devinabechtel

[devinabechtel]

Devina watched the older woman wage a battle within herself to find the answer to that one and all-consuming question —

Of what to do with Devina Bechtel.

The witch in question was asking herself the same thing as she had her fingers all tangled up in long and dark strands. Devina wasn’t even aware it was Alecto’s hair she was stroking as she instinctively held the girl close to her chest.

What to do with her? What do you do with a tainted secret like this?

You hide it, a voice in the back of her head answered. In the dark. Far, far away from prying eyes.

Yet, Katrina Carrow seemed to have other plans for her. There was something about the way she stood her ground in front of her son that had Devina captivated from across the room. Like a mountain, unmoving. But something had to give, — 

“Stop it.” Devina snapped out of nowhere, her voice reduced to a sharp and choked sound. Her head was spinning relentlessly and her throat had dried up. Lie.

Something had to give — someone had to break. And to the future history books and everyone else in the room, it would be her.

“I’ll come to Moscow.”

She felt Alecto sigh a breath of relief against her chest. And as if she believed her own resignment, Devina sighed with her.

“I’ll come to bloody Moscow.”

—

That night, after she left the dinner table and hugged Alecto goodnight, Devina wondered what would’ve become of her if she did follow the Carrow family to Russia. There must have been some version of this story in which she did, the young witch knew. 

But it wouldn’t be this one.

And so, she had sat through dinner like a good little hostage. Behaving in exactly the way they were expecting her to behave — docile, resigned to her frozen fate. Devina had somehow gotten quite good at that; the feigning, the lies. The way she quietly smiled through the tears wasn’t part of the facade, however. That part was real. It was a certain kind of mourning, Devina realized. She was silently saying her goodbyes, to all of it. To everyone.

The real grief came with the early hours of the morning, after she had laced up her white sneakers and looked back at the room she had found a version of home in, in the last couple of months. Devina felt heavier than she had ever done, her mind occupied with feelings of guilt and her body laced with the kind of tired that one could feel in their bones.

She hadn’t dared to close her eyes for more than ten seconds at a time, terrified of being woken up by a house-elf gently forcing her to get ready for departure — terrified of missing her very last window of escape. But the dark shadow of the suitcase that loomed like a threat in the corner of her room was enough incentive to keep her awake.

At exactly three hours past midnight, Devina was ready to leave it all behind. She spun around to face her four-poster bed and the three goodbye notes she had left on her pillow. One for Alecto, one for Katrina and one for sweet little Deedy. Devina hoped it was enough to be granted forgiveness for removing herself from their narrative.

At exactly three hours and three minutes past midnight, she snuck out of her bedroom, her Keds sneakers surprisingly quiet on the carpet flooring of the hallway. Though it would’ve been poetic to leave in the same shoes she had arrived in, she hadn’t been able to find any of her stuff from that night. Perhaps it was for the best, what use did she have for bloodstained fabric and tattered sneakers?

Though, her wand would’ve been nice, Devina mused as she quietly stalked towards the end of the hallway. It could’ve helped her with the wards and she would’ve needed it to apparate if she got away far enough from the estate. But that didn’t matter now, Devina knew. She’d walk all the way across England if she had to. But before she could attempt that, Devina had to make sure the thing she was running away from was asleep, first. At exactly three hours and five minutes past midnight, a flood of relief washed over the young witch when she found both his bedroom and his office lights dimmed. He was fast asleep, probably aided by the pain potions and the thought of a far journey ahead. 

A journey she herself would never make.

Because even though she had been unsuccessful many times before, Devina couldn’t shake the feeling that she would succeed, tonight. The wards seemed unsteady at best since all that had transpired. She could feel them all around her, the soft tendrils of lilac and silver — as if they were whispering to her, taunting her with promises of freedom.

At exactly three hours and nine minutes past midnight, she crossed the foyer with quick steps. It was there that she felt it, at the exact point she had lain in agony just yesterday — recognition. Of the blood that had seeped into the very marrow of this house, blood that would prove to give her some power after all. Devina wouldn’t be surprised if her suffering ended up delivering her sweet salvation. 

She would escape this house tonight, 

Bones, blood and all.

What about Devina?

The question hung in the air like a bullet suspended, only seconds away from shattering all the delicate little tea cups and her delicate little heart — all at once.

What.

Miles away, in a town just under the smoke and the city lights of London, three adults had gathered around the kitchen table of Hathaway house. The oak wood was barely visible underneath the freshly printed missing-posters. The last ones had all perished in last night’s storm and there was nothing more harrowing to Alfred Hathaway then watching his precious granddaughter’s face drowning in the streets of Seven Oaks. 

About.

They still hadn’t found her. But on this rainy afternoon Rosemary Bechtel had found something else as she watched her father stack the piles of posters — acceptance, though a meager excuse of it. It had to happen some day, right? Some day, she had to gradually settle into a life without her daughter, a narrative in which she would never return home. What a terrifying realization for a mother, what a terrible form of betrayal. A dull thud sounded through the room as her face hit the table and Rose started sobbing on the scattered pieces of paper — drowning them once more in her sorrows.

Devina.

The look on the young witch’s face was indescribable. What about her. She hadn’t noticed the tears spilling from her lashes, but her mouth was open and she could start to taste the salt on her lips. Devina let out an audible breath as she looked not at, but almost through him, with a horrifying glistening in her hazel eyes. What about her safety, what about her dreams, what about her future?

What about her?

Devina could only guess what a place like Moscow would mean for a girl in her position. So far away from home, lost in a world with unfamiliar people and an unfamiliar tongue. Nothing but cold and communists. It was like her grandfather said, after his weekly lectures started going from ‘Don’t talk to strangers and never accept ice-cream from men you do not know.’ to ‘Always wear your hair down and scream bloody murder.’

And never, ever, let them take you to a second location. This would be her fourth, Devina realized with a shock. And if they couldn’t find her here, how could she ever expect them to find her there. Not her soul, not her body, not even her teeth. She’d be as untraceable as vanishing ink, it would be as if she had never existed —

Everything she ever was and could ever be would be lost among the forever falling snow, like a dove obscured under all that white.

Devina could vaguely hear Katrina scraping her throat in the distance. She had moved up from the sofa and crossed the drawing room with careful, calculated steps.

“Amycus, moy volk,” She pleaded as she gently pushed Alecto aside so she could adress her son directly. “You cannot ask this of her,” She reached for his hands, and folded them into her own. “It has been enough.”

“You must let her return home.”

[devinabechtel]

What about Devina?

The question hung in the air like a bullet suspended, only seconds away from shattering all the delicate little tea cups and her delicate little heart — all at once.

What.

Miles away, in a town just under the smoke and the city lights of London, three adults had gathered around the kitchen table of Hathaway house. The oak wood was barely visible underneath the freshly printed missing-posters. The last ones had all perished in last night’s storm and there was nothing more harrowing to Alfred Hathaway then watching his precious granddaughter’s face drowning in the streets of Seven Oaks. 

About.

They still hadn’t found her. But on this rainy afternoon Rosemary Bechtel had found something else as she watched her father stack the piles of posters — acceptance, though a meager excuse of it. It had to happen some day, right? Some day, she had to gradually settle into a life without her daughter, a narrative in which she would never return home. What a terrifying realization for a mother, what a terrible form of betrayal. A dull thud sounded through the room as her face hit the table and Rose started sobbing on the scattered pieces of paper — drowning them once more in her sorrows.

Devina.

The look on the young witch’s face was indescribable. What about her. She hadn’t noticed the tears spilling from her lashes, but her mouth was open and she could start to taste the salt on her lips. Devina let out an audible breath as she looked not at, but almost through him, with a horrifying glistening in her hazel eyes. What about her safety, what about her dreams, what about her future?

What about her?

Devina could only guess what a place like Moscow would mean for a girl in her position. So far away from home, lost in a world with unfamiliar people and an unfamiliar tongue. Nothing but cold and communists. It was like her grandfather said, after his weekly lectures started going from ‘Don’t talk to strangers and never accept ice-cream from men you do not know.’ to ‘Always wear your hair down and scream bloody murder.’

And never, ever, let them take you to a second location. This would be her fourth, Devina realized with a shock. And if they couldn’t find her here, how could she ever expect them to find her there. Not her soul, not her body, not even her teeth. She’d be as untraceable as vanishing ink, it would be as if she had never existed —

Everything she ever was and could ever be would be lost among the forever falling snow, like a dove obscured under all that white.

Devina could vaguely hear Katrina scraping her throat in the distance. She had moved up from the sofa and crossed the drawing room with careful, calculated steps.

“Amycus, moy volk,” She pleaded as she gently pushed Alecto aside so she could adress her son directly. “You cannot ask this of her,” She reached for his hands, and folded them into her own. “It has been enough.”

“You must let her return home.”

Devina was forced to look at him, then. But there was no real expression on her face besides the slight raise of her brows, as she did. There was not much more to see beyond a body writhing in pain, a man reduced to the simplicity of pure agony. 

The absence of the usual sharpest of tugs on her heartstrings, was most noticeable of all. Devina found herself briefly wondering where it had gone off to, her empathy and care — the core of her Healer soul. At which part during this dark and unforgiving night had she lost it?

