Oblivious

Chapter Ten

September, 1996

Days Arabella had spent stuck in her room, clearing any urge to get up. She couldn't quite grip what was happening to her, but most of all, why she was so tired. Nausea often grew in her stomach each time she felt the need to start her classes or even when she pictured herself standing before the Dark Lord, informing him that the task had been completed.

She didn't regret what she had put her body through the previous night, nor did she regret missing those days; she missed the feeling of pure rest after endless sleepless nights, apprehension swivelling in her stomach.

But it seemed she was too caught up with the task and not getting killed that she had suddenly forgotten about her academic life. Not that she needed it, with the mark she only saw a future with the Dark Lord.

And that she dreaded.

But she didn't want to die in this war; all she wanted was to see a future that left the dark mark with the title 'just a mark.' It wasn't just a mark though, it was her weakness, her trauma, her fear. But Arabella refused to tell herself that she could be scared of the mark on her forearm.

If she was scared of the mark, she was scared of the Dark Lord. And she was sure that if he were to ever find that out, he would take advantage of it. Arabella then refused to let her discouragement take her over.

Exhaling slowly, she sat up on her bed, urging to flop back down. She desired motivation to start the task, and the first step was to resist her exasperation.

And Arabella had never occurred to herself how hard it was to neglect her urgings to be unproductive. It seemed the dark mark had sucked every since of hope out of Arabella, giving rise to but cravings of fire-whiskey. She could easily chug another bottle if it wasn't for the fact that she had no other excuses to tell Snape if it made her unwell again.

Nonetheless, she didn't care about vomiting again, she just wanted to feel it burn down her throat again.

Glancing up at the wardrobe situation in the far corner of her dorm, she spotted her Slytherin robes. One of the house-elves must have ordered everything she needed for the school year beforehand. She chuckled mirthfully, well aware that she had two options; skip again but this time - rather than being in such a hopeless and unbearable state to the point where she couldn't move - Arabella would begin on the task. Or, she could attend all her classes and delay the task.

Either way, she felt hopeless in success. Full of pessimism to the point where it was becoming viciously exhausting.

Out of distress, she threw her head back onto the pillow. She was so unaware of how to start the task it was dragging every little thing she had within her out. As though the old Arabella was being replaced with the one person she dreaded to ever become.

She felt waves were crashing against her chest as her mind span, dreading one second before the next - wishing she couldn't have been so oblivious the night she got the mark.

"Get up." She hissed to herself. Still, she remained lying on her bed, wishing each second away as she starred blankly at the dorm room ceiling. It was so frustrating knowing that she was tracked by the Dark Lord simply by a tattoo that she had been so, so, utterly stupid to have fallen for.

"Get—up—or—he'll—kill—you."

"Five seconds."

"Five."

Still lay down.

"Four."

Lifeless.

"Three."