❝Can you hear my heart breaking inside my chest? Can you hear my screams? Because I don't think you can, and that scares me even more, because what if no one saves me?❞
ORDER of the PHOENIX,
DEATHLY HALLOWS
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𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖞-𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗 a golden death
✦
"HARRY POTTER IS at Hogwarts."
From when Harry Potter was allegedly sighted at the Malfoy Manor – though his existence was denied by Draco who claimed that he could not tell – and his escape, everyone had been on edge. Demetri with even darker eyes, a short temper, unable to look in her direction, and the way Clarissa Holloway's own seemed to trail after Amara on the occasions on which they brushed paths.
Bellatrix had cackled, Alfred stone cold with a little hint of glee when she turned from him quickly, the scar on his face still haunting her dreams. Everyone looked upon her, waiting to see her every move, the little dances of jitters of her hands, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear way too much. They were staring at her, and she could only assume that they all knew her days were coming to an end.
"He used to call me a golden girl," she had muttered one night, sipping a cigarette she had stolen on one of her few trips out of the house, turning towards Draco's ghastly face, "Can you believe it? I was golden."
She smiled, and laughter bubbled in her throat, but tears prickled in her eyes. He watched it all, as he always did, knowing exactly about how Demetri transformed his phrasing from golden to valiant diamond to just now Amara.
Perhaps, in a way, he still viewed her as a golden girl – his valiant diamond. Because surely Amara Carrow would not run away from her death, instead taking it and allowing the Dark Lord to continue his mission towards ultimate power. She would sacrifice her life for him, because that's what valiant diamonds do.
That's what he was doing. Demetri never hesitated before agreeing to the death of his daughter. What must be done, he had uttered, and now his cold eyes always trailed her. Nothing in them suggested a hint of remorse, or a sadness that he still claimed her as a daughter knowing that one day he was going to allow her to die. For the greater good.
"You're always golden," Draco had whispered back, snatching the cigarette and taking it for himself. His knees were tucked into his chest, and she gave him a small look of pity seem his gaunt features before her emotions mellowed again. There was no time for pity. "To me, at least."
She laughed again, because nothing in her character suggested a hint of gold. She was beaten and grey, purple under her eyes – death in them. Draco was the one with a chance at life.
"I couldn't possibly be golden. Maybe I was before, but I can't be anymore. Can't even die a golden girl," she smiled, widely, juxtaposing the very sadness she felt creeping inside her, "But you – you have a chance. Maybe one day you can be golden."