She felt herself move, not making a sound as she slipped out of Amycus’ Carrow bed. Her hands didn’t feel like her own as they wrapped themselves around wooden posts, fingers gliding over their intricate carvings as she rounded the bed, almost like an animal would circle its prey.

He had ceased trashing around when she reached his bedside table. Devina’s eyes fell on him then, as he lay breathless on his pillow facing her. The look she gave him was one that conveyed not even the slightest trace of pity as her hands found the bottle of pain potion and poured him much, much more than the recommended amount.

It would be her final act of mercy for the man that had never deserved any in the first place.

—

They were still cleaning the floors — Devina realized in horror as she reached the landing. Seven house-elves were on their knees, their little hands strained from scrubbing at the dried up blood for hours. The faint glow of the wardstoneshone dangerously underneath, as if it wanted to warn them that this house would never be rid of the stain. That a part of her would always be etched between the creases of the marble.

Murky blood is a bitch to clean, she remembered him saying. Apparently it was.

“Vee?” Alecto’s voice found her through the haze. Devina vaguely felt the girl’s slender fingers intertwine them with her own. If it hadn’t been for that, Devina would’ve crumbled to the ground right then and there.

“Breakfast is this way, Vee.”

—

For the rest of the day, Alecto had refused to leave her side, despite Devina practically finding herself begging to be left alone at multiple moments. It was late in the afternoon now, and the women of Carrow House had situated themselves in the drawing room for tea and silent contemplation.

Katrina Carrow was poised on the furthest edge of the soft blue sofa, her fingers massasing her temples as she stared at the minutes ticking away on the grand clock in the corner of the room. The only thing that was on her mind was how to get Devina Bechtel home safely, and if her own son would ever forgive her for such a betrayal.

Alecto was on the floor in front of them, her fingers tangled in a ball of yarn of one of Devina’s knitting work that she had long since left alone. The dark-haired witch had stopped talking a while ago, after Devina stopped answering and Katrina had petted her head with a knowing look on her face.

And Devina, well — she had to focus on the rise and fall of her chest as she curled herself further into the opposite end of the sofa. Her eyes were wet, filled to the brim, looming, threatening tears waiting at the edges of her lashes. She couldn’t be more aware that the simplest disturbance could make her cry.

Like the sight of Amycus appearing in the doorway, for instance.

It would’ve made for a beautiful painting, the way the three women all looked up in unison, each holding in a breath for different reasons. They could all feel it brewing in the air, the omen of bad news. Whatever his arrival here this afternoon meant, it couldn’t be good, each of them knew as much. 

Devina was the first of the three to move, straightening her back as if to brace whatever was coming. And instead of breaking, she found her face hardening, her brow creasing and her eyes narrowing as she took in his stature.

For Devina, nothing concerning him had ever been good.

[devinabechtel]

Devina was forced to look at him, then. But there was no real expression on her face besides the slight raise of her brows, as she did. There was not much more to see beyond a body writhing in pain, a man reduced to the simplicity of pure agony. 

The absence of the usual sharpest of tugs on her heartstrings, was most noticeable of all. Devina found herself briefly wondering where it had gone off to, her empathy and care — the core of her Healer soul. At which part during this dark and unforgiving night had she lost it?

She felt herself move, not making a sound as she slipped out of Amycus’ Carrow bed. Her hands didn’t feel like her own as they wrapped themselves around wooden posts, fingers gliding over their intricate carvings as she rounded the bed, almost like an animal would circle its prey.

He had ceased trashing around when she reached his bedside table. Devina’s eyes fell on him then, as he lay breathless on his pillow facing her. The look she gave him was one that conveyed not even the slightest trace of pity as her hands found the bottle of pain potion and poured him much, much more than the recommended amount.

It would be her final act of mercy for the man that had never deserved any in the first place.

—

They were still cleaning the floors — Devina realized in horror as she reached the landing. Seven house-elves were on their knees, their little hands strained from scrubbing at the dried up blood for hours. The faint glow of the wardstoneshone dangerously underneath, as if it wanted to warn them that this house would never be rid of the stain. That a part of her would always be etched between the creases of the marble.

Murky blood is a bitch to clean, she remembered him saying. Apparently it was.

“Vee?” Alecto’s voice found her through the haze. Devina vaguely felt the girl’s slender fingers intertwine them with her own. If it hadn’t been for that, Devina would’ve crumbled to the ground right then and there.

“Breakfast is this way, Vee.”

—

For the rest of the day, Alecto had refused to leave her side, despite Devina practically finding herself begging to be left alone at multiple moments. It was late in the afternoon now, and the women of Carrow House had situated themselves in the drawing room for tea and silent contemplation.

Katrina Carrow was poised on the furthest edge of the soft blue sofa, her fingers massasing her temples as she stared at the minutes ticking away on the grand clock in the corner of the room. The only thing that was on her mind was how to get Devina Bechtel home safely, and if her own son would ever forgive her for such a betrayal.

Alecto was on the floor in front of them, her fingers tangled in a ball of yarn of one of Devina’s knitting work that she had long since left alone. The dark-haired witch had stopped talking a while ago, after Devina stopped answering and Katrina had petted her head with a knowing look on her face.

And Devina, well — she had to focus on the rise and fall of her chest as she curled herself further into the opposite end of the sofa. Her eyes were wet, filled to the brim, looming, threatening tears waiting at the edges of her lashes. She couldn’t be more aware that the simplest disturbance could make her cry.

Like the sight of Amycus appearing in the doorway, for instance.

It would’ve made for a beautiful painting, the way the three women all looked up in unison, each holding in a breath for different reasons. They could all feel it brewing in the air, the omen of bad news. Whatever his arrival here this afternoon meant, it couldn’t be good, each of them knew as much. 

Devina was the first of the three to move, straightening her back as if to brace whatever was coming. And instead of breaking, she found her face hardening, her brow creasing and her eyes narrowing as she took in his stature.

For Devina, nothing concerning him had ever been good.

Devina Bechtel didn’t bat so much as an eye when Amycus expelled the contents of his stomach onto one of his beloved rugs. Not even as she looked at the splatters of diluted red now coating her dressing gown. She had seen worse, much worse.

Her hands, however, told a different story. They tensed, flexing and unflexing as she contemplated since when they had possessed the strength to mend a grown man’s shoulder. She vaguely registered the sound of her knuckles cracking, though she couldn’t quite place why they hurt her so much. Devina exhaled, then took a steadying breath as she watched Amycus’ mother fawn over him like a swan that had just recovered her lost cygnet.

“I know, moy malysh.” Katrina spoke into Amycus’ hair as she cradled his broken and bloodied frame. “I know.”

Devina watched the struggle unfold on the woman’s face as she grasped at things to say to comfort the son she had sent off to war. Strangely, Devina found herself almost wishing she could whisper the words that she was sure he needed to hear into Katrina’s ear.

You’re safe.

It’s over. 

I will never let you go again.

—

It had taken the two women quite some time to get Amycus settled when every movement felt like a beating to him. And despite his earlier transgressions against her, Devina found herself resigning to forgiveness. Especially because she could clearly remember what the aftermath of the Cruciatus felt like, after most of the adrenaline had worn off and she was left alone in that cellar.

That is why Devina had argued that a bath could come later, when Katrina had ordered Deedy to run the water. The sensation of that would be an entirely different form of torture. A simple cleaning spell would suffice, for now.

—

Hours later, the dawn had followed. And with it, Katrina had left to wake Alecto with the news that her brother had returned alive. 

Devina stayed behind, her back upright against the headboard of his bed, her legs tucked firmly against her as she stared at the faint beginnings of daylight beaming their way through the room. As she sat on top of the same linen covers she had once found refuge in, Devina couldn’t quite escape the darkness of the narrative she had found herself in again.

Her fingers drifted absentmindedly to her collarbone, the delicate skin rubbed raw from her attempts to scrape the last of the evidence off of her flesh. She had been crying at some point throughout the night, she knew, the left-over salt on her cheeks was proof of that. But Devina wasn’t quite sure when she had stopped. Perhaps it was when she had realized that it was only fitting that the Death Eaters had resulted to torturing each other.

One day, she thought, when her body had slowly began to wither and her hair had long gone gray, she would regret finding out that human beings were capable of such cruelty at such a young age. Everyone was killing each other, and she already hated the memory of that. She hated the blood, the guts and the sheer violence of it all. But most of all she hated the way she could feel sorry for the one that had introduced her to the most deprived and despicable ways of humanity when he flung her over her shoulder that night. 

Damn this war, damn this house and this family. And damn her stupid, naive little heart.

Her head was spinning, a viscous throbbing ensuing beneath her temples as her mind got lost in elaborate escape plans and the notion that she shouldn’t still be here watching over the man that had stolen her from her peaceful and painless life.

Until she felt the body of that same man stir next to her. Devina herself did not move as she heard him moan in discomfort, his body being crudely reminded of the onslaught of pain in his nervous system as his awakening robbed him of sweet, restful oblivion. She didn’t even grant him a look as she softly scraped her throat. The young and usually caring witch never felt more removed from herself when her cold and monotone voice sounded throughout the room.

“There’s a bottle of pain potion on your nightstand.”

