in the end ~ d. malfoy

Chapter Twenty-One

𝕵𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟓

SHE HASN'T SLEPT PROPERLY FOR THE PAST TWO WEEKS.

When Maya closes her eyes, all she can see is Cedric's body lying on the floor of the graveyard. Cold. Dead. Life abruptly stolen. The green light flashes before she has a chance to scream, to warn him to run away. The memory feels like it's permanently burned into her psyche, branded into the muscly fibres of her brain. It's always the same situation; she's tied to the headstone, unable to do anything, to help, to escape. The light hits him abruptly; too fast, even with prior anticipation. He crumples to the floor, the thud of his body hitting the grass seeming to reverberate through her very bones.

Other times, it's the memory of her being chased through the forest — Moody, or Barty Crouch Jr., as she now knows, calling after her in that eerie, singsong voice. The slash on her thigh still burns viciously, even though it's been healed for weeks, the only remnants of it a thin, white scar running up her leg. She can smell the sweat, dirt and blood that decorated her clothes — Pomfrey had to cut them off of her, Diana told her that in a shaky voice. Maya can still sense the way his wand jabbed into her neck, painful red sparks burning her skin. She can remember being dragged by her hair, the delicate onyx strands being ripped out of her scalp with no mercy whatsoever.

Which is the reason she's standing in front of Isabelle's bathroom mirror, scalp dripping wet, kitchen scissors in one hand, towel draped on her shoulders.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" questions Izzy, looking quite worried; Maya doesn't blame her. Right now, she looks two clowns short of a circus, "Maya . . . . you've been growing your hair out for over five years. Do you really think now is a good time for a haircut?"

To prove her point, Izzy takes a few strands of coal-black hair in her hands, falling to Maya's waist in stringy, damp waves, fresh out of the shower. It doesn't make her feel anything, however; Maya's long, pitch-black locks feel out of place on her previously normal head. It feels wrong, repulsive, almost, to have to look in the mirror and constantly see a reminder of what happened to her that night.

And she wants to get rid of it as soon as possible.

"It's just hair" replies Maya, stiffly, combing her hair until it hangs stick-straight at her waist, "It'll grow back by next year or so, "

"Is this really the best decision to be making when you're this sleep-deprived?" questions Isabelle, eyeing the dark circles under Maya's eyes, which seem to intensify with each passing day. The girl in question glares at her, trying to ignore the yawn that threatens to escape her lips, "I really don't think you're in the right frame of mind to — "

"Iz, I'm fine, " replies Maya, curtly, taking a deep breath. She turns to the mirror, meeting a pair of dark-blue eyes staring back at her in her reflection, "I've thought this through, and it's just . . . way too much. I need a change. I want to cut it all off,"

"All of it?!" questions Isabelle, shocked.

"Before I change my mind"

"Well, if you say so, " Isabelle sighs, running her slender hands through her own hair, a few shades lighter than that of her friend, before tying it up in a bun so it's out of her way. She pulls all of Maya's hair towards her, brushing it so that it's flat and straight down her back. Maya hands her the kitchen scissors, eyes squeezed shut in anticipation.

"I-I don't really know what I'm doing" confesses Izzy, to Maya's mingled surprise and horror, "But I'll try my best to not screw it up"

Her common-sense internally screams as soon as she hears the first snip.