Chapter Text
“No!” The scream echoed off the walls even as I bolted upright, ringing in my ears and burning my throat. The room was dark, quiet, and cold even though I was drenched in sweat.” No.” It was a whisper that time as everything came into focus, the shadows and splashes of violent red drifted away, leaving my home in its wake, my heavy breaths the only sound in the room. For Godric's sake, this was ridiculous. I didn't judge anyone but myself, wincing as I threw back the covers, the movement twisting against the fresh bruises that scattered across my arm, darkening the flowers that covered scarred skin, a nasty little reminder of who I was no matter what I did.
At the foot of the bed, Marmalade opened one yellow eye in displeasure, eyeing me with the judgment that only a cat could before turning in a circle, tucking her pink nose back under her tail and closing her eyes again as she drifted back to sleep. I was NOT jealous of a cat, I wasn't. Dropping bare feet to the wooden floor, I mumbled under my breath as my knees trembled just a bit, the images from my nightmare still so real as they flickered through my mind on repeat. It wasn't anything new, it never was; always the same things. Smoke, pain, the sightless eyes of my friends as fires sprung up, the sting of a knife in my arm, cold, red eyes…. Every time, it was exactly the same. At least three nights a week for a decade, a standing date, in a way; one of my few constants.
Catching a breath that finally stopped shaking, I shoved wild curls out of my face and crossed the room, digging in a deep drawer for just a second until I felt the bottle and box, both cool against my heated fingers. The window was next, popping open with a soft whoosh just before I flopped down on the plush seat that spanned the length of it; it was the reason I had bought the damn townhouse in the first place, that and the tub. The night was dark, the moon and stars hidden beneath heavy clouds that were just starting to mist, casting a cool curtain of barely there dampness over my upturned face and bare arms. The bottle opened easily and I lifted it without preamble, swallowing the firewhiskey easily and relishing the burn as it traveled down to pool in my stomach. Not too much, not anymore, but just enough to take the edge off on the worst nights, the ones where everything went wrong.
Sliding a cigarette from the pack with shaking fingers, I placed it between my lips and snapped, lighting it easily. That first drag burned, hot and sticky as always, and I held it, relishing that feeling for the briefest of moments before exhaling out into the night, the blue-white smoke vanishing as the clouds opened up into a deluge as lightning split the sky. It was freezing, and my oversized t-shirt did next to nothing to stop the rain as it cascaded down over me. I closed my eyes, cigarette still in my hand and tilted my face up into the onslaught, relishing the slight sting as the cold drops spattered against my face. I should hate it, the rain, the cold, all of it. There were so many things I should do that I hated them, all of them. It had been ten years since the war ended, since we had all stopped running and we're supposed to just… what? Pick up where we left off? We had, of course, but what else could we do? What other choice was there? Run? Hide? Where? There wasn't any place to go that was safe from the flashbulbs, the questions, the fawning. I'd loathed it, every moment. It wasn't what I wanted, it never had been. Ron had flourished with the praise, happy to be paraded out at every chance; The Golden Trio. Harry, however, was more hesitant and understandably so. It was all ridiculous now, although I suppose at the moment it was…. what? Flattering? Sure. Fun? Galas and awards, praise, of course. But that sheen wore quickly, the gold tarnished , turning dark and dull. Then again, maybe that was just me. Ron seemed to be doing okay, had seemed to flourish even, under the unyielding scrutiny and I… didn't. Harry had been okay with it, if reserved.
The night was still fresh in my mind when everything snapped and shattered as though it was yesterday and not nearly seven years ago. Harsh words, angry and hurtful, raised voices and the violent strike of my hand against Ron’s cheek was the last time we had spoken more than a handful of words to each other, aside from what was necessary. Time had proven to be an unstoppable force, revealing truths and desperation that had drawn us close as exactly what we were: desperate and scared kids, searching for something, anything, a little spot of light and hope amongst the unending darkness that was literally everything. I didn't regret it then, and I sure as fuck didn't now. It was, in fact, one of my finest moments and marked the beginning of a change for me. I had floundered, a leaf on the wind for so long, hiding, strangely, in the shadow of the spotlight, such as it was. I was everything that everyone else wanted me to be: Brightest witch of her age, Golden Girl, heroine… but who was I, really? I didn't know. That night was the first and last time anyone laid their hands on me in anger and it was only because of Harry’s good graces and startlingly fast reflexes that he didn't get a right hook as well. I’d left the gala, all of the sparkling fairy lights and champagne, yet another showing of the Ministry’s puppet show of progression, and hadn’t looked back.
I got my first tattoo that night (but not at all my last) , a spring of lilac on my arm, the delicate green and pale purple covering the scars that I could still feel as though they were made yesterday. It was rather incongruous, a red silk gown against the leather of a tattoo chair, but it suited the moment.
I took another long drag, holding the burning smoke for just a bit longer than I meant to and blew it out the window into the driving rain before tossing the cigarette itself out after it. The twinkle from the end vanished before my eyes and I gazed back up at the sky as thunder roared, endless across the sky. If I tried , I could still hear the screams echoing through my mind. Physically shaking the thoughts away, I gulped back another swallow of firewhiskey, grimacing at the taste and aching for just a touch of honey to offset it, but not now. It crept through my veins slowly, surely, nearly burning away the memories with the slightest of fog in my brain. It was exactly what I needed.
A last glance at the storm and I pulled the windows shut, making sure they were locked and checking again, just to be sure. My wards were in place, of course, but constant vigilance, well, it never really left. Tucking the bottle back into its drawer, I quickly weighed the merits of a shower as my shirt dripped to from a cold puddle on the floor and decided against it, tugging the offending garment off and tossing it away in the darkness where it landed somewhere with a wet thump before I crawled back into bed, once again jostling Marmalade who expressed her displeasure yowl. I tossed and turned, tangling with the sheets and working to quiet my racing mind but didn’t finally drift off until the sun was starting to kiss the sky purple. It still counted.