[devinabechtel]

Devina Bechtel didn’t bat so much as an eye when Amycus expelled the contents of his stomach onto one of his beloved rugs. Not even as she looked at the splatters of diluted red now coating her dressing gown. She had seen worse, much worse.

Her hands, however, told a different story. They tensed, flexing and unflexing as she contemplated since when they had possessed the strength to mend a grown man’s shoulder. She vaguely registered the sound of her knuckles cracking, though she couldn’t quite place why they hurt her so much. Devina exhaled, then took a steadying breath as she watched Amycus’ mother fawn over him like a swan that had just recovered her lost cygnet.

“I know, moy malysh.” Katrina spoke into Amycus’ hair as she cradled his broken and bloodied frame. “I know.”

Devina watched the struggle unfold on the woman’s face as she grasped at things to say to comfort the son she had sent off to war. Strangely, Devina found herself almost wishing she could whisper the words that she was sure he needed to hear into Katrina’s ear.

You’re safe.

It’s over. 

I will never let you go again.

—

It had taken the two women quite some time to get Amycus settled when every movement felt like a beating to him. And despite his earlier transgressions against her, Devina found herself resigning to forgiveness. Especially because she could clearly remember what the aftermath of the Cruciatus felt like, after most of the adrenaline had worn off and she was left alone in that cellar.

That is why Devina had argued that a bath could come later, when Katrina had ordered Deedy to run the water. The sensation of that would be an entirely different form of torture. A simple cleaning spell would suffice, for now.

—

Hours later, the dawn had followed. And with it, Katrina had left to wake Alecto with the news that her brother had returned alive. 

Devina stayed behind, her back upright against the headboard of his bed, her legs tucked firmly against her as she stared at the faint beginnings of daylight beaming their way through the room. As she sat on top of the same linen covers she had once found refuge in, Devina couldn’t quite escape the darkness of the narrative she had found herself in again.

Her fingers drifted absentmindedly to her collarbone, the delicate skin rubbed raw from her attempts to scrape the last of the evidence off of her flesh. She had been crying at some point throughout the night, she knew, the left-over salt on her cheeks was proof of that. But Devina wasn’t quite sure when she had stopped. Perhaps it was when she had realized that it was only fitting that the Death Eaters had resulted to torturing each other.

One day, she thought, when her body had slowly began to wither and her hair had long gone gray, she would regret finding out that human beings were capable of such cruelty at such a young age. Everyone was killing each other, and she already hated the memory of that. She hated the blood, the guts and the sheer violence of it all. But most of all she hated the way she could feel sorry for the one that had introduced her to the most deprived and despicable ways of humanity when he flung her over her shoulder that night. 

Damn this war, damn this house and this family. And damn her stupid, naive little heart.

Her head was spinning, a viscous throbbing ensuing beneath her temples as her mind got lost in elaborate escape plans and the notion that she shouldn’t still be here watching over the man that had stolen her from her peaceful and painless life.

Until she felt the body of that same man stir next to her. Devina herself did not move as she heard him moan in discomfort, his body being crudely reminded of the onslaught of pain in his nervous system as his awakening robbed him of sweet, restful oblivion. She didn’t even grant him a look as she softly scraped her throat. The young and usually caring witch never felt more removed from herself when her cold and monotone voice sounded throughout the room.

“There’s a bottle of pain potion on your nightstand.”

There was a terrifying urge within the way Deedy had pulled Devina from her bed that night, a mere two hours away from dawning. She had barely slept for more than minutes at a time, unable to get away from the nightmares that would haunt her until the end of her days. Devina wasn’t sure what terrified her more, his face or his blade. But despite her exhausted groans, the covers were pulled back without remorse, and moments later, her arms shoved into her dressing gown by rough and impatient elven hands. 

There was no need for explanation. She knew without having to be told — Amycus had returned.

But what Devina didn’t know about, was the state in which he had returned to Carrow House. And so, as she popped into his bedroom — it took everything in her to not walk right back out. Her face contorted at the sight of him — The mud, the blood, the unnatural angle of his right shoulder. But most of all, at the immediate and cruel realization — that this was all her fault.

Her heart sank to the depths of her stomach, a heavy feeling settling over her bones as she stood there, practically nailed to the floorboards. She almost wished she possessed the strength to turn her back on them, however cowardly the act of that would prove her to be. But there was no running from her responsibilities as a Healer, not tonight. Not when Katrina’s eyes, filled with a desperation so visceral, practically daggered into her from across the room. “Devina.” She pleaded, but it was more a wail than a request from the way it bounced off the walls.

God.

Devina’s stomach twisted as she took in the mother’s tear streaked face. Maybe it was that that urged her forward, or maybe it was the low and cruel voice that reminded her of why they had all ended up here in the first place.

This is on you, a cruel and low voice reminded her. His suffering is on you.

The delicate, lacy fabric of her dressing gown fluttered in her wake as Devina quickened her strides across the room, until she reached the broken body of Amycus Carrow. She barely felt the sharp blow to her kneecaps as she fell to the floor before him, her eyes immediately scanning the damage to his body. It was only then that she noticed how his dark his veins were against his palid skin — a clear result of the repeated and prolonged use of the Cruciatus. 

Oh God.

But she didn’t quite believe there was a God. Not for her, and not for him. Not in this manor, not on this specific fateful day in October, and certainly not where he had been tonight. To be tortured among friends.. 

“Please,” Katrina repeated from her place at the side of her son, her hands hovering just inches away from his skin. “Help him.”

Devina just stared at her — through her, almost. But she felt it then, more prominent than the twisting of her stomach and the bile rising up in her throat — the sharp tug at her heartstrings. She had to do something.

“Okay.” Devina breathed, shifting on her knees so she was directly in front of Amycus. Her hands darted out, halting mid-air as she realized the need for caution when it came to touch. “Yes, okay.” She repeated as she assessed what was in front of her again with her eyes only.

He was breathing. And bleeding, but not badly — stable. His shoulder was the most obvious defect, and something that needed to be fixed sooner rather than later. In this state, he would surely damage it even further if she left it untreated until after a pain potion had been administered.

“His shoulder.” Devina decided out-loud. “We need to get the joint back into place.”

There was only one problem — she had no experience doing such a thing before. She had seen it done before, sure. Her mother popped Archie’s elbow back into place once, but her mother made everything look easy.

“But I —”

But I have never done this before, is what she wanted to say. Though Devina stopped herself when she saw the look on Katrina’s face — a look that screamed; do something.

For the love of Merlin, do something.

Fine. Devina bit her cheek hard enough to draw blood as she shook the nerves from her shoulders, readying herself for what she was about to do him. Her fingers were shaking, but that wasn’t unusual to her now, they hadn’t quite stopped since Rosier — 

Don’t think about it. 

“I’m sorry,” She said, scooting closer until she was inches away from him. Katrina had moved with her, despite her state of shock, her hand reaching out to steady him at Devina’s command. The young witch nodded, wrapping her hand around his arm before she whispered near his ear — “I’m so sorry.”

And though Devina almost wished she could take pleasure from what she was about to do, wished she could see it as payback for all that he had done for her, for the way he looked down at her hours prior, for his empty threats — 

She meant it.  She really, really meant it.

And then, with a terrible twist conjured by a strength she didn’t know her hands could muster — a gruesome yet strangely satisfying pop.

And then, a scream.

[devinabechtel]

There was a terrifying urge within the way Deedy had pulled Devina from her bed that night, a mere two hours away from dawning. She had barely slept for more than minutes at a time, unable to get away from the nightmares that would haunt her until the end of her days. Devina wasn’t sure what terrified her more, his face or his blade. But despite her exhausted groans, the covers were pulled back without remorse, and moments later, her arms shoved into her dressing gown by rough and impatient elven hands. 

There was no need for explanation. She knew without having to be told — Amycus had returned.

But what Devina didn’t know about, was the state in which he had returned to Carrow House. And so, as she popped into his bedroom — it took everything in her to not walk right back out. Her face contorted at the sight of him — The mud, the blood, the unnatural angle of his right shoulder. But most of all, at the immediate and cruel realization — that this was all her fault.

Her heart sank to the depths of her stomach, a heavy feeling settling over her bones as she stood there, practically nailed to the floorboards. She almost wished she possessed the strength to turn her back on them, however cowardly the act of that would prove her to be. But there was no running from her responsibilities as a Healer, not tonight. Not when Katrina’s eyes, filled with a desperation so visceral, practically daggered into her from across the room. “Devina.” She pleaded, but it was more a wail than a request from the way it bounced off the walls.

God.

Devina’s stomach twisted as she took in the mother’s tear streaked face. Maybe it was that that urged her forward, or maybe it was the low and cruel voice that reminded her of why they had all ended up here in the first place.

This is on you, a cruel and low voice reminded her. His suffering is on you.

The delicate, lacy fabric of her dressing gown fluttered in her wake as Devina quickened her strides across the room, until she reached the broken body of Amycus Carrow. She barely felt the sharp blow to her kneecaps as she fell to the floor before him, her eyes immediately scanning the damage to his body. It was only then that she noticed how his dark his veins were against his palid skin — a clear result of the repeated and prolonged use of the Cruciatus. 

