Mortala

Chapter 7 Descending Into Madness

TW

Death (minor character)
Violence

"Your endeavors, Ophelia, were not futile," Voldemort's voice, icy and devoid of humanity, pierced the air, his gaze fixated upon Harry as if he were a mere possession, a prized treasure freshly acquired.

"Ophelia, please!" Harry begged desperately. "Please, don't let him do this!"

As Ophelia positioned herself in the shadowy recesses behind Voldemort, her unwavering gaze fixated upon Harry, like the chilling void that surrounded them, her eyes exuded an icy darkness, a reflection of the sinister depths within her soul.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

As the pale wand of Voldemort unleashed a malevolent burst of emerald radiance, a searing green light erupted from its tip, finding its mark upon Harry's vulnerable chest. In a whirlwind of confusion and instinct, Ophelia's feet seemed to possess a will of their own, propelling her towards Harry's side with an urgency she couldn't comprehend.

"Harry?" Ophelia's voice quivered with a mixture of fear and anguish, a tremor betraying the depths of her emotions as she cradled his lifeless form within her trembling arms. Tears welled in her eyes, her voice choked with desperation as she pleaded, "Harry, no... please, don't leave me like this."

But nothing came out of Harry's parted lips. His once vibrant eyes remained forever sealed, denying Ophelia the solace of his gaze.

Ophelia's eyes shot open as she sat up, her breath caught in her throat as she found herself abruptly transported back to the familiarity of her own room.

In an attempt to steady her racing heart, Ophelia whispered a reassurance to herself, "It was just a dream, Ophelia, just a dream." She cast her gaze around the room, seeking solace in the familiar sights that surrounded her. Nutmeg, her faithful feline companion, looked up at her with wide, bewildered eyes, mirroring the confusion that still lingered in Ophelia's own soul.

Ophelia's heart clenched in anguish as she grappled with the perplexing question that plagued her mind: why did her dream inflict such searing pain upon her soul at the moment of Harry's demise? The logical part of her whispered, 'It's just a dream, Ophelia, mere fragments of your subconscious, devoid of any real significance.'

And yet, Blaise's voice entered her mind, 'Do you honestly want Harry dead? Could you imagine a world where Harry is gone?'

Her mind was telling her that, yes, Ophelia could imagine a world without Harry. But her heart was telling her something entirely different...

But in a swift and decisive motion, Ophelia forcefully expelled those unjust thoughts from the depths of her consciousness. Like a gust of wind sweeping away the dark clouds of doubt, she refused to let them linger.

Peering out of the window, Ophelia's gaze met the sight of a world still cloaked in the embrace of night, where the sun, like a slumbering giant, had yet to rise. The drowsy tendrils of sleep beckoned to her, tempting her to surrender once more to the warmth of her blankets. However, her restless mind, like a vigilant sentinel, stood guard, refusing to succumb to the sweet allure of slumber. With a resolute sigh, she cast aside the comforting covers and gracefully alighted from her bed, her bare feet gliding across the cool expanse of the bedroom floor, leading her on a silent pilgrimage toward the bathroom.

As Ophelia shed her clammy pajamas, a sense of liberation washed over her, mirroring the cascading water that awaited her in the inviting embrace of the bathtub. With a graceful descent, she eased herself into the tranquil sanctuary of warmth, feeling the tender tendrils of the water enveloping her body, like a comforting hug from a long-lost friend.