Ella ○ Harry Potter

Sixty Nine: Lament

Ella woke in a haze of unbearable pain. Her head pounded like a war drum, each beat a cruel reminder of the battle raging inside her. Her body ached as if struck by a dozen hexes, muscles trembling uncontrollably. The air was thick and sour; the room spun slowly, then jerked violently, making her stomach revolt again.

She tried to sit up but her limbs refused to obey. Her heart hammered so fast she could swear it was about to explode. The world warped around her, shadows twisting and breathing in impossible shapes.

And then, out of the darkness, he appeared.

Cedric.

But not the gentle, kind Cedric she remembered. His eyes were hollow, black pits, cold and accusing. His mouth twisted into a bitter sneer as he whispered, voice like the crack of a whip.

"You let him kill me."

Ella's throat clenched. She wanted to scream, to reach for him, but he wasn't there. Her hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white, but the ghost of his condemnation burned deep inside her chest.

She drifted away to a nightmare, and before long she woke up, the bed wet under her whole body. For a moment she wondered if she pissed herself or just soaked through the sheets with her sweat. Maybe both. When did she get up to the bathroom last?

Before she could try to check, she was petrified to realize Voldemort stood tall and terrible, eyes glowing with malice in front of her. His smile was a cruel slash across his pale face.

"You're weak," he hissed, "like your mother. A failure. Just like her, you'll bring ruin to everyone who trusts you." he slithered closer. "Won't you help me? Don't you want a family? I'm the only family you have left."

Her breath hitched as the nightmare shifted again.

Her mother appeared. Harsh, disappointed, her gaze colder than winter. "You're not worthy. You're nothing."

The hallucinations battered her mind, twisting grief into sharp knives.

In one horrific moment, she saw her father raise a wand, and with a flash of green light, Cedric fell, lifeless on the cold ground. The love she'd lost, torn from her forever.

She screamed- high, shattering, desperate. Her whole body convulsed, sweat pouring down her face, tears mingling with the dampness. It felt like she was dying. Like her soul was unraveling, thread by thread.

A hand gripped her arm, hard and unyielding.

"Stop," Snape's voice was calm but firm. 

"I'm dying!" She shrieked. "Help me!"

"You're not dying. You're detoxing."

Ella's wild eyes met his, and for a flicker of time, something steadied inside her. Not relief, not comfort. Just recognition. Snape was the only constant in this storm.

"I'm dying," she repeated, voice quiet and breaking. Poppy rushed in after the screams, and watched Ella in this state. She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, not cruelly, but decisively.

"Fight it," he said bluntly. "You're stronger than these illusions. If you want to live, you'll hold on."

"I don't want to live," she whispered, and Snape turned back to see Poppy. Her eyes spoke volumes, and he nodded. She returned within a moment with a calming potion, that failed to calm Ella, but did make her tired.

Tired enough to fall asleep again.

Hours dragged into an endless nightmare. Hallucinations came and went, voices whispering venom, faces twisted with hate and loss. She saw Cedric pleading for her to come back, then vanishing into shadows. Her father taunted her from every corner. Her mother's cold disappointment haunted every breath.