Oh God.

But she didn’t quite believe there was a God. Not for her, and not for him. Not in this manor, not on this specific fateful day in October, and certainly not where he had been tonight. To be tortured among friends.. 

“Please,” Katrina repeated from her place at the side of her son, her hands hovering just inches away from his skin. “Help him.”

Devina just stared at her — through her, almost. But she felt it then, more prominent than the twisting of her stomach and the bile rising up in her throat — the sharp tug at her heartstrings. She had to do something.

“Okay.” Devina breathed, shifting on her knees so she was directly in front of Amycus. Her hands darted out, halting mid-air as she realized the need for caution when it came to touch. “Yes, okay.” She repeated as she assessed what was in front of her again with her eyes only.

He was breathing. And bleeding, but not badly — stable. His shoulder was the most obvious defect, and something that needed to be fixed sooner rather than later. In this state, he would surely damage it even further if she left it untreated until after a pain potion had been administered.

“His shoulder.” Devina decided out-loud. “We need to get the joint back into place.”

There was only one problem — she had no experience doing such a thing before. She had seen it done before, sure. Her mother popped Archie’s elbow back into place once, but her mother made everything look easy.

“But I —”

But I have never done this before, is what she wanted to say. Though Devina stopped herself when she saw the look on Katrina’s face — a look that screamed; do something.

For the love of Merlin, do something.

Fine. Devina bit her cheek hard enough to draw blood as she shook the nerves from her shoulders, readying herself for what she was about to do him. Her fingers were shaking, but that wasn’t unusual to her now, they hadn’t quite stopped since Rosier — 

Don’t think about it. 

“I’m sorry,” She said, scooting closer until she was inches away from him. Katrina had moved with her, despite her state of shock, her hand reaching out to steady him at Devina’s command. The young witch nodded, wrapping her hand around his arm before she whispered near his ear — “I’m so sorry.”

And though Devina almost wished she could take pleasure from what she was about to do, wished she could see it as payback for all that he had done for her, for the way he looked down at her hours prior, for his empty threats — 

She meant it.  She really, really meant it.

And then, with a terrible twist conjured by a strength she didn’t know her hands could muster — a gruesome yet strangely satisfying pop.

And then, a scream.

Anger melted away into remorse in an instant as Devina’s eyes flicked between the Dark Mark that now glowed painfully on Amycus’ forearm, the blood (his, but some of hers, too) that stained his clothes, and his tormented but always magnificent face. A face that she might never see again, Devina realized with a bitter pang. A discovery that she would have been so very glad for, once. Only weeks ago, she would have reveled in the fact that her silence would mean his demise.

But as she looked at him now, all desperation and dread — Devina wondered if she had perhaps made the greatest error of her life then. She hated him, yes, for taking her that night, for the torture, for all the confusing encounters and kisses that followed after. For all this and more, and for all that he had done —

But was that enough to send a man to his death? 

He’d have to face the Dark Lord alone, without anything to show for the months he’s had a Secret Keeper in his possession. Because he had failed to break her and because she in turn had flat out refused to repay him for that kindness now that he came to call for it.

And for what? — For a stupid promise a grief-stricken & naive little witch had made to her grandmother to protect a safe-house that might not even exist anymore? Was that worth all this? 

Was that an equal trade for Amycus Carrow’s life?

Devina wasn’t all that sure anymore now that she felt his mother’s frantic breathing quicken behind her back, her desperation hanging thickly in the air as she whispered her pleas for him to stay. Like Circe would have begged Telegonusto stay on Aeaea, before she hoisted his sails and handed him a poisoned spear — A mother first, a goddess second. But here and now, there was no spell to be cast, no weapon to poison — no way Katrina Carrow could save her son.

But she could.

You see, the funny and most treacherous thing about the Fidelious charm was that it left an opening. A crack, a way — but only if the Secret Keeper chose to let someone in. Only willingly. It felt like an especially cruel joke now, because even though the traces of his dark magic had already vacated her mind the pressure behind her brow remained. She could practically feel her secrets tugging at the surface, begging to be brought to the light. And so, even as Katrina’s arms wrapped themselves closer around her shoulders, something deep inside of the young witch wanted to throw herself on her knees in front of him. To implore him to try harder, to do whatever it would take, to —

But it came too late. Devina released a strangled gasp as she watched him twist away into nothing. And all she was left with then was the knowledge that she might have been the one to have sent Amycus Carrow to his death. 

That she was the one who had tied the noose around his neck.

—

The crying hadn’t seemed to cease since Amycus left. Devina had found solace in the arms of Katrina at first, and later in those of a confused but somehow unnervingly calm Alecto, too. It was the strangest thing, to find comfort among the very same family that she had possibly condemned to a very bleak future just moments prior.

The house fell into silence that day, as if its very framework was holding its breath, waiting for news of its master. And they had remained a puddle of women, sobbing in unison as they strung a story together for Alecto, whispering something about a misunderstanding, an unfortunate mix-up — a terrible mistake.

And when Deedy eventually came back with the news that he was still alive, it was like they all collectively re-learned how to breathe. And with that newfound oxygen, Devina had mustered up the courage to retreat back into the safety of her rooms.

—

The panic attack that had followed after she had closed her bedroom door had been terrible but cathartic. Somewhere, at some point, Devina had found shelter on the tiled floor in the corner of her shower — replaying his words on her mind over and over again, until she could no longer feel the water beating against her skin.

When she finally managed to snap out of it, she was dousing herself in Dittany for the third time and the wound on her chest had faded into a collection of dull silver lines. Something unnoticeable, something she could forget — unlike the memory of it.

Unlike knowing what she had done.

Day turned into dusk, and with it came the perpetual question of self preservation. The doubts of what would happen to her after tonight almost sent her into a second state of unrelenting panic. She could run, but the thought of home almost made Devina sick now that theirs was crumbling. Running would be the worst betrayal of all, now. No, she’d wait it out — if only to be an extra set of magical hands should it come down to that. 

It was the least she could do for the family of the man that she had sent to the gallows.

[devinabechtel]

Anger melted away into remorse in an instant as Devina’s eyes flicked between the Dark Mark that now glowed painfully on Amycus’ forearm, the blood (his, but some of hers, too) that stained his clothes, and his tormented but always magnificent face. A face that she might never see again, Devina realized with a bitter pang. A discovery that she would have been so very glad for, once. Only weeks ago, she would have reveled in the fact that her silence would mean his demise.

But as she looked at him now, all desperation and dread — Devina wondered if she had perhaps made the greatest error of her life then. She hated him, yes, for taking her that night, for the torture, for all the confusing encounters and kisses that followed after. For all this and more, and for all that he had done —

But was that enough to send a man to his death? 

He’d have to face the Dark Lord alone, without anything to show for the months he’s had a Secret Keeper in his possession. Because he had failed to break her and because she in turn had flat out refused to repay him for that kindness now that he came to call for it.

And for what? — For a stupid promise a grief-stricken & naive little witch had made to her grandmother to protect a safe-house that might not even exist anymore? Was that worth all this? 

Was that an equal trade for Amycus Carrow’s life?

Devina wasn’t all that sure anymore now that she felt his mother’s frantic breathing quicken behind her back, her desperation hanging thickly in the air as she whispered her pleas for him to stay. Like Circe would have begged Telegonusto stay on Aeaea, before she hoisted his sails and handed him a poisoned spear — A mother first, a goddess second. But here and now, there was no spell to be cast, no weapon to poison — no way Katrina Carrow could save her son.

But she could.

You see, the funny and most treacherous thing about the Fidelious charm was that it left an opening. A crack, a way — but only if the Secret Keeper chose to let someone in. Only willingly. It felt like an especially cruel joke now, because even though the traces of his dark magic had already vacated her mind the pressure behind her brow remained. She could practically feel her secrets tugging at the surface, begging to be brought to the light. And so, even as Katrina’s arms wrapped themselves closer around her shoulders, something deep inside of the young witch wanted to throw herself on her knees in front of him. To implore him to try harder, to do whatever it would take, to —

But it came too late. Devina released a strangled gasp as she watched him twist away into nothing. And all she was left with then was the knowledge that she might have been the one to have sent Amycus Carrow to his death. 

That she was the one who had tied the noose around his neck.

—

The crying hadn’t seemed to cease since Amycus left. Devina had found solace in the arms of Katrina at first, and later in those of a confused but somehow unnervingly calm Alecto, too. It was the strangest thing, to find comfort among the very same family that she had possibly condemned to a very bleak future just moments prior.

The house fell into silence that day, as if its very framework was holding its breath, waiting for news of its master. And they had remained a puddle of women, sobbing in unison as they strung a story together for Alecto, whispering something about a misunderstanding, an unfortunate mix-up — a terrible mistake.

And when Deedy eventually came back with the news that he was still alive, it was like they all collectively re-learned how to breathe. And with that newfound oxygen, Devina had mustered up the courage to retreat back into the safety of her rooms.

—

The panic attack that had followed after she had closed her bedroom door had been terrible but cathartic. Somewhere, at some point, Devina had found shelter on the tiled floor in the corner of her shower — replaying his words on her mind over and over again, until she could no longer feel the water beating against her skin.

