❝Good people are like candles. They burn themselves up to give others light.❞
order of the phoenix » deathly hallows
plot credit: vioietends
amandla fitzgerald stand alone
cover by lokidyinginside
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: INTO THE DARKNESS
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There came a nightly routine to everything. It started in the kitchen, just sitting there for at least an hour or two just drinking one bottle together as they barely spoke. She didn't want to speak, hear anything else because then she wouldn't sleep. It would plague her mind, everything he had told her about the mission – about what he had to do. She hated it, so they didn't talk. But then it came to where he didn't show it until half the bottle was gone and he didn't talk about it, he didn't say a word, and she never questioned him.
Then she did. There were too many questions in her mind and she had to question him, ask everything she wanted to about the situation and he told her. He had a mission to do, and everything waking moment he had not spent on school was spent trying to fix that fucking Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement because he had to. Because he was scared they would kill his parents.
And then the routine changed. They would meet in the kitchen, take a bottle, and head to the room and he would work as she would try and help. She hated it. It was terrible, she shouldn't have been doing it. Amandla knew that, knew that it was wrong and she was helping the people she never wanted to become. But it was for family, it was Draco and she couldn't just let him drown under the pressure. She had to help, even if he didn't admit he needed it. He didn't want her help, but he needed it. Emotionally, mentally...he needed her help, so she would be there for him.
Because he was falling. He was falling fast and he was growing paler, sicker, and there were bags under his eyes and he never looked happy anymore. There were very few times she had seen her cousin happy in the last few years, but now it seemed he had forgotten that happiness was an emotion. Forgotten that the word existed and everything because he didn't feel it anymore. But what was there to feel happy about? Nothing. Not for him anyways.
So she was blinking, and there was a bottle in her hand as she sat at the table that had appeared for her and she was watching her cousin mutter all the spells he could to fix the fucking cabinet before taking an apple and placing it in there. Every time, though, he was failing. Amandla shouldn't be happy about that happy not fixing it could mean the deaths of her aunt and uncle, but she couldn't help it. Not fixing it meant more time, meant that Dumbledore wasn't about to die.
Sip.
He let out a frustrated huff, tugging at his hair a little as a strand fell out. "You're losing hair," Amandla muttered, "That's not a good sign."
A humorless laugh escaped his lips, "I don't care about a few strands of hair if it means that I'll fix this."
Sip.
"Sit down, Draco, you need a break," Amandla coaxed, "It's been about an hour since your last one. It won't hurt anyone."
"Amandla, if I don't finish this they'll die," Draco snapped, "They'll die and it'll be my fault, and I'll have to live with that forever. I'll die knowing that they're dead because of me, that because I didn't work fast enough...they died."
