𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒽 | 𝒟.𝑀.

4 | ﴾ Royaume des Lune ﴿

I sat on the edge of my bed that first night, twisting the Yew wand around to memorize it's patterning and heavy energy. The wood was foreign in my grasp yet perfectly synchronized with my needs and newfound abilities. I chose to allow the warm summer air to creep in through my cracked window, and outside the moon in the sky was full and attentive to my every movement through the huge wall of glass.

Despite having such a narrow emotional range to play with, it felt odd to me that Draco was sleeping on the first floor and I all alone in my room on the fifth.

The shift in our relationship was perverse and sudden, mirroring the changes in our own personalities coming back from the war. Only weeks ago we would never have slept apart. Now, neither of us truly knew who we were anymore, and this time I had the task of being the one who had all of the memories whereas he was scrambling to understand. The damage had finally caught up to us at the very last moment that it ended. I shifted backwards on my bed and pulled up the covers with a lonely, gnawing feeling blossoming deep in my gut. 

I struggled to sleep for some time, finally removing the silken glove and inspecting my right hand apprehensively. My nails were black and so were the tips of my fingers. Gradually as the scorching moved down my hand it grew into thin lines that blistered outwards like small veins on a leaf, twisting away into nothing at my wrist. The blood flow and nerves to the appendage seemed to remain undisturbed, so I took this as being a form of surficial trauma. I would have to wear the glove from then on out to avoid dramatic stares and unwanted conversations regarding my unsightly hand.

I desired to go home to my family where I truly belonged, but I couldn't be sure of their receptivity towards me after all that I had done during the war. The deception was unprecedented, and my father had perished as a result of my involvement.

I decided it would be best to shut my eyelids and force sleep, but visions of the wizarding newspaper I had read before bed continued to swim in my mind. They had coined me The White Witch, and plastered it all over the front page which explained the young boy's reaction to me at the alley. Rita Skeeter had gone so far as to completely twist the story into her own false account:

The mysterious young Veela from France , Madeleine Malfoy, who burned Hogwarts to the ground has disappeared after the defeat of the dark lord. Witnesses to her actions describe her use of ancient magic as apocalyptic and unsettling, subjecting innocent bystanders to walls of black flames that could have easily burnt them to dust. Informants describe her appearance as uncanny, ghostly, and supernatural, with long white hair, pale skin, and morbidly obsidian eyes. She is not yet classified as an undesirable, but only time will tell as Ministry investigations into the battle of Hogwarts continue to unravel. Amongst gossipers, she has been coined The White Witch - be warned if you spot her, she may be dangerous. 

The article went on to rant about the rest of the Malfoy's, other aspects of the battle, and a long list of all identified Death Eater's who were currently on trial or listed as undesirables. The section dedicated to black listing me had left me feeling more isolated than I already did. No one comprehended what it was like to wake up hollow and lost to the darkness that had latched itself to my heart within; it was akin to an alien parasite that could not be removed even with surgery. It had spread it's tendrils down through every vein in my body like the root system of a tree. I was filled with malice that I could not describe, and entirely alone dealing with it. The only person who could've possibly understood had been taken from me, and what remained of him was sleeping five floors below me in equal pain and confusion that I in return could not help him through.

Behind my closed eyes I could see his sincere face as he had left that day from Hesellø, his words ringing in my ears.

I'll always love you, Madeleine. No matter what.