Isn't He Lovely-Professor Snape

Deathly Hallows Pt 6

A day drifts by without any visits to my room. The chains, thankfully, disappeared in the morning, yet my feeble state makes movement a daunting task.

As the sun begins its ascent, I lie in bed, engulfed in a sense of helplessness. Frustration builds within me, and I scream into my pillow, releasing the pent-up emotions. "This is a test, Niamh. Stay strong. They can't break you," I murmur to myself as I sit up.

Ignoring the persistent pain, I let my legs dangle over the edge of the bed and muster the strength to stand. Each step feels like an arduous journey, but I push forward, determined to defy the physical and emotional constraints that confine me.

I make my way to the windows, drawn to the inviting window seat. Despite my reluctance, I can't deny the beauty that envelops the manor. My gaze captures a breathtaking view of a meticulously landscaped garden, and I find myself captivated. Even in the winter, the plants grow, and a light layer of snow lands on top of the pretty flowers.

As I stand there, my breath gradually slowing, I'm entranced by the sunrise peeking through the branches of lemon trees, casting a warm and ethereal glow. The juxtaposition of beauty and my dire circumstances creates a surreal atmosphere, making it even more challenging to reconcile the aesthetics of the scene with the darkness that looms over me.

Lost in my thoughts, I eventually rise and make my way to the bathroom. Fortunately, it's conveniently located to the right of the windows. The opulence of the space immediately strikes me – the floors, adorned with shining marble, boast intricate mosaic patterns. Black Venetian plaster graces the walls, creating a stunning backdrop for the room's pristine white fixtures and faucets.

After using the facilities, I approach the sink to wash my hands, and as I face the mirror, I'm confronted with a sight that fills me with terror. My reflection reveals a pale face, marred by bruises and wounds, each telling a story of the torment endured. Tears well up in my eyes as I contemplate the darkness within humanity that leads to such heinous acts.

Unable to bear the reflection any longer, I exit the bathroom and return to the window seat. Gazing at the lemons outside, my stomach grumbles, but my thoughts remain consumed by the haunting image of my own altered, fragile appearance.

The door swings open abruptly, yet I remain fixated on the window.

"Get up," a stern command pierces the air.

Unperturbed, I continue to gaze outside. Suddenly, two pairs of hands seize me, forcibly turning me to face them. With a determined grip, they guide me out of the room, revealing that I had been on the first floor all along. Mentally noting this for a potential escape plan, I am led to the living room, strategically positioned just behind the tables where meetings take place and close to the door. Once settled on a sofa, I find myself under watchful eyes, patiently awaiting whatever comes next.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Malfoy enters the room.

"Thank you, you may leave us," she instructs the men, who nod and exit the room. Taking a seat on a chair, she positions herself facing me, with an end table serving as the only divide between us.

"How are you feeling, Niamh?" she inquires.

My stare remains blank, almost offended by the simplicity of the question.

"I suppose that pretty much explains it. I'm so sorry for everything you've been through. While I don't have much say in what goes on, I managed to convince them to let you stay in a proper room. I hope it suits your liking."

Surprised, I ponder her unexpected kindness.

"Thank you," I whisper, my gratitude sincere.

Mrs. Malfoy leans forward, her piercing gaze searching my eyes for any sign of hesitation. "Niamh, you must understand the gravity of the situation. The Dark Lord is not known for his patience, and in the end, he always achieves his objectives."

I maintain a steely resolve, my voice unwavering. "I will never help him. I won't become one of you."

She nods solemnly, acknowledging my stance. The room falls into a heavy silence, the unspoken tension hanging in the air.

As the conversation reaches a momentary pause, my stomach grumbles loudly, betraying my involuntary hunger. Mrs. Malfoy arches an elegant eyebrow, her scrutinizing gaze shifting to my embarrassed expression.

"When was the last time you ate, Niamh?" she inquires, genuine concern softening her features.

I admit, "It's been over a day."

Her shock is palpable, and she swiftly rises from her seat. "I'll get you something to eat," she declares, her steps echoing in the room.

"Thank you," I murmur gratefully, sitting alone with my thoughts as I wait. I look around the room while I wait, and with a sense of weariness settling in, my eyes begin to grow heavy. The fatigue takes over, and I succumb to the welcoming embrace of sleep. 

        𓍊𓋼𓍊𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𓋼

As I wake up, the warm glow of the sun still permeates the room, casting a gentle ambiance. With a sigh, I realize that I missed a chance to eat earlier, but my attention is quickly drawn to something on the nightstand. A piece of bread and a cup await me.

A grateful smile graces my lips as I eagerly reach for the bread. Despite its simplicity, each bite feels heavenly, the flavor more satisfying than I expected. I savor the moment, relishing the nourishment that the small piece of bread provides. Thirsty, I follow it with a quick, grateful gulp of water, the cool liquid soothing my parched throat.

The simple meal leaves me feeling surprisingly better, and I can't help but be thankful for even the smallest sustenance in this challenging situation.

As the day unfolds in lonely isolation, I find myself lost in the labyrinth of my thoughts. An attempt to take a nap proves futile, as sleep eludes me. Restless, I decide to explore the room further, seeking solace in distraction.

Upon standing, my gaze falls upon a modest bookshelf nestled in one corner of the room. Curiosity propels me towards it, and as I peruse the titles, one book immediately captures my attention – "War and Peace." The mere sight of it triggers a surge of poignant memories, each page a fragment of the past shared with Severus.

I delicately retrieve the book, fingers tracing over its familiar spine, and a flood of emotions overwhelms me. The recollection of moments spent in Severus's classroom, discussing the intricacies of the novel, or those stolen kisses interwoven with the presence of the book, evokes a cascade of tears.

Sinking to the ground, I clutch "War and Peace" to my chest, the weight of its significance mingling with the ache in my heart. The sobs that escape me are a lament for a love lost, a heart shattered by the complexities of Severus's choices. Why did you have to break my heart, Severus? The question echoes in my mind as I weep, each tear carrying the weight of unresolved emotions.

Hours pass in the embrace of sorrow, until the last tear falls, leaving only the hushed rhythm of my breath. Exhaustion envelops me, and as the room embraces the gentle quiet of night, sleep claims my weary consciousness.