An Eventful Quidditch Match (HP) (Drarry) (COMPLETED)

chapter fourteen

Samuel sat in the chair, his chin resting in his hands. He was growing old, as was his oh so lovely wife, but it not show on him; his face remained unstressed and unwrinkled.

He had a bored expression on his face, but Pristina had seen the internal struggle and worldwind of emotions swirling beneath his eyes. He was angry, Pristina could see. That was his main emotion.

Angry and... Pristina studied closely.... sad.

Pristina accross from him. "What's wrong, dear?" she asked.

"I was looking at a picture of you earlier," he said tiredly, "And I just..  I could not help but be mad at you. You're all I can remember. I learned to live with it, to simply smile and go along and be a good King. But I cannot stop the yearning in my heart to know who I was before this. Sometimes I feel as if it's your fault. I was venting, in a way. Saying things to your photo that I would not say to you."

Pristina gave a small smile- though she still felt wary and out of place- and reached out to hold his hand. "It's okay. I understand, Sam."

He did not take her hand. "I was getting really into it. I said something that I completely meant at the time. And perhaps I would mean it now, too, if I said it. Once the words left my lips, something very weird happened, Pristina."

Pristina retracted her hand. "Sam?" she asked quietly.

"Everything came back to me," Samuel said. "I could remember anything and everything."

"Oh."

"I hate you, Pristina," Samuel said, but his tone was not harsh. "You took away my memories, my everything, and I was forced to bond with you, to love you. I hate you."

"But your mistress-" Pristina weakly protested.

"Mistress or not," Samuel's normally loving eyes seemed so filled with hatred that Pristina physically winced back, "you had no right. I hate you, Pristina."

Pristina closed her eyes, an apology that wouldn't make up for anything at the tip of her tongue. She felt tears press at the corner of her eyes, and she struggled to contain them.

Samuel's movement was sudden, and even if she had her eyes open, Pristina likely still would've been unprepared as he threw a knife at her chest.

It landed perfectly. Three more, drawn from Samuel's satchel, hit their mark, too.

Pristina could feel her magic draining, her life force dripping away, and could not help but think of the hypocriticalness of it all. I cheat on you and you have no right to curse me, but you curse me and I have the right to kill you?

Pristina would've laughed, if she wasn't busy dying.

Pristina had a million regrets, a million things that could've expressed how apologetic she was  at everything she had ever done wrong. She could've apologized to Samuel, to Armistice, to everyone, but she didn't say anything.

She bent her head back, staring intently at the ceiling and said nothing.

This is it, she thought. I'm going to die.

Just as the life, the magic, left her body a spell was fired in a place that seemed a world away, and Pristina felt her magic pulled into the body that was so much unlike her own. She had no control, she only watched.

At first, she had beloved she hadn't died at all, but that was the denial and delusion talking.

Pristina died, and now she was in the body of some young adult resting in a hospital bed.