𝖝𝖎𝖎𝖎. Valiant Diamond

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𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓valiant diamond

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𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓
valiant diamond











         EVEN THOUGH SHE was far away from that dreary manor where shrill screams could be heard all throughout the house, far away from the commanding touch of her father on her shoulder, the expectations of Amara Carrow instead of Maia, the thumping in her heart that one wrong thought could have her killed, she still did not feel safe. She was so far from them, from those who had the ability to kill her at any moment for one wrong move, but she did not feel safe in the empty corridors and cold rooms of Hogwarts.

They were not here, but their influence was. Their little spies were all around, looking at her and watching her even if they did so unconsciously, even if they did not know why, Maia could feel the paranoia run through her. Still, it was one wrong move and she was dead – even here. Hogwarts was supposed to be a safe place, but she had never known it to uphold that reputation. Hogwarts was just as corrupted, just as dangerous, as anywhere else. Anyone who could still truly believe that they were safe there were fools because Maia could never feel safe there anymore.

No, no one here would kill her at any moment, but those people – those little spies – could report any information about her to those who did have that power. She was still under fire, she still had to pretend to be a golden girl, gleaming with pride under Demetri's proud smile to her, gleaming with power as she worked on perfecting that stupid Vanishing Cabinet, glittering with darkness when she would one day stand over Albus Dumbledore.

She did not want to stand over Dumbledore with her wand raised to him, but it haunted her dreams every night. Because her dreams would meld from light pink flashes to her in dark clothing, hidden by the night, the mark tattooed on her arm, as she stood over the old man – her Headmaster – and let out one little curse from her mouth. Then that was the end, and the old man was dead, and there was this crushing weight on her chest and she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, because the soul had left him and it was because of her and she was the murderer. No longer a murderer in the making because the murderer had already been made – she had already murdered.

And she would awaken in a fright, shivering as her heart pounded and her ears ringed and she was sure the tears were falling from her cheeks and all she could do was hold herself quietly and hope not to wake anyone else so they would not come across her frightened state.

When she brushed her hair in the morning, she could see her sunken in features, the bags under her eyes, and that lost life in her eyes. She used to have chubby cheeks, bit of a rounder, baby face, but now it was sunken and defined and her skin was sickly pale and there were dips in her body where there used to be fat and she simply was not her old self. Maia Greene looked absolutely dead, a ghoul in witch clothing, but she just continued to brush her hair instead of thinking about it.

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