn't seem to breathe. "Yet you made no real effort to do anything. And why is that my darling, Zilliah. Would you please tell me, why is that?"
"I-", she tries to choke out, the darkness around utterly unnerving. "I tried.."
Sirius bursts out laughing at her tear streaked face- his maniacal voice pounding off the invisible walls of the void she was trapped in- and it clogs up her mind even further. A shake of the head and a 'tch tch' sound of disappointment that echoes through. "Poor Zilliah, always trying and trying. Yet never seeming to be good enough."
Her heart was hammering inside her chest, threatening to burst out at any moment. But even that falters for half a second as the words drill deep in.
Suddenly, there was a cold hand on the side of her face, and a low and squeaky voice comes- that one that never fails to daunt her. "Never good enough. No matter how much you try. I feel sorry for you, young girl."
"Pl- Please..", she mutters out, shutting her eyelids, her whole body shaking as she feels the woman's breath on her shoulders and Sirius' eyes on her features. "Please let me go."
The pair of them laugh again as she feels more presence walk up to where she was fixed, unable to move a fucking nerve. "We're not the ones trapping you, dear. You are the one who has penned us down into the deepest parts of your mind", the woman's icy voice drawls. "Yes", Sirius chimes, cruelly and unmercifully. "You're the demon of your own mind. You see my dearest love, we-" another round of shrill laughter, from more people- she doesn't dare open her eyes to see. "We are just the ragdolls you've created for the sake of your dying sanity."
And she shakes her head frantically at those words, denying them, her mind howling. Cold and sharp nails dig into her shoulders, sending her into a tremendous overload of pain, and she screams- she can't help but scream- her throat and even her stomach paining with the intensity of it- almost like it would tear apart into two. It would be better if it did.
"Zilliah- open your eyes!", a familiar voice shouts through her unbearable agony, and she just barely makes out the anxiousness of the beholder. "Zilliah, for fuck's sake, please just wake up!"
No, she isn't going to open her eyes. Even despite all the pain, she isn't going to open her eyes. Because she can't face the horror that awaits her if she does- she can't.
"Zilliah, listen to me. I need you to wake up-", she hears the voice again but it feels so.. distant. Like it was a thousand light-years away. Far from her grasp. And now, there were hands coiling around her throat too, surely dragging her back to that room- that fucking room where it all starts. "Baby, just please wake up. Zilliah, please."
She can feel the man's hands on her thighs. ("Do something!"- "We can't!") Fear, she tastes fear. Utter and devastating fear. ("She's not stable Ivan"- "I don't fucking care-"). A sudden surge of hope. ("-too dangerous."- "It's the only option.") Drowning anguish. ("Snape is the only person who can help her, you know tha-") She is falling and she is running. She is screaming and she is writhing. And suddenly, her body gives out and she can feel herself falling to solid ground with an echoing thud.
And she finds herself thinking, at last, this is it. This is mercy.
-
There's a hollow calm inside of her as she wakes. And from the way it feels so tiring, she knows it is the effect of several different calming and sleeping draughts with the addition of extra tranquilizing pills suited to her condition.
She can't even feel her body properly and it's probably for the best. Because as she squints her eyes at the light pouring in through the window and focuses upon her stomach that was exposed due to the crop top she was wearing, there was a deep cut right across it, ghastly and disturbing when she understands that she did it to herself, in pain, in torment.
She plucks her eyes away from them in distaste and does a clean sweep of the room. She understands that it was her room at Severus' house- of course, no one but him could have decided how much tranquility she could bear without slipping away to death- and Ivan was there, on a brown armchair, dozing. And once again, of course. Because no one but Ivan would've cared enough to bring her here to end her agony.
It was always extra tough for her back at 'home' when Ivan wasn't around- that was most of the time actually because he hates his parents and for this sole reason he had chosen to go to Romania to study dragons and continued to work there, not even coming back for breaks. But now, upon hearing about Sirius' death, he had returned.
She knew that he was only there for her. He brought her food and water, even candies and books. But she couldn't care less about any of those now. So she just blatantly shut him out. All she felt was pain.. unending and inescapable pain that tortured her from within. And anger. At Draco. He had taken away her choice. And that is the one thing she utterly despises because all her life, people have only done the same. And she really thought he was different. Foolish, really.
That's the thing about holding out hope. When it all comes tumbling down, you are crushed all the more because of it.
She shakes her head at the thoughts and slowly gets out of bed, her bones feeling like mere logs of wood dangling off her body. It was an effort to move with all the subduing meds inside of her but she still pushes on, keeping one foot in front of the other and blinking rapidly to focus on her surroundings.
The room was just like she had left it- a pile of books stacked up on the bedside table along with a small lamp and a picture of Severus and herself. He was grim as usual, in his normal black cloak, but if you just looked close enough you could see the faintest of smiles playing on his features, his whole hand wrapped around a beaming six-year-old Zilliah's pinky finger.
There was a cupboard there to the side where her clothes have been stuffed into. But those clothes probably wouldn't fit her now because they're from ages ago. She has not stayed here in a long time. And beside the cupboard, there was a shelf where more books have been organized into, most of them being fairytales and muggle kid stories. She was never allowed to read much of her own type of magic.