When she finally managed to snap out of it, she was dousing herself in Dittany for the third time and the wound on her chest had faded into a collection of dull silver lines. Something unnoticeable, something she could forget — unlike the memory of it.

Unlike knowing what she had done.

Day turned into dusk, and with it came the perpetual question of self preservation. The doubts of what would happen to her after tonight almost sent her into a second state of unrelenting panic. She could run, but the thought of home almost made Devina sick now that theirs was crumbling. Running would be the worst betrayal of all, now. No, she’d wait it out — if only to be an extra set of magical hands should it come down to that. 

It was the least she could do for the family of the man that she had sent to the gallows.

A single gasp escaped Devina’s lips as he felt him caress the boundaries of her subconscious. Her eyebrows furrowed in response to the pressure building beneath her forehead, a foreign blackness clouding her vision.  Devina swallowed the rest of her whimpers as she attempted to push him out, her heartbeat growing frantic at the thought that he might finally succeed. But the more she struggled against it, the more it increased.

Katrina had turned around to face the cruelty unfold, her white dress pooling around her on the marble floor. She stared in horror at her son, who looked so alike him, then. There was nothing to be done, she feared. Because how could she ever truly protect the girl from what she had allowed to be created herself? He would break her, just like he had been.

But Devina hadn’t come near giving up her carefully guarded secret just yet. Instead of giving up, she had given in — nausea spilling over her as she allowed him to conquer that little territory, that small part of her mind. Let him have it, she thought, let him try. Her arms had dropped, subconsciously mirroring his movements, apart from her hands, which were slack and numb at her sides. Tears had formed in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill with one more blink as her eyes burned into his. 

She would never, ever speak.

“No.” 

[devinabechtel]

A single gasp escaped Devina’s lips as he felt him caress the boundaries of her subconscious. Her eyebrows furrowed in response to the pressure building beneath her forehead, a foreign blackness clouding her vision.  Devina swallowed the rest of her whimpers as she attempted to push him out, her heartbeat growing frantic at the thought that he might finally succeed. But the more she struggled against it, the more it increased.

Katrina had turned around to face the cruelty unfold, her white dress pooling around her on the marble floor. She stared in horror at her son, who looked so alike him, then. There was nothing to be done, she feared. Because how could she ever truly protect the girl from what she had allowed to be created herself? He would break her, just like he had been.

But Devina hadn’t come near giving up her carefully guarded secret just yet. Instead of giving up, she had given in — nausea spilling over her as she allowed him to conquer that little territory, that small part of her mind. Let him have it, she thought, let him try. Her arms had dropped, subconsciously mirroring his movements, apart from her hands, which were slack and numb at her sides. Tears had formed in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill with one more blink as her eyes burned into his. 

She would never, ever speak.

“No.” 

There was something terrifying brewing inside of Devina Bechtel. It was as if the screams that she’d been denied moments prior were begging to be set free, churning in the depths of her stomach like wildfire, until every fiber of her being was enveloped in sweet, horrific rage. It was like nothing she had ever felt akin to before — like a cauldron dangerously overflowing, a plague being released into the world, like a storm that would destroy everything that stood in her way.

Devina eased herself out from Katrina’s grip, using the older woman’s shoulder for balance as she rose to her trembling feet. Her teeth were clattering, hands shaking — but she hardly noticed as she left her place of safety behind. She didn’t even feel Katrina’s fingers wrapping around her wrist, shaking them off carelessly before she advanced towards the man who once scared her more than anything.

Until she was in front of him, bloodied and broken and yet so much stronger than she had been before. There was a full foot difference between the both of them, like there had always been, but it felt like nothing to her as she looked up at him then. Devina pressed her crossed arms deeper into her chest, fingernails digging into the skin of her palms. Her eyes were burning, daring, as she signed her own potential death warrant with just four words she vehemently spat at him.

“Then fucking do it.”

[devinabechtel]

There was something terrifying brewing inside of Devina Bechtel. It was as if the screams that she’d been denied moments prior were begging to be set free, churning in the depths of her stomach like wildfire, until every fiber of her being was enveloped in sweet, horrific rage. It was like nothing she had ever felt akin to before — like a cauldron dangerously overflowing, a plague being released into the world, like a storm that would destroy everything that stood in her way.

Devina eased herself out from Katrina’s grip, using the older woman’s shoulder for balance as she rose to her trembling feet. Her teeth were clattering, hands shaking — but she hardly noticed as she left her place of safety behind. She didn’t even feel Katrina’s fingers wrapping around her wrist, shaking them off carelessly before she advanced towards the man who once scared her more than anything.

Until she was in front of him, bloodied and broken and yet so much stronger than she had been before. There was a full foot difference between the both of them, like there had always been, but it felt like nothing to her as she looked up at him then. Devina pressed her crossed arms deeper into her chest, fingernails digging into the skin of her palms. Her eyes were burning, daring, as she signed her own potential death warrant with just four words she vehemently spat at him.

“Then fucking do it.”

It was at this exact moment that Devina realized that no Death Eater had ever needed to try — she had been broken a very long time ago. Perhaps it had been that way ever since she left her father to burn in her childhood home, before she lost little parts of herself to the Order and before she ever felt the unforgiving nature of the Cruciatus.

Or in any case, long before she ever met Amycus Carrow. 

She found the courage to look at him then with big, haunted eyes set against a tear-streaked face. Her chin quivered as she realised that this was it — the conclusion, the endgame. The part where she had to crack open; for his sake, for his family’s sake. And for hers, too, she vaguely knew.

Katrina’s hand running over the back of her hair was the only connection she had to sanity at this point. Devina was leaning fully against the older woman, staining her pristine white dress a dark, muddy crimson just below her shoulder. Katrina didn’t seem to mind as she inhaled sharply again, wrapping her arms closer around Devina’s small frame — holding her as if the world was ending.

Maybe it already had.

Devina’s body trembled, another sob torn free from her soul as her eyes locked into his. She exhaled, her secrets dancing on her unsteady breaths, threatening to spill out into the open air. Devina almost wanted them to, almost. But then she gasped, and they were gone.

Devina blinked before looking at him again with a describable pain behind her eyes. A pain, but a force, too. Then she shook her head, just like she had done that first time he ever urged her to spill.

[devinabechtel]

It was at this exact moment that Devina realized that no Death Eater had ever needed to try — she had been broken a very long time ago. Perhaps it had been that way ever since she left her father to burn in her childhood home, before she lost little parts of herself to the Order and before she ever felt the unforgiving nature of the Cruciatus.

Or in any case, long before she ever met Amycus Carrow. 

She found the courage to look at him then with big, haunted eyes set against a tear-streaked face. Her chin quivered as she realised that this was it — the conclusion, the endgame. The part where she had to crack open; for his sake, for his family’s sake. And for hers, too, she vaguely knew.

Katrina’s hand running over the back of her hair was the only connection she had to sanity at this point. Devina was leaning fully against the older woman, staining her pristine white dress a dark, muddy crimson just below her shoulder. Katrina didn’t seem to mind as she inhaled sharply again, wrapping her arms closer around Devina’s small frame — holding her as if the world was ending.

Maybe it already had.

Devina’s body trembled, another sob torn free from her soul as her eyes locked into his. She exhaled, her secrets dancing on her unsteady breaths, threatening to spill out into the open air. Devina almost wanted them to, almost. But then she gasped, and they were gone.

Devina blinked before looking at him again with a describable pain behind her eyes. A pain, but a force, too. Then she shook her head, just like she had done that first time he ever urged her to spill.

Devina wasn’t sure when she had lost control over her breathing, the basic and otherwise simple labor of it becoming too much in the face of all this panic. It might’ve been the second Deedy grabbed her hand, whisking her away from the puddle of blood and power dynamics that she had found herself in. Or perhaps it had been when Katrina fell down on her knees to meet the mess of a girl that had apparated on the pristine floors of her breakfast room.

Devina’s brain didn’t quite register the commotion that followed; Alecto’s shrieks at the sight of her, Deedy’s rushed and fragmentary explanations. Even Katrina’s whispered offers of comfort against her hair went unnoticed. The only thing on Devina’s mind was only the strong longing for her own mother’s arms as she found herself cradeled in Katrina’s instead. She was shaking, violently — the fear attempting to leave her body in an onslaught of terrible quakes and shivers as Katrina held her.

The overwhelming pain that radiated through the young witch’s veins, however, didn’t originate from the carving just beneath her collarbone. A perfect cage, etched in the flesh above her frantically beating heart, the red a stark contrast against her pale skin. But no, the sting of the wound didn’t hurt nearly as much as the meaning behind it.

All this, Devina thought she desperately clung on to Katrina, all this because of her dirty, inferior blood. All this because some people (like her grandmother and father, for one,) found love outside their social circle and choose to defy the norm. Devina realized more than she ever had, then, that she would always be a prisoner to this blood. And had she not bled enough? For the cause, for justice —

For him — 

Alecto was the first to hear his shouts, her intuition tied to Amycus’ in a way only a bond between a brother and sister could. “Amycus!” She called out from where she stood besides the table, the remnants of their morning meal still there like a still life painting. The dark-haired witch had surprised herself with how well she had kept her composure at the sight of torn clothes, tears and all this blood.. She was only shaking a little as she held on to her chair, eyes fixed on the door so she didn’t have to look at what was happening in front of her.

