Twisted Tales

Numb

"I killed Sirius Black! I killed Sirius Black!" Bellatrix's elated laughter bounces up the walls.

I can share in none of it. My feet move without me directing them, mind floating ten paces behind, that dying light in his eyes still playing before mine. She did what I couldn't, what I refused to do even though he was allowing me. Should I have? Would that have been the kind thing to do? I can't feel my fingers. My lungs scream for oxygen that I refuse to give them. Pain keeps me anchored, helps me come back into focus. I've still got a part to play. There isn't time for pointless regrets. I knew people would die.

"Crucio!" Harry flies into the main hall, wand pointed at Bellatrix.

She falls, twisting to look at him through fluttering eyelashes, "You have to mean it, Potter."

I have a job to do. Do the job. I force myself to swallow, flicking my wand in Harry's direction, letting my hurt bleed into his thoughts. He lets out a gasp, spinning towards me.

"You never have been very good at Occlumency Harry – " You have a part to play. Play it well. What's the point if you can't put on a good show? I begin circling Potter, watching the way he twitches, allowing myself to enjoy it. "You're much too compassionate to kill her."

"Shut up!" Harry bellows, his words echoing off the tiled walls back at me.

I sneer at him, compartmentalizing, allowing myself to find the pleasure in the torment, "Make me."

Harry grunts, screwing his eyes shut as he tries to push me out of his head. His efforts are weak, fruitless. The anger coursing through him, the pure hatred for Bellatrix, for all of us, prevents him from getting a handle on my intrusion. If nothing else it confirms that it definitely was not Harry himself who pushed me from him earlier.

"It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom. And to involve your daughter, now that's just irresponsible," Dumbledore's smooth voice floats through the space.

The cruel chuckle alerts me to my father's arrival. He looms over me, gently placing his hand on my shoulder, "Isabelle is perfectly capable."

A jet of fiery red shoots from Dumbledore's wand at the same time the figures of the fountain burst into life. Harry is trapped in a spot of safety, Bellatrix pinned to the floor.

"No!" With a flick of my wrist, the spell Dumbledore aimed at my father ricochets, exploding against the wall, sending little bits of tile raining down on us.

Voldemort sneers, "Incredible little talent she's got, the ability to control her magic without the aid of a wand. Perhaps better than you."

"More powerful than you'll ever be, Tom," Dumbledore returns, his eyes momentarily flickering to me, an intense interest burning in them.

"The child?" Voldemort lets out a cold, cruel laugh, shaking his head at the idea that must seem ludicrous to him. "Hardly."

"Underestimating the ability of a child is foolish."

But my father is done with pointless chitchat. A jet of green light erupts from the end of his wand. Dumbledore makes a well-timed left slide, the spell meeting with a desk, the object instantly bursting into flames. Knowing this isn't my fight, and having no one to go up against, I wander over to where Harry is trapped. I'll be out of the way here.

"I'll kill you," Harry hisses as I sit down opposite him, leaning my back against the ring of tile around the fountain.

I stare down at the mark on my arm, "Perfectly reasonable."

"He trusted you," Harry spits back, trying to draw out a temper I don't have. "He spent the whole summer with you, teaching you. He saw you as a friend."

Glancing up, I meet Harry's eyes for a second. So unlike Sirius's. For this I'm thankful. I don't think I could stomach seeing such accusation reflected in dark grey. The image of Sirius bearing his chest, no fear in his eyes flashes, "Yes. I suppose he did."

"He's dead! Don't you care?"

I let my gaze flick back to my arm, my stomach twisting, opting to answer truthfully. I suppose, after everything, he at least deserves that, "I haven't decided yet."

Out of all the skills I've mastered, I'm most thankful for my ability to shut certain things out. It's not a particularly special talent, anyone, magic or not, can pull it off, but it's incredibly helpful. I tuck the pain, the guilt, the sick feeling rising in my throat, away. I can see what's happening around me, watch as Voldemort and Dumbledore pull out all the stops, as Harry glowers at me, wishing me dead with his eyes, but I don't feel any of it. I'm not really here.

This is easier. The numb nothing. The feeling takes me back to third year. I didn't understand the feeling at the time, only recognized it as unexplainable despair. Lupin had put a name to it; depression, not uncommon for people my age. At the time I'd hated it, hated how detached I felt from everything like I was watching someone else live my life. By the time summer came around, I had gotten a better handle on it. Certain ways I could breathe, different things I could pick up in the background to keep me more grounded. By that time I learned that part of the issue was my ability to detach from myself. I had to keep my soul in my body, the exercises helped. I learned to live with it, to not let myself slip into the feeling. It's always there though. Tonight I'm thankful for that.

I almost don't feel his fingers curl around my wrist, the unceremonious tug. Before we disappear, I get a last glimpse of Harry's eyes, still bearing so much hatred.

"I'll kill you."

Maybe he really will.

And as I twirl through the thick darkness, I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. This life, this infinite power that I've been told, since birth, I would claim feels lonely. It feels like giving up a part of myself. As my father's eyes come back into focus, gleaming red against the dark night sky, I don't feel all-powerful. That stunned silent look in Sirius' eyes flashes over and over with each blink, haunting me. Tonight's events, supposed to show me what destiny holds, didn't bring about the sense of glory or honor I was expecting. Instead, I just feel empty, tired, and totally isolated.