And at the opposite side, to the right of the door, were two armchairs over a grand red rug, one of them currently occupied by Ivan. And on the other lay a light blue hoodie, by the seems of it belonging to Ivan himself, but brought with solely for her. She walks upto it and takes it, pulling it over her head. It reached below her knees but it covered that disgusting wound and that's all that she needed. She feels a bit better already.
Ivan stirs slightly in his sleep and it gives her more fuel to get out of there before he completely wakes.
Once out of the room, she leans against the wall, breathless from the simplest exertion of mere walking. Somehow the calm seemed more agonizing than the splitting ache.
"I've played my part well-", she hears Severus' voice from downstairs "-very well that I've deceived one of the greatest wizards of all time." A cackle of disapproval from someone she couldn't make out. "Dumbledore is a great wizard. Only a fool would question that."
"I don't doubt you, Severus", a woman's voice rises, posh and eloquent.
Zilliah moves further towards the staircase as the voice of another woman comes, much less grand and more seething and daunting than anything else. "You should be honored Cissy", she says. "As should Draco."
... Draco?
Despite not wanting to even think about Draco at the moment, she finds herself descending the first few stairs to be able to listen in better.
"He's just a boy", the first woman speaks again, but this time, her voice was thick with emotions. She could understand that from the strain in it.
There's a beat of silence that follows before Severus speaks up, "I can't change the Dark Lord's mind.. but I might be able to help Draco."
A scuffling of the feet. "Swear to it", the second woman speaks again, like she was unconvinced.
Who are these people? What is happening down there? What is this with Draco and-
"Zilliah?", Ivan's voice comes from behind. "Thank heavens, you're up!" He heaves a quick sigh of relief. "I thought you slipped off into a coma or something."
She turns back to meet his figure, leaning against the doorway, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his white jumper, his face full of exhaustion, most probably from lack of enough sleep. "Nevermind about me. You should get some rest", she mumbles out at him, her hands on the railing.
A shake of the head. "No, I'm alright."
But she knows he isn't. She hardly doubts he had closed his eyes once all night since he brought her here. And the way in which he slept earlier was also evidently not much peaceful. She could sense it in his alert breaths. "You don't look alright."
"You're the one to say", he mumbles back, starting to walk up to her.
She turns back, being the one to shake the head now. "I'm alright."
"No. You don't look alright", he throws her words right back at her, closing in.
She takes in a deep breath, starting to descend the steps further without even thinking. "Then stop looking."
Rounding the curve of the stairway with Ivan right behind her, she comes into view of the people gathered around in the living room. Severus. Narcissa Malfoy. And... Bellatrix Lestrange?!
All three pairs of eyes flick up onto her. And yes, that is Bellatrix Lestrange. She remembers her face from the Daily Prophet. "Who is this piece of swine", she hisses, her eyes locked on Zilliah.
"That is young miss Emerson", Severus says, with the tiniest hint of reluctance.
Rage pricks at Zilliah's skin, re-igniting this fire in her guts as she stares into the jet-black eyes of the murderer of her godfather. She would so enjoy killing her in turn. Visions of Sirius fill her mind and she lifts her hand, making to torture her first and foremost but then Ivan comes up right behind her and wraps an arm around her whole body, seizing her hands by her own side with it.
"Zilliah and I were just going to get some fresh air", he mumbles, plastering on a fake smile.
"Very well then, be out. We are discussing some heavy matter here. Do not return until you're called back", Bellatrix speaks coldly, her eyes still glaring into Zilliah's and all she can think about is tearing this woman's throat out.
Ivan nods from behind and drags her along to the nearby door out quickly and Zilliah tries to fight his grip. She tries to yell at him to stop. But he was more physically stronger than her and the effects of the draughts and pills still remained, and she found herself a mere puppet to his strings, one of his hands clasped over her mouth and the other gripping around her tightly.
She hated that. She hated being powerless. It's all she has been in her whole life.
They were soon out in the open air, the sun high up in the sky, scorching all that lay below with its summer heat. Yet the white lilies along the sides of the backyard beam up at it, joyous and lovely. She hates them for that.
"The fuck were you thinking?!", Ivan howls at her as they halt, far away from Bellatrix who she just wants to see suffering against her grip, gasping for breath, begging for mercy to only realize there was none. "You really were going to use your powers and expose yourself like that?!" He retracts the hand from her mouth and grips it both on her shoulders, moving to the front to face her.
She meets his angry glare, his blue eyes that reflected the sky up above, now burning with fire like that of the sun. "She is the one who ki-"
"I know", he snaps. "I fucking know. But that was reckless."
"I don't care if it is reckless. I want her dead", she shoots back
"You're better than that, Zilliah."
A cruel laugh escapes her. "I'm not", she finds her voice seething. It even disturbs her own self.
Ivan's features falter for half a second. "You are-"
"I'm not, Ivan. I'm not better. I'm no good. You are one of the very few people who know that. You know what's in my blood."