“Amycus! We’re in here!” Alecto shouted again.

[devinabechtel]

Devina wasn’t sure when she had lost control over her breathing, the basic and otherwise simple labor of it becoming too much in the face of all this panic. It might’ve been the second Deedy grabbed her hand, whisking her away from the puddle of blood and power dynamics that she had found herself in. Or perhaps it had been when Katrina fell down on her knees to meet the mess of a girl that had apparated on the pristine floors of her breakfast room.

Devina’s brain didn’t quite register the commotion that followed; Alecto’s shrieks at the sight of her, Deedy’s rushed and fragmentary explanations. Even Katrina’s whispered offers of comfort against her hair went unnoticed. The only thing on Devina’s mind was only the strong longing for her own mother’s arms as she found herself cradeled in Katrina’s instead. She was shaking, violently — the fear attempting to leave her body in an onslaught of terrible quakes and shivers as Katrina held her.

The overwhelming pain that radiated through the young witch’s veins, however, didn’t originate from the carving just beneath her collarbone. A perfect cage, etched in the flesh above her frantically beating heart, the red a stark contrast against her pale skin. But no, the sting of the wound didn’t hurt nearly as much as the meaning behind it.

All this, Devina thought she desperately clung on to Katrina, all this because of her dirty, inferior blood. All this because some people (like her grandmother and father, for one,) found love outside their social circle and choose to defy the norm. Devina realized more than she ever had, then, that she would always be a prisoner to this blood. And had she not bled enough? For the cause, for justice —

For him — 

Alecto was the first to hear his shouts, her intuition tied to Amycus’ in a way only a bond between a brother and sister could. “Amycus!” She called out from where she stood besides the table, the remnants of their morning meal still there like a still life painting. The dark-haired witch had surprised herself with how well she had kept her composure at the sight of torn clothes, tears and all this blood.. She was only shaking a little as she held on to her chair, eyes fixed on the door so she didn’t have to look at what was happening in front of her.

“Amycus! We’re in here!” Alecto shouted again.

Rosier’s face remained one of ice and stone as he held the knife, unrelenting in his grip as Amycus’ blood flowed freely from it. For a moment, it seemed like neither of the two Death Eaters would surrender. Devina found herself holding her breath as she watched the red droplets fall to the floor right next to her.

But then, Rosier laughed. 

It wasn’t a natural sound, it was forced — fabricated. His eyes glinted in the way a victor’s would as he released his hold on the knife, the sound of metal clattering on marble following suit. “Oh come now, Carrow,” He flashed an uncanny smile, “I was only having a bit of fun.” 

“But do send my regards to your dear mother,” Rosier continued as he stooped to the floor, his hand darting out to his little knife. “Murky blood is a bitch to clean.” He groaned, as if his young and able body was actually strained from the movement, and crouched down instead, meeting Devina’s line of sight.

It all the young witch’ willpower to stay quiet, to not give a peep, to fight the instinct to respond the way a frightened animal might’ve. Still, her heart seemed like it was going to cease beating forever when Rosier eyes settled on her body.

“And hey, apparently it’s a bitch to interrogate as well.” He picked up his knife, slick with blood and pointed it at Devina. “Could do us all a favor Carrow, if you’d just pass her along to me.”

[devinabechtel]

Rosier’s face remained one of ice and stone as he held the knife, unrelenting in his grip as Amycus’ blood flowed freely from it. For a moment, it seemed like neither of the two Death Eaters would surrender. Devina found herself holding her breath as she watched the red droplets fall to the floor right next to her.

But then, Rosier laughed. 

It wasn’t a natural sound, it was forced — fabricated. His eyes glinted in the way a victor’s would as he released his hold on the knife, the sound of metal clattering on marble following suit. “Oh come now, Carrow,” He flashed an uncanny smile, “I was only having a bit of fun.” 

“But do send my regards to your dear mother,” Rosier continued as he stooped to the floor, his hand darting out to his little knife. “Murky blood is a bitch to clean.” He groaned, as if his young and able body was actually strained from the movement, and crouched down instead, meeting Devina’s line of sight.

It all the young witch’ willpower to stay quiet, to not give a peep, to fight the instinct to respond the way a frightened animal might’ve. Still, her heart seemed like it was going to cease beating forever when Rosier eyes settled on her body.

“And hey, apparently it’s a bitch to interrogate as well.” He picked up his knife, slick with blood and pointed it at Devina. “Could do us all a favor Carrow, if you’d just pass her along to me.”

A shuddering mixture of breath and whimper passed Devina’s lips as Amycus’ gaze met hers. His eyes held a flicker of solace, which was but a pitiful excuse for comfort under the current circumstances, but still — Devina didn’t dare to blink in case she’d lose that little glimpse of safety forever.

Rosier sniffed with indifference. “Crafty as the bitch might be, the Dark Lord is growing impatient. Which, as it happens, is why I’ve come by this morning.”

He uncrossed his arms and fixed his eyes on Amycus, a taunting smirk etched on his face. “Because you and I both know,” he began, pointing his knife at his fellow Death Eater, “That breaking a pathetic little half-blood shouldn’t take all that long.”

The pathetic little half-blood in question, felt like a mere vessel of pain and desperation as she lay unmoving on the marble floor, blood trickling down to meet the wardstone beneath her. She had closed her eyes now, focusing on her breathing as it slowed and steadied — the initial surge of adrenaline and endorphins dissipating from her bloodstream. 

Rosier carried on, shaking his knife at his colleague as he took a step towards him, the smirk on his face growing wider. “From the way I see it, you are the wrong man for the job, Carrow.”

[devinabechtel]

A shuddering mixture of breath and whimper passed Devina’s lips as Amycus’ gaze met hers. His eyes held a flicker of solace, which was but a pitiful excuse for comfort under the current circumstances, but still — Devina didn’t dare to blink in case she’d lose that little glimpse of safety forever.

Rosier sniffed with indifference. “Crafty as the bitch might be, the Dark Lord is growing impatient. Which, as it happens, is why I’ve come by this morning.”

He uncrossed his arms and fixed his eyes on Amycus, a taunting smirk etched on his face. “Because you and I both know,” he began, pointing his knife at his fellow Death Eater, “That breaking a pathetic little half-blood shouldn’t take all that long.”

The pathetic little half-blood in question, felt like a mere vessel of pain and desperation as she lay unmoving on the marble floor, blood trickling down to meet the wardstone beneath her. She had closed her eyes now, focusing on her breathing as it slowed and steadied — the initial surge of adrenaline and endorphins dissipating from her bloodstream. 

Rosier carried on, shaking his knife at his colleague as he took a step towards him, the smirk on his face growing wider. “From the way I see it, you are the wrong man for the job, Carrow.”

Devina Bechtel thought she understood what torture was. 

Thought she had discerned its rhythm, the ebb and flow, the suffering and the surrender. — she couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Amycus’ ways were somehow predictable enough, methodical to the point where Devina couldn’t quite say he took pleasure out of hurting her. She had decided some time ago, that in some fucked up way, it had always been a logical exchange. No matter how cruel, no matter how unfair. He needed something only she possessed, and not a lot of ways to get it.

Ultimately, she was just another thing on his agenda, another tedious assignment he needed to get off his desk. Nothing personal. Though, Devina supposed, personal was exactly what it was — after all, torture was a different, yet very real kind of intimacy. That’s why sometimes, during the darkest hours of the night, Devina often contemplated if that was why she felt so drawn to him; because it had become all too personal, all too intimate — 

Because he had met her at her marrow. Blood, tears and all. 

Evan Rosier’s idea of torture, however, was discovering exactly how many layers of flesh he could pull back until there was no more. It wasn’t long before he had her on her back, his body weight pinning her down against the cold marble, his knife at her throat. Devina, in a panicked haze, almost wished it had been Amycus holding the knife then.

A thousand times him, over this.

“It’s such a shame, really,” Rosier whispered next to her ear as he dug his knife into the skin below her clavicle, his other hand cupping her breast. “You and I could’ve had so much fun together.” He squeezed the soft tissue, then tried his hand at the other, grateful for the freedom of movement the simple spell he had performed earlier extended him. 

It was no secret Rosier preferred his victims kicking and screaming whilst he flayed them inch by bloody inch — nevertheless, allowing this one to make any noise would be terribly unpractical. But he had grown tired of the bitch ruining his dragon-hide gloves with her teeth when he had his hand wrapped around her mouth. Honestly, why bother when a silencing charm exists.

“Shh, baby,” Rosier cooed when he noticed how the young witch was beating her delicate, little hands against the marble. She’ll break her fingers if she keeps that up. He retracted his knife, clicked his tongue, then sighed as he grabbed her hand in his and placed it on her stomach. “You’ll hurt yourself.” 

Devina stared back at him in horrified disbelief as he looked at her with a pitiful mixture of fake remorse. She sniffed, though the rumble of the snot and tears was lost in translation through the spell. He had allowed her a moment to come up for air but even her breaths held no sound as Devina attempted to steady their rhythm. But then she felt his hand snake between her legs, and it was back to fighting for her life as she squirmed beneath him, the scuffle of her shoes against the floor creating the only echo in the room.

