Starlit Death ✹ harry potter

𝟬𝟴𝟬. love, your father, regulus black

STARLIT DEATH / CHAPTER LXXX
love, your father, regulus black

WHEN ASCELLA WOKE ON THE morning of July thirty-first, her limbs were trembling and sweat slicked her back, her chest heaving as she snapped out of the dream - perhaps more of a nightmare - she had consistently reliving since she left Morlasium weeks ago.

It was the same as it always was. She would be happy. Laughing and smiling with her mother, Sirius and Remus, and then she would turn around and he would be there. Watching her. Waiting. And as much as she tried to push him away, ignoring the presence he held, she couldn't. Because Elijah Halloway would always be waiting to catch Ascella Black, no matter how long it took.

It wasn't remotely frightening, it was the knowledge that it could - and, likely, would - happen. He warned her, all those weeks ago, and Ascella didn't want to hear it. She hadn't gone into hiding, nor had she divulged the truth about Elijah's true intentions to anybody else. Was it so much for her to just be happy? It seemed near impossible now, and if the war wasn't coming to an end anytime soon, Ascella's dream of tranquility was slipping farther from her by the day.

But she pushed those thoughts from her mind and focused on the day ahead of her, that being Harry's birthday. The Trace had lifted, and seventeen was a special day in the wizarding world for the boys and Ascella knew it would become a day to remember for him - well, she hoped, for Sirius' sake, considering how much thought he had put into Harry's gift.

Slipping our of bed and pulling a robe over her figure, Ascella grabbed Harry's present from under her bed and made her way up the staircase to Ron's honorary bedroom, where Harry was bunking him with him, given the amount of people residing in the Manor for the next few days.

Creaking the door open, she noticed the two boys sat up and talking amongst one another, and she deflated in relief slightly - waking up Ron led to him being incredibly cranky for the entirety of the morning ( well, until he had a decent plate of food in front of him, that was ), and she smiled warmly at them, sleep still evident on her face and in her sluggish movements.

"Morning," she greeted, instinctively moving to sit next to Harry on the bed, but stopped herself before she could. Clearing her throat, she sat upon Ron's bed, covering her legs with the silk-covered duvet and leaning against the wall. "What are you two talking about?"

"Someone called Gregorovitch," Ron answered, and Ascella furrowed her brows.

"Who's that?"

"Dunno," Ron shrugged. "Harry was muttering about him in his sleep."

"Interesting," Ascella muttered, feeling as though the name was familiar to her, like she had heard it before.

"I think he's abroad," Harry spoke up.

"Who, Gregorovitch?"

"Voldemort. I think he's somewhere abroad, looking for Gregorovitch. It didn't look like anywhere in Britain."

"Do you think you were seeing into his mind again?" Ascella queried, her voice lingering with concern.