Exhaustion reigns within her, even speech becoming something so hard to tolerate. Ivan's eyes soften, his glare giving away. "You are not your father", he mumbles out, loosening his grip on her shoulders and rubbing them, perhaps to comfort her. But all pity has ever done is disgust her.
"No", she chokes out, her breaths strained yet her eyes resolutely fixed on him. "But I am his daughter."
He shakes his head at it, but only in vain does he do so. He doesn't speak because there's nothing he can say back to that. It is the sole truth. And it will remain so despite any words he could utter.
She eases out of his grip and turns back, closing her eyes and pressing the heels of her palm onto her shut eyelids, taking in a deep breath as a light breeze gushes past, rustling the leaves of bushes and trees around the yard.
"There is good in you."
"I disagree."
"You are good, Zilliah."
A silence that seems to echo through the day. "No", she speaks atlast, her voice coming out strained. "I'm a monster. I've been one right from birth." She turns back to him, tears pooling in her eyes. "Born from the blood and life of a hundred witches, what chance did I have, Ivan?"
And he adverts his gaze from her. He casts his eyes upon the trees behind her, tears pricking at his own eyes because he knows she is right. He knows. And he draws in a shaky breath and she could feel herself mirroring it. The air felt heavy between them. As if they were breathing bricks. It seemed as if an eternity had passed when he finally spoke again, eyes roaming back to her, determined and resolute. "Whatever you think you might be, you are still my sister."
"I'm no-"
"You are my sister, Zilliah. Nothing can change that." His hand under her jaw, his thumb caressing her cheeks. "Nothing", he whispers, before pulling her to his chest.
And she wants to break down. She wants to cry. She wants to scream. But she doesn't. She doesn't because it seemed as if she couldn't. Completely unable to even give herself the simplest comfort because she didn't deserve it. So she just focuses upon his heartbeats, an innocent's heartbeat, wondering how the same echoed inside her when all she is and all that she ever will be a monster.
"Zilliah?", she hears a voice call. Ivan pulls back and she glances behind him to be met with Narcissa Malfoy. "I wish to talk to you", she mumbles, a small yet genuine smile prevalent on her face.
"What is the matter?", Ivan asks, stern and protective.
The woman's black eyes that were accurately identical to the ones of her sister, flicks up to Ivan who is standing in front of Zilliah. "It's rather.. private." Her lips form a thin line, unhappy. Her gaze hardens. And Zilliah knows that look all too well. Draco definitely mirrored his mother. And now that she sees, she understands that apart from his platinum hair that he has inherited from his father and silver eyes that seemed uniquely his own, the rest of his features strongly resembled Narcissa. "I wish to take it up with her alone."
"Whatever you have to say-", Ivan starts but he halts as Zilliah lifts a hand and places it on his shoulder, stepping forward.
"Then you may", she mumbles at the mother before her, tasting utter spite in her mouth, the rage at her son burning within.
Ivan turns to her, concerned. "But Zilliah-"
"I will call you if I need anything, Ivan." She squeezes his shoulder a little in assurance before retracting her hand. "I will."
One lingering look and he walks off, stepping back into the house by the back door where Severus now stood, watching.
"I heard that you were in Slytherin", Narcissa begins. And even her way of speaking seems so symbolic to her son's- so much so that she wants to lunge at this woman and tear her apart before hunting down her sister. "So I presume you know Draco."
Her heart falters a little at his name being uttered at her face. "Yes, I do know Draco", she says simply, despite the ache in her at speaking his name out loud in weeks.
A smile creeps back into her features as she exhales a shaky breath, one of relief, glancing onto the ground for half a second before bringing her eyes back upon Zilliah. "He will need certain help this year. And I was hoping you would be much kind as to assist him as he-"
"No."
Her smile falters. "What?"
"I said no", Zilliah reiterates, stern and decided. "I want nothing to do with your son."
And it's almost like her words have slapped the woman right across the face. But the look of offense is gone in an instant, drowning under a mask- one similar to that which she could easily plow through. "Why?", she utters, clear and cut like pure ice. God, how wrong was she to think that Draco took after his father. Because she sees now that Draco is exactly Narcissa Malfoy.
"Because-", she mumbles out, feeling much tired and maybe even a little scared from the look on Narcissa's face, but keeps the sternness set in her features nevertheless. "-your son might just be the most selfish person I know."
Narcissa's eyes pierce into her very soul, examining every last inch of her features, mining and mining for the emotions that lay beneath, and it's suffocating under her gaze. At last, she draws a breath with a neutral face and turns to leave, but not before she speaks, in defense of her son, maybe even a little truthfully.
"My son is selfish, yes. Most selfish with the people he cares the best about. He will go against anything to keep them safe. Even put his life on the line. Trust me, I'm not saying this out of motherly affection. I'm saying this because it is the truth and I feel that you should know this for some reason I can't quite understand. So know this, Zillliah. He is selfish. But he is also selfless in a way that most fail to understand. It's simply not that easy to see, so people just leave it be. Perhaps, sort of like you, I suppose. It's hard to see you too. I hope you have a good day."
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All the love,
Ann <3