Rosier smiled to himself. “Just relax, Birdie. ” He said, then continued carving.

Devina had never felt a sense of terror and rage such as this one before. It might have felt powerful, if it weren’t for the fact that she was practically drowning in her own screams. But if there was one thing Devina knew about pain, is that whilst there wasn’t always an out — there was always an end.

—

And that end had come, only minutes after it had begun — but not before any real damage had been done. 

Rosier halted his knife, his head snapping up towards the landing as footsteps began reverberating through the open room. A low grumble escaped his mouth as he made a final, hasty cut, then plucked the knife from her skin.

Another wave of silent tears washed down Devina’s cheeks as she heard Amycus’ voice from somewhere above her, a tiny fraction of relief settling over her bones. It was over.

“Carrow!” Rosier’s voice boomed through the atrium. “How nice of you to join us.” He said, and took a final moment to admire his latest canvas. Sure, he had taken some creative liberty, but it was only fitting that she’d be reminded of her prison, especially when Carrow had so clearly failed to do so. “I was just teaching your little bird here a lesson about not escaping one’s cage.”

He moved off her, crouched beside her body and sniffed. “Oh, forgive me, love.” Rosier muttered, his nose wrinkling as he looked down at her before sweeping his wand over Devina’s throat. He stood, then, and stepped over and in front of her body like she was a prize he had won.

Devina blinked, her own ragged, pained whimpers sounding foreign to her now as they cascaded into the foyer. She could only breathe as she stared up at the ceiling, watching the chandelier cast a thousand specks of light now that the sunlight directly hit its mark.

“She is too precious, Carrow.” Rosier admitted then, wiping his gloves on his pants. “I’m starting to understand why you’ve shared so little about your time with her.”

[devinabechtel]

Devina Bechtel thought she understood what torture was. 

Thought she had discerned its rhythm, the ebb and flow, the suffering and the surrender. — she couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Amycus’ ways were somehow predictable enough, methodical to the point where Devina couldn’t quite say he took pleasure out of hurting her. She had decided some time ago, that in some fucked up way, it had always been a logical exchange. No matter how cruel, no matter how unfair. He needed something only she possessed, and not a lot of ways to get it.

Ultimately, she was just another thing on his agenda, another tedious assignment he needed to get off his desk. Nothing personal. Though, Devina supposed, personal was exactly what it was — after all, torture was a different, yet very real kind of intimacy. That’s why sometimes, during the darkest hours of the night, Devina often contemplated if that was why she felt so drawn to him; because it had become all too personal, all too intimate — 

Because he had met her at her marrow. Blood, tears and all. 

Evan Rosier’s idea of torture, however, was discovering exactly how many layers of flesh he could pull back until there was no more. It wasn’t long before he had her on her back, his body weight pinning her down against the cold marble, his knife at her throat. Devina, in a panicked haze, almost wished it had been Amycus holding the knife then.

A thousand times him, over this.

“It’s such a shame, really,” Rosier whispered next to her ear as he dug his knife into the skin below her clavicle, his other hand cupping her breast. “You and I could’ve had so much fun together.” He squeezed the soft tissue, then tried his hand at the other, grateful for the freedom of movement the simple spell he had performed earlier extended him. 

It was no secret Rosier preferred his victims kicking and screaming whilst he flayed them inch by bloody inch — nevertheless, allowing this one to make any noise would be terribly unpractical. But he had grown tired of the bitch ruining his dragon-hide gloves with her teeth when he had his hand wrapped around her mouth. Honestly, why bother when a silencing charm exists.

“Shh, baby,” Rosier cooed when he noticed how the young witch was beating her delicate, little hands against the marble. She’ll break her fingers if she keeps that up. He retracted his knife, clicked his tongue, then sighed as he grabbed her hand in his and placed it on her stomach. “You’ll hurt yourself.” 

Devina stared back at him in horrified disbelief as he looked at her with a pitiful mixture of fake remorse. She sniffed, though the rumble of the snot and tears was lost in translation through the spell. He had allowed her a moment to come up for air but even her breaths held no sound as Devina attempted to steady their rhythm. But then she felt his hand snake between her legs, and it was back to fighting for her life as she squirmed beneath him, the scuffle of her shoes against the floor creating the only echo in the room.

Rosier smiled to himself. “Just relax, Birdie. ” He said, then continued carving.

Devina had never felt a sense of terror and rage such as this one before. It might have felt powerful, if it weren’t for the fact that she was practically drowning in her own screams. But if there was one thing Devina knew about pain, is that whilst there wasn’t always an out — there was always an end.

—

And that end had come, only minutes after it had begun — but not before any real damage had been done. 

Rosier halted his knife, his head snapping up towards the landing as footsteps began reverberating through the open room. A low grumble escaped his mouth as he made a final, hasty cut, then plucked the knife from her skin.

Another wave of silent tears washed down Devina’s cheeks as she heard Amycus’ voice from somewhere above her, a tiny fraction of relief settling over her bones. It was over.

“Carrow!” Rosier’s voice boomed through the atrium. “How nice of you to join us.” He said, and took a final moment to admire his latest canvas. Sure, he had taken some creative liberty, but it was only fitting that she’d be reminded of her prison, especially when Carrow had so clearly failed to do so. “I was just teaching your little bird here a lesson about not escaping one’s cage.”

He moved off her, crouched beside her body and sniffed. “Oh, forgive me, love.” Rosier muttered, his nose wrinkling as he looked down at her before sweeping his wand over Devina’s throat. He stood, then, and stepped over and in front of her body like she was a prize he had won.

Devina blinked, her own ragged, pained whimpers sounding foreign to her now as they cascaded into the foyer. She could only breathe as she stared up at the ceiling, watching the chandelier cast a thousand specks of light now that the sunlight directly hit its mark.

“She is too precious, Carrow.” Rosier admitted then, wiping his gloves on his pants. “I’m starting to understand why you’ve shared so little about your time with her.”

EXIT WOUNDS.

For the past few days, Devina had been the star of her own little play. The first act was to hide the obvious, and tricking Katrina & Alecto into believing a viscous cold had taken her voice had been surprisingly easy. A little cough here, a pathetic sniff there — it was enough to keep at least Alecto at bay, given her already fragile immune system. Katrina had been more insistent, expressing her concerns in a way that only a mother can do. But her injuries were nothing a turtle-neck and some well-applied make-up couldn’t hide and so the truth behind her mysterious ‘cold’ remained a masterly hidden secret.

There were only a handful of house-elves who were privy to the truth behind that night. A few house-elves and a certain Amycus Carrow — which is where Act II came in. You see, the real challenging part of this facade wasn’t the feigning and the well-timed coughs, it was pretending the aftermath of what happened down in the dungeons simply hadn’t happened at all. It was easier that way, Devina told herself. Easier to make herself believe that she hadn’t found comfort in his protection (and in his bed) that night.

But from this morning on, there was no need to keep up with this little performance anymore. The formerly violently purple bruises had faded into nothing and her voice rang as clear as ever thanks to the new concoction Devina had come up with. And so, the young witch was on a mission to fit herself back into the daily life at Carrow House.

The libary would be her first stop, to return the copious amount of novels that had been keeping her company during her ‘illness’. And then on to the breakfast room, to surprise Alecto with her presence. On Devina’s face rested a happy smile, a certain spring in her step as she made her way through the winding hallway that led into the foyer. The rare, autumn, morning sun was streaming in through the large windows, marking the start of a brand new day.

Starting now, Devina thought, it was back to normal. Not that this arrangement between herself and the Carrow family had been resembling anything close to ordinary, but at least from this morning on it was back to regularly scheduled programming, or whatever.

Or — it should have been.

It should have been. But something was off, something was severely, horrifyingly off. Devina noticed it as soon as she set foot in the atrium, like a deer stepping into a compromised clearing. Somehow, some way, Devina Bechtel knew it was bad before she even lifted her eyes from the stack of books she was carrying. Before she saw a man at the other end of the room, before she heard that awful and familiar voice from that night in Diagon Alley.

Fuck.

“Are you lost, little bird?”

The little Order slut reacted in the exact way Evan Rosier had hoped she would. It was like heaven to him — the fear registering in her eyes, the gasp rolling off her perfectly fuck-able lips, the books hopelessly toppling out of her hands. Fucking hell, he could almost feel his pants tightening around his member. Carrow had let her out of her fucking cage. 

Devina had dropped to her knees out of instinct, which was perhaps the worst mistake a prey such as herself could have made in this specific situation. She should have turned on her heels and ran, she should have screamed. Should’ve, Should’ve, Should’ve. Instead, she had followed after the books like a pathetic child, eyes trained on the covers splayed open on the marble floor, hands scrambling to collect them closer to her person. It was no use, her hands were shaking so badly that they wouldn’t stay in her grasp.

Fuck.

“How curious,” Rosier crooned, obviously relishing in this moment. His black boots appeared into view, causing Devinato withdraw her hands in an instant. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“How very fucking curious.”

