The Boy With Black Eyes

She Kills

*TRIGGER WARNING: BLOOD LOTS AND LOTS OF BLOOD AND TORTURE AND ALL THINGS GOREY AND GROSS. MENTIONS OF WHAT HAPPENED TO NOX AND ARES IN THE CHAPTERS PREVIOUS. DARK THEMES HERE PEOPLE: SWEARING, INSULTS, MANIPULATION. THIS IS YOUR WARNING*

Saturday came far, far too fast for her liking. The week went by in a blur of tears and anger, of too much coffee and not enough sleep, of tangled hair and missed classes. She still hadn't stepped foot into the dormitory she once shared with Narcissa, unable to fix honey-amber eyes on her four-poster without seeing vivid flashbacks of what had been done to one of the few places in this world where she felt almost safe.

Ares had been buried on the edge of the Forbidden Forest just beyond Hagrid's pumpkin patch, at the foot of a tall, proud, oak tree. The grave had been marked with the bulbs of a few tulips, but she suspected that either skunks or racoons would move them around the grounds due to the freshly turned-over dirt.

Her heartrate was accelerating as Severus drew her by the hand through Hogsmeade, just as the sun was setting on the western horizon. Past the Hog's Head and the Shrieking Shack, out past the small neighbourhoods that marked normal people living most normal lives. For all she knew, Nox was about to get herself killed. And that was after whatever they decided to do to her occurred. It was going to be ugly, that she knew.

She flinched toward Snape as the moon rose, and a roll of agony travelled up her spine before settling behind her eyes. Of course, the full moon would be the following day. So every emotion, every tear, every shriek of agony or frustration was amplified by a sensitivity to light and sound, by a persistent half-migraine that made her want to rub out her eyes.

"Nox. Pay attention."

Her head jerked back to Severus and her heart dropped into her stomach, seeing the long, dark robes and the silver mask he held loosely in his right hand, left extended toward her. She hated him like that. Every fibre of her being told her to fear the long dark cloak and the silver mask, but she took his extended hand, and skipped forward a couple of steps to catch up to him. "Sorry..."

He squeezed her shaking fingers in an attempt to make her more comfortable, even stopping at their Disapparation point to kiss her, long and gentle and slow. She could feel the apology in his lips and see it in his glittering black eyes. He didn't need to say it to her aloud for the millionth time that week. Nox knew he was sorry for what had yet to happen. "You must refer to him as 'my Lord' at all times. Do not look him in the eyes until he addresses you by name. If he has your father, he may know you as Nox, not just as Julianna. Be prepared for any combination of name and respond to all of them." He drew her tightly into his arms, squeezing possessively. "He will touch you, in an attempt to make me angry. Let him."

"You'll be right there?"

"Of course. I will keep you safe." With that, he spun on his heel and dragged her with him, whirling through a mass of shadow and dark, billowing robe, where silver masks screeched at her with their mouths open wide enough to swallow her whole.

She landed in the very courtyard where she'd watched Narcissa join his ranks, the dais now just a back patio, the curtains and plush pillows gone. But the mists were thick and the bushes were too, Severus having disappeared somewhere. A quick glance around the back garden showed her he was not there, unless he'd transfigured himself into a leafless hawthorn tree in the back corner, the berries rotting in their bunches, turning dark and shrivelled in the lack of light.

With a muffled clang, a grandfather clock began to chime the hour. Seven chimes echoed through the small garden, before the door to the manor slowly, eerily, creaked open. A whisper of cool air struck her in the face, pushing her curls out of her face and off her shoulders. A grim reminder to take a few precious moments to braid back her hair and tie the longest parts into a bun at the nape of her neck. Nobody would be grabbing her by the hair in order to slit her throat. She would see her killer. A sharp swallow prepared her before she mounted the stairs to the door and stepped through it.