PRETENDING TO LIVE~ {The Lestrange Daughter #2}

𝟐𝟑. Aromantic

Valentine cradled her left arm against her stomach. Every turn, every jolt of the bus made it burn.

It's what I deserve.

An image flashed across her mind. Pain. Not hers, but the pain in Liam's eyes. It was seared into the back of her eyelids, so even when she shut them she still saw it. She saw his unfallen tears and the way he stood before her willing to give her the world. And she saw the mirror coming off the wall and shattering like her self control.

She saw the glass carving though her pale flesh and the blood immediately rising from her open veins. She saw the narrow streets of Diagon Alley and her own hands grasping a coat and dark scarf from a place she didn't exactly recall. Now she saw everything tinted in grey and slightly blurred.

She'd tied the scarf around her injured arm to stop the bleeding, but judging by the weightlessness in her head, she'd lost a lot of blood regardless. She looked at her reflection in the window. She couldn't tell if she was any paler than normal, but by the startled look the bus driver had given her when she boarded, she thought she might have been. Though she took the fact that she was still able to physically support herself as a good sign, even if she struggled to focus her sight on any one certain thing. Beggars couldn't be choosers after all. Especially choosers who broke their friend's hearts.

The bus rolled to a stop and Valentine grabbed the seat in front of her, needing the extra help to steady herself. It felt as if she didn't even have knees. She wobbled slightly down to the front of the bus.

She'd been lucky that there were only a few other passengers and all of whom had minded their own business. Despite that, she stuck the hand of her injured arm in the coat pocket, not wanting anyone to see the dried blood.

She stepped out onto the misty street and didn't bother to look around as she headed off in her desired direction. The narrow lanes of houses were as dull and lifeless as ever. Valentine had never felt akin with a group of buildings before.

She paused at the familiar doorstep and glanced down the empty street. Several houses down an elderly lady stepped out and headed in the opposite direction, hardly noticing her. Then Valentine knocked with her uninjured hand.

No answer.

Please. Please, open.

She knocked again, firmer this time.

A moment passed and before she could start kicking the door, it opened.

When Snape saw her standing there he didn't bother with a greeting or anything other than an annoyed expression. He just moved to shut the door on her like she wasn't even there.

Valentine's injured hand flew out of her pocket, catching the edge of the door before it could close.

Snape opened his mouth, likely readying an insult when his gaze fell on her hand and what was obviously dry blood and a lot of it. His eyes coloured with something akin to surprise and concern. Then he took in her dishevelled appearance. Her coat was several sizes too big and through the curls hanging over her face, he could see her bright eyes were somewhat glazed over.

Snape opened the door the rest of the way and dragged her inside. He slammed the door behind them and shoved her towards the small kitchen.

"What have you done now, Lestrange? Show me."

Valentine hesitated for a second, realising that she would have to explain exactly how this had happened and that she had done it to herself.

"Well? I can never get you to shut up at any other time but now you decide to stay quiet?"