Depths of Despair ✶ Theodore Nott

nineteen. great anticipation

Perhaps should she by now know when caught up in the wicked holds of her own volatility, however the images were flashing through her mind — Valerie Leclere tossing and turning as though unable to grasp the concept of tranquility: ever so often flinching as a byproduct of fear, although remaining very much asleep.

     Whispers were all-consuming, shrill and unfiltered as tunes out of harmony: speaking nonsense of vile intents. She wished not to hear, but was given no option to decide: the voice involuntarily invading her mind, no matter many attempts at shutting it out.

     'Step aside, Wormtail, so I can give our guest a proper greeting.' She saw nothing but darkness, gaze flickering back and forth to trace the eerie voice. Her attempt was deemed unsuccessful, until suddenly the nothingness flashed brightly green.

     So familiar was the outburst, for she had stood face to face with it once before: a mere instinctive reaction away from being robbed of the very beating of her heart. 'Avada Kedavra!'

     Murder is vile, and Valerie stilled: unable to move as silence reigned, the whispers ceasing. No matter previous distress, the deafening silence was even worse, for atrocity had been committed to, an unforgivable curse voiced into existence with not a flicker of remorse lacing the executioner's tone.

     When a hand grabbed her shoulder, Valerie's first thought was to scream, to cry, to struggle. Grip tightening, she was trapped: unable to run as something was holding her back with intents of restraining her. Only seconds later, when the means of sanity disregarded momentary lunacy, did she realize it was the tug of reality bringing her back from the abyss of oblivion, her mind surfacing from subconsciousness with startling efficiency.

     Eyes snapping open, a deep gasp escaped past dry lips. Some time was needed to gather rational thoughts rather than erratical assumptions, and Valerie looked around with wide eyes — gaze drifting back and forth between the familiar four familiar walls of Kieran Lacroix's guest room, only daring to meeting her best friend's concern a moment or two later.

     Both his hands rested on each of her shoulders, remaining patient while she reigned control over her scattered mind. "Calm down, Val," he spoke: sounding calm and secure, even though knowing the panic was likely out of her control.

     Valerie, choking on her own heartbeat, did however take his words to heart: trying her best to regain her composure, yet her recollection was a noose resting upon her neck — making inhalations harder than they should be, making pretending to be fine a near impossibility as she ran a hand through her unruly hair as an attempt to look less torn.

     "I'm fine," she spoke anyway, sounding dangerously convincing: tone hiding the existent traces of uncertainty lingering within.

     Kieran eyed her suspiciously. "I don't believe you." Considering he'd been shaking her awake from a nightmare having her toss herself back and forth from fear, the possibility of her being fine was near non-existent.

     "What are you even doing down here?" Valerie inquired instead, wholly ignoring his disbelief. Kieran's room was a staircase above, hence why his presence appeared rather odd in her eyes.

     Kieran cast a single glance toward the small clock placed upon her nightstand before replying, "It's time to go." Although sounding cryptic, his best friend needed no further explanation as to what he meant.

     Usually, Valerie would curse upon needing to wake up at four-thirty in the morning, yet on this occasion the still-thirteen-year-old could be seen nearly bouncing with every step — hazel-tinted eyes glimmering with anticipation.

Every lingering concern as to what she had just seen did she push to the very back of her mind, deciding not to let it bother her for any longer. Later, she told herself while putting on a feigned smile to try and convince herself of her choice being the correct one. I will deal with it later.

     The Quidditch World Cup had been an event to look forward to for weeks, and nothing in the world would she allow ruining the experience. After purchasing three tickets for herself, Kieran, and Joseph Lacroix — Kieran's father — days had felt unbearably long, minutes passing by like hours as some cruel form of mockery.

Luxury seats with good view was only an add on to the excitement and Valerie, being quite the Quidditch fanatic, had felt no remorse using money from the endless towers of coin locked up in Gringotts — inherited to her from decades of relatives now having since long passed. Her mother's potential annoyance upon the usage of their assets was more satisfactory than she would ever audibly admit.

Either way, quite remarkable was Valerie's uncharacteristic energy as she almost ran toward her closet: digging out an outfit that much lived up to her imagination, before waving Kieran toward the door. "I'll be in the kitchen in just a minute," she proclaimed: her best friend snickering when crossing the doorway, leaving the room and also proceeding to close the door as he went.

Looking down at the outfit laid out before her, Valerie tilted her head to the side for just a moment: considering whether or not to be satisfied, or to replace an item. She decided against it, and stuck with the rather simple attire — a skirt, a warm shirt, paired with dark nylon stockings and a black capelet. Looking out the window to her right, she just about pushed a pair of gloves into her pocket in case of ending up cold, before exiting her room and happily striding toward the kitchen to meet with Kieran.

Breakfast passed in a haste, Kieran and his father squabbling about unnecessary details, Valerie reading the Daily Prophet from the day before, while Kieran's mother — Amira — stood watching with a brow quirked upwards: unsure whether or not to find it amusing or to step in and make sure to halter the conflict between her husband and her son.

"I think it's time for you to leave," the woman eventually cut in: stepping in between the arguing pair, proceeding with sending them both a pointed look each. "Wouldn't want you to be late."

"Right."

"Right."

Kieran walked toward the door at an instant, grabbing a coat and putting it on as Valerie joined him at his side.

Joseph shared some quick goodbyes with his wife: reaching for his wand as they would first apparate, and then transport by a port key. "See you tomorrow," he spoke with a smile — somewhat disappointed she had declined continuous offers for her to join them. Apparently, she'd never been a fan of Quidditch.

"Take care," said Amira in return, and with that the three left the home — Kieran grabbing a hold of his father's arm the very moment the sound of the front door swinging shut teacher their ears.

Valerie, knowing what to do, grabbed a hold of her best friend's coat without needing to be reminded: flashing one last smile before the world warped and then dissolved entirely before her eyes.

. . . . .

the nightmares thingy is getting kind of repetitive, and this is the last time it'll happen in a while. i'm simply planning to kind of get her more involved with the potters, :)))