The Mark of a Death Eater : Sequel

Chapter Twenty Two

I woke to the smell of blueberries. A neat little tray of muffins was settled on the bedside cabinet beside me, complete with a cup of English tea. For the first time in a while, I felt like I'd tru;y slept. Jasmine's tonic seemed to have healed me almost completely. Aside from a sharp ache here and there, I felt rather well. I wanted to know what was in the tonic, but I remembered the way the sisters had looked at me the night before and wondered whether it was a good idea to ask them anything at all. 

I think we all need someone to believe in us. Right now, well, I believe in you.

I sat up in surprise, wondering how it was that I recalled so clearly the words Sophia had said to me the night before. 

Oh, Sophia. And Zayn and Rose. I would try for the rest of my life and never be able to repay them for the kindness they'd shown to me that night. 

I didn't deserve any of it.

I turned my head, stetching and testing my orientation. I was in Zayn's room, that I knew. And I'd slept through the night. The morning light filtered through the curtains, making bright patterns on the bed. I stretched my hand out, marveling at the warmth of the sun that always graced the Osman house after such a long time in Malfoy's cold manor. My hand looked out of place in the warmth - very white and very small. When Zayn was in the sun, it looked like he was home. It was as if the sun had chosen him to represent it. It lit up his skin and eyes and smile. He was the sun. 

I felt an ache in my chest, a sense of longing that was all too familiar to me. I always longed for the people I couldn't be with - my parents, my brother and my friends at Hogwarts. But Zayn was only down the stairs. We'd spent enough time apart as it was, there was no reason for me to not be with him. As I debated the benefits of leaving the bed to find Zayn over eating the wonderful breakfast that was beside me, I heard the softest of knocks on the door.

"Emma. Are you awake?"

"Yes," I called out, pulling the covers aside so I could reach the door.

The door opened before my feet could touch the ground, and a small head of brown hair appeared in the doorway, eyes downcast. "May I come in?" she asked.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "Of course, Alia." I immediately straightened and tucked my feet under me.

The pretty girl hovered in the doorway for just a second before walking over to me. She came to a stop next to the bed, and looking down at me, said, "I am glad that you're alive. I'm glad you are safe." She sounded sincere.

"Thank you," I said, touched by her rare display of feelings.

"But you cannot stay here."

My breathe caught in my throat. They were kicking me out? It wasn't that I hadn't expected it, but it hurt just a little, all the same. They were family.

Alia's eyes shone with some repressed emotion. "I am sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but you are a danger to our family. And I think you know this."

"I do," I said carefully. I hadn't planned on staying at the Osman household for very long. But I had hoped that I would be allowed stay until I healed, until I found a solution to my dilemma. I was counting on that time to plan. I needed that time.

She seemed to waver, hesitating before she spoke. I had never seen her hesitate before. Alia was a person who when she wasn't speaking, was deep in thought formulating exactly what to say, how to say it, whether or not to say it, and the repercussions when she did. She was silent in debates and arguments when the opposition made their point and when she spoke, spoke with clear conviction and perfect form, as if she had memorized her lines beforehand. She spoke with such precision and compelling argument that she made you wonder how you had chosen the other side of a debate when her proof was something that should have been so obvious all along. She could convince the greatest cynic of anything she wanted to, and they would believe her. And there she stood, hesitating.