fifty eight, caged in

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Valerie Leclere had grown up in a household void of familiarity, always treading on egg shells around a mother with volatile emotional balance. It's cold, young Valeire used to say when describing her homestead to Kieran after christmas break their first year. So, so cold. She had been too young to know how otherwise to describe it.

Over the years she had learned more descriptive visualisations, yet when stepping inside the diner hall five years later — death eaters occupying every seat around the table — she was surprised to find that her home, somehow, had turned even colder.

She felt misplaced. Ill-fitted. To make matters worse they were all staring at her, scoping out the heir to the house Leclere as if she had been a caged circus animal. Were they looking for signs of weakness they would find none — Valerie's composure neutral and cold — yet it rattled her to the core as she was forced to walk through the quiet room only to take a seat alongside her mother.

Voldemort was sat at the end, too close for comfort, his red eyes observing. She swore she could distinguish pokes at her mental shield, hence swiftly reinforcing her efforts to shut him out.

Her knowledge was leverage, for although unable to find any heavy information about the order from Dumbledore, she came with a distraction. Snape had been reluctant at telling her, but had given away slight pieces of information — information she could use to save her own life.

"Miss Leclere, how nice that you were able to join us." She despised many things about the dark lord, however most of all the way he addressed her. He carried an act of superiority that he did not hesitate to use as advantage: when speaking her name, when addressing her in front of the group that already wished to see her gone simply because her abilities frightened them, he did so by sounding belittling.

"Pleasure is all mine, my lord."

"I hope it did not cause you too much problems, leaving school a little bit early?"

It was still a week and a half until christmas break. Her mother had sent a letter demanding her home, then a bullshit scripture meant for her teachers about how Valeire's cousin was sick, explaining how Valerie needed to be home early.

"Of course not, my lord."

Valerie had no cousins, and the words exiting past her lips were lies. Kieran had protested when told of her early departure — able to see through the lies rather easily. He was tired of her dishonesty, and Valerie could not blame him. Her best friend's protests had quickly turned confrontational, toward which Valerie had quickly taken a reflective stance. Rapidly had it transpired into an argument, harsh words exchanged.

She feared she might return to Hogwarts to her best friend hating her, yet it was better for him to despise her than for him to wind up on the receiving end of a killing curse because of her mistakes.

Theodore had spit out profanities, sending three letters a day to make sure she remained alive. When handed the letter of her mother's creation, professor Snape had said nothing, but frowned — well aware that Valerie was headed home to rat out the order of the Phoenix and that it was all his fault.

It had indeed caused her problems, yet she could not say unless she wished to make herself an enemy.

Valerie sat silent for most of the meeting, every word spoken aloud into the dining hall flying past her head without any acknowledgment. She knew she would eventually be forced to take part and eventually, roughly an hour and a half having passed by, she felt an elbow being shoved into her ribcage.

Depths of Despair   ✶   Theodore Nott Where stories live. Discover now