𝘝𝘖𝘐𝘊𝘌𝘚. harry potter world ¹

𝘹𝘭𝘪𝘷. 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳

    RORY'S LOST IN THE VOID. Swimming in darkness, she doesn't have a body anymore. She's just soaring like the lost spirit that she is. She can't feel anything, any emotion, any kind of pain is gone. There's a point in her journey in which she thinks that her wailing is over and that the images of Cedric's death have stopped torturing her over and over again, they repeat themselves, burning her brain like a broken record.

     She tries to convince herself that the voices inside her head are slowly vanishing and quieting themselves, they're trying to give her a rest. Rory deserves a rest. 

    But no, apparently she hasn't had enough. Rory opens her eyes and she isn't a tiny speck of light lost in the void anymore. No, she's standing in a familiar enclosure. Mad-Eye Moody's office, and there's a man making strange hissing noises, and an uncontrollable crying Winky next to his side as he tries to fight the ties that bind him.

     Cold consumes her body, —or whatever it is that's keeping her soul safe. But the cold is just not cold, is icy, breathtaking in the bad way, in the way it suffocates. In the way her lungs are completely frozen. It's a reminder, that's she's not being seen by anyone, that she's just a speck of light turning gray. A spirit, just like the Dementor that goes through her to lean on the hissing man.

     Winky is wailing, and so is Rory when she's a witness of how his soul departures from his body forever.

✧✧✧

     The room is spinning again, and she's suddenly, violently brought back to her body. She's inside again, and she carefully moves her fingers until they clutch onto something. It's cloth, and it's warm. Her eyes open slowly, taking in the white curtains again, and just as she does, she shakes like a possessed child by all of her demons, and she screams again.

    Because she has left another person to die tonight.

     ''Ay dios mio!''

     ''Rory! Rory! It's over, it's—''

     It's all blurry when her eyes try to fixate on the source of the voices. They hit her like a tsunami, a wave of nostalgia, voices that she didn't think she would ever hear again in a long time. At first, she doesn't believe it (or doesn't want to), she always hears a lot of voices, coming and going as they please. It's part of her identity by now, but even the voices are turning against her now.

    They're mean, and they are laughing at her, at the girl who thought she could help, she could defend, be an advocate for the helpless.

     (Not these ones).

     Her eyes are finally fixing on little things, it's hard at first, because all she sees is white, but then she cranes her neck slowly around, carefully, because her head is filled with thuds, as if someone was walking around in her brain with heels.

    First, she sees a red stone. Blood red, Gryffindor red, rose red, so red that it makes her eyes hurt because it clashes with the serenity of the white she had grown used to already. She wants to touch it, Rory wants to feel the stone in her own hands, but when she tries to reach for it, a cold hand holds her own, intertwining her fingers with hers. And then, it presses something warm against her bruises and dried blood, lips, lips kissing her battle scars.

    She's really there. Her hand is freckled, and bears scars of who knows what, and just adds to Rory's feeling of emptiness, but it's okay, because Rubí Adalia is sitting by her bedside. Holding her hand, whispering prayers in rapid Spanish that her ears can't listen to because her voice is small and weary.