Depths of Despair ✶ Theodore Nott

forty one. hell awaits with no rescue

Melancholy is a curse, and it appeared the entirety of Hogwarts had been affected.

     Heads hung low, eyes narrowed in either grief, guilt or mere empathy, a simple walk through the castle was like striding through a never ending funeral: tension to be cut with a knife, conversations low and unenthusiastic. It was a frightening sight, however of course understandably — very much so.

     A student dead.

     Yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts turning out to be a fraud.

     Rumors of Lord Voldemort's return.

     Spending only two days in the Hospital Wing Valerie still re-joined the rest of society relatively naive toward most of the cruelty taking place. She was aware of Moody being an intruder, of course, as she had been unwilling dragged into the middle of his whole revelation, however though she'd been present to see Cedric Diggory return lifeless from midst the maze of the third task, she'd been extracted from the scene early enough to never find out what had truly happened.

     The news of Voldemort's return were also a surprise, for although Moody had brought the matter up, she previously had experienced... hesitance toward blindly believing a serial killer and a death eater's word. A single look into Harry Potter's memories when passing him in the hallway, however, was indeed convincing enough, and she spent the rest of the day deep in thought — so distant even Kieran was beginning to grow concerned while searching thorough the Hogwarts express for a vacant compartment, about to travel back to London.

     "Valerie?" he spoke for what seemed like the millionth time, waving a hand before her eyes.

     Forcing herself into blinking, she immediately hummed and turned to look at him: wishing to conceal her distraction, yet failing miserably.

     "Do I need to be worried about you?" her best friend questioned with a frown spreading across his features. When she'd told him she would not spend the summer with him and his family, he had argued with her for hours: sparing to remorse toward expressing his strong disagreement in regards of her decision. Now, spotting her absent-minded state, her trembling hands and the terrifying emptiness in her eyes, his concern was only growing stronger to the point where he was scared for her safety.

     Distancing herself, disappearing into the cruel clutches of her mind, vaguely answering each of his questions no matter the sort — he knew her a little bit too well, and it was all signs of distress from her part.

     "No, Kieran, I'm fine," she sighed anyway, her words accompanied with a roll of her eyes. Kieran swore he felt tempted to slap her across the face for being stupid, right there and then, because she was obviously not telling the truth: no matter how good of a liar she was.

     "I don't believe you."

     "That's too bad, because I truly am okay," she countered growing increasingly annoyed at his obnoxious ability to distrust her every reassurance.

     She was, of course, not entirely fine, and the closer they got to Kings Cross station, the more she felt like throwing up and then afterwards launch herself off the train in hopes it would put a stop to the upcoming misery. Yet another letter from her mother rested within the shoulder back laid beside her, the words still reoccurring on a steady basis within her mind.

     I'll arrive in time to pick you up at King's Cross. I expect no resistance from your part, or else you will come to regret it.

     Signed with Olenna Leclere, the woman's callousness could be detected even from fancy penmanship written out on a piece of parchment, and atop everything that had happened — Moody doing what he did, Cedric being murdered, Harry encountering yet another life-long trauma at a too young age — she was already exhausted, uncertain what to do or how to get herself out of her mother's clutches.