Depths of Despair ✶ Theodore Nott

eleven. dreams may speak more than words ever could

One of Valerie Leclere's absolute worst fears were falling asleep, for only then did she fully surrender to the cruel clutches of oblivion — knowing not of the effects it would have upon her mind.

Giving in to tiredness may seem inevitable, however she had fought it for so long. So, so long, she barely even recognized the familiar sensation of falling: of losing control of the surrounding scenery, traveling down further and further, with seemingly no end.

Screaming and struggling was futile, and only when meeting the great abyss that was her nightmares, did the downwards acceleration halter — a huff of air pushed through her lungs, exiting past her lips as she stared ahead of herself: dust stinging her eyes, hands trembling as she pushed off the ground into a seated position.

"No," she declared into nothingness a mere second thereafter, eyes widening with realization. Shaking her head she bounced to her feet, body growing tense while backing away from the four walls trapping her in — the sight of a living room pieced together before her eyes. A living room she recognized a little too well, even though she had not set foot in the mansion since before she went to Hogwarts for her first year.

Whispers.

The piercing of her mind was brute, based on force rather than stealth, and Valerie squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced at the overwhelming pain — hands flying up toward her temples, knees threatening to give out from underneath her own weight.

Voices tore down the protective walls around her thoughts, and no matter what she could not again shut them out.

Valerie, Valerie, Valerie, Valerie.

"No."

For a spilt second, running seemed like the best option, and so she settled with her choice: legs moving, lungs aching, head pounding. Heavy intakes of breath, based not off her physical efforts but rather her eagerness to get away, to hide, seemed to burn with every inhalation — the flawed amounts of oxygen exchanged throughout her body eventually forcing her to halter, her entire body trembling.

Valerie, Valerie, Valerie, Valerie.

She was in her old room: dark walls displaying the subtle movement of shadows, the wooden boards of the floor damaged from years of withstanding a child's flawed path of learning. The first ever imperfection to the dark wood was caused by three-year-old Valerie dropping the porcelain vase settled on her bedside table. The impact tore away a splinter, leaving behind a vacancy her mother certainly had scolded her for. 'You see this' the woman had said rather angrily — gripping her arm and pointing at the disheveled dirt, porcelain and flowers scattered before their feet. 'This is what always happens, Valerie. You destroy things.'

Enunciation had been placed upon the word destroy, and since then Valerie had been mindful of her hands, not a movement out of bounds. Never again had she knocked something in that house over, the words 'You destroy things', echoing through her mind each and every time she passed anything fragile, anything expensive that could easily be shattered with a simple misstep — keeping as far away from the many artifacts as possible.

Valerie, Valerie, Valerie, Valerie.

A change of scenery came upon her, wrapping her body in discomfort. Her flickering gaze gathered enough intel to conclude she was now seated at the Slytherin table — a howler in hand after receiving an Exceeds Expectations instead of an Outstanding on her transfiguration exam at the end of her second year.

The letter unfolded, her mother's voice echoing throughout the hall while everyone sat there to watch. 'You are a disappointment, Valerie', was the sentence her twelve-year-old self remembered most
prominently, and since then it had never left her mind.