Devina tilted her head, nails dug into the skin of her knees beneath the sheer layer of black tights. Her heartbeat thundered away behind her ribcage as she struggled to control her haphazard breaths. Cue Act III. — She forced herself to look up at him, with big, hazel eyes. And you better play your part very, very well — or this will be the last act.

[devinabechtel]

EXIT WOUNDS.

For the past few days, Devina had been the star of her own little play. The first act was to hide the obvious, and tricking Katrina & Alecto into believing a viscous cold had taken her voice had been surprisingly easy. A little cough here, a pathetic sniff there — it was enough to keep at least Alecto at bay, given her already fragile immune system. Katrina had been more insistent, expressing her concerns in a way that only a mother can do. But her injuries were nothing a turtle-neck and some well-applied make-up couldn’t hide and so the truth behind her mysterious ‘cold’ remained a masterly hidden secret.

There were only a handful of house-elves who were privy to the truth behind that night. A few house-elves and a certain Amycus Carrow — which is where Act II came in. You see, the real challenging part of this facade wasn’t the feigning and the well-timed coughs, it was pretending the aftermath of what happened down in the dungeons simply hadn’t happened at all. It was easier that way, Devina told herself. Easier to make herself believe that she hadn’t found comfort in his protection (and in his bed) that night.

But from this morning on, there was no need to keep up with this little performance anymore. The formerly violently purple bruises had faded into nothing and her voice rang as clear as ever thanks to the new concoction Devina had come up with. And so, the young witch was on a mission to fit herself back into the daily life at Carrow House.

The libary would be her first stop, to return the copious amount of novels that had been keeping her company during her ‘illness’. And then on to the breakfast room, to surprise Alecto with her presence. On Devina’s face rested a happy smile, a certain spring in her step as she made her way through the winding hallway that led into the foyer. The rare, autumn, morning sun was streaming in through the large windows, marking the start of a brand new day.

Starting now, Devina thought, it was back to normal. Not that this arrangement between herself and the Carrow family had been resembling anything close to ordinary, but at least from this morning on it was back to regularly scheduled programming, or whatever.

Or — it should have been.

It should have been. But something was off, something was severely, horrifyingly off. Devina noticed it as soon as she set foot in the atrium, like a deer stepping into a compromised clearing. Somehow, some way, Devina Bechtel knew it was bad before she even lifted her eyes from the stack of books she was carrying. Before she saw a man at the other end of the room, before she heard that awful and familiar voice from that night in Diagon Alley.

Fuck.

“Are you lost, little bird?”

The little Order slut reacted in the exact way Evan Rosier had hoped she would. It was like heaven to him — the fear registering in her eyes, the gasp rolling off her perfectly fuck-able lips, the books hopelessly toppling out of her hands. Fucking hell, he could almost feel his pants tightening around his member. Carrow had let her out of her fucking cage. 

Devina had dropped to her knees out of instinct, which was perhaps the worst mistake a prey such as herself could have made in this specific situation. She should have turned on her heels and ran, she should have screamed. Should’ve, Should’ve, Should’ve. Instead, she had followed after the books like a pathetic child, eyes trained on the covers splayed open on the marble floor, hands scrambling to collect them closer to her person. It was no use, her hands were shaking so badly that they wouldn’t stay in her grasp.

Fuck.

“How curious,” Rosier crooned, obviously relishing in this moment. His black boots appeared into view, causing Devinato withdraw her hands in an instant. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“How very fucking curious.”

Devina tilted her head, nails dug into the skin of her knees beneath the sheer layer of black tights. Her heartbeat thundered away behind her ribcage as she struggled to control her haphazard breaths. Cue Act III. — She forced herself to look up at him, with big, hazel eyes. And you better play your part very, very well — or this will be the last act.

[devinabechtel]

He was unnervingly quick, too quick, to compose himself — Devina noted. It was a certain mental strength she could write off on a great many things. He was an eldest son, a product of ruthless Death Eater training and perhaps a lifetime of mastering concealment and self-control in a strict and unforgiving household, that much she could guess. Devina just wondered how many battles, internal and external, it had taken for him to become like this. And even more so, how many battles it would take before he couldn’t take it anymore.

Devina found herself leaning into his hand at the small of her back, not yet quite aware of how much her body seemed to want to be held by his. She quietly pondered her next move over there, her feet scuffling over the carpet as she surveyed the four-poster bed Amycus had led her to. His bed.

A huff of air passed her lips. At one point, Devina had made herself promise she’d do everything to prevent ending up on or under those covers. Most of the raw and vivid memories of what he had done to her had faded away, stripped and reduced in an effort for her brain to protect itself. But Devina still remembered that promise, still recalled that fear whenever he had her pressed up against one of the bedposts. It could’ve happened, easily, and at any point. If he had wanted to, she could’ve become another statistic, another water-damaged image of a girl. Another cautionary tale that mothers will tell their witch daughters — 

A tale of what happens to girls who find themselves on the wrong side of enemy lines.

Devina shivered on cue. How ironic that eventually, she’d be crawling into that very same bed. Willingly, and not even to have sex but to sleep — something that might be considered a far more vulnerable act.

At that, she turned her head, craning her chin upwards so she could look him in the eyes. The difference between their statures was still shocking to Devina when he was standing so close; she hadn’t quite gotten used to how tall he was to her in comparison. She blinked, then sighed deeply, ready to voice her reservations about this arrangement — to tell him that she should return to her own rooms so they could both suffer this night scared and alone.

But for some reason, her apprehension melted away like ice before the sun when his sleep-deprived eyes met hers. Devinablinked again. Her limbs were heavy, her head begging for some reprieve. “Okay.” She softly agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. 

At least this way, she could get a couple hours of sleep before dawn — before they both had to pretend this night never happened. Before Alecto would badger her with questions about her voice and the strange bruises all over her throat. At least here, she’d be safe, watched over — whatever horrors dwelled in her subconscious rendered less threatening than if she’d have to face them by herself. 

Devina left the safety of his steadying hand on her back and sat down at the edge of the bed after folding the covers open. The house’s signature detergent and hints of pine and vetiver greeted her nose. She tugged her dressing gown tighter around her shoulders, unable to meet his gaze again as she enveloped herself in his bed sheets, his scent and in a way, in him.

A hint of vulnerability touched her words, softened by the fatigue that clung to her like a heavy cloak. “Just promise you’ll ignore it if I talk in my sleep,” she whispered as she rested her back against the headboard. “I tend to do that sometimes.” She dared a glance at him, then, and showed a weak smile as she pulled the covers closer. “I won’t say anything meaningful, nothing you could use, anyway.” 

Watching Amycus Carrow fall apart, Devina briefly thought, must have felt akin to witnessing the fall of the great city of Rome. Or like watching an avalanche roll off the mountains, a tidal wave, a deadly storm, a — Devina couldn’t tear her eyes away from it; the terrible, beautiful disaster that was unfolding right in front of her eyes.

The unforgiving panic that consumed his movements, the fear in his eyes. It made him human — utterly and terrifyingly human. And even though Devina had already discovered many different versions of the man that had kidnapped her, it remained a strange thing; watching a monster turn out to be just a man.

Devina released a troubled breath and nodded fervently. He hadn’t needed to ask, not really — she wouldn’t ever dare to speak of this night out of her own volition. “I won’t.” She whispered, then inhaled sharply before whispering an ‘I promise' directly after. 

A moment of silence passed and Devina glanced a look at the clock in the corner of the room. Though dawn was still a little while away, the realization it was almost 5 o’clock in the morning struck her with a jolt.

“It’s late.” She said as she turned back to Amycus. Devina briefly touched his knee as she met his gaze, concern etched on her face. “Do you — do you want to sleep?” She asked, even though she herself wasn’t even sure she’d like to close her eyes at this point, terrified about the nightmares that would likely await here there. But it would be a selfish thing to deny him of rest when she was the whole reason he’d been robbed of it tonight. 

Devina sat back on her knees and blinked. “I could — do you need me to go?

[devinabechtel]

Watching Amycus Carrow fall apart, Devina briefly thought, must have felt akin to witnessing the fall of the great city of Rome. Or like watching an avalanche roll off the mountains, a tidal wave, a deadly storm, a — Devina couldn’t tear her eyes away from it; the terrible, beautiful disaster that was unfolding right in front of her eyes.

The unforgiving panic that consumed his movements, the fear in his eyes. It made him human — utterly and terrifyingly human. And even though Devina had already discovered many different versions of the man that had kidnapped her, it remained a strange thing; watching a monster turn out to be just a man.

Devina released a troubled breath and nodded fervently. He hadn’t needed to ask, not really — she wouldn’t ever dare to speak of this night out of her own volition. “I won’t.” She whispered, then inhaled sharply before whispering an ‘I promise' directly after. 

A moment of silence passed and Devina glanced a look at the clock in the corner of the room. Though dawn was still a little while away, the realization it was almost 5 o’clock in the morning struck her with a jolt.

“It’s late.” She said as she turned back to Amycus. Devina briefly touched his knee as she met his gaze, concern etched on her face. “Do you — do you want to sleep?” She asked, even though she herself wasn’t even sure she’d like to close her eyes at this point, terrified about the nightmares that would likely await here there. But it would be a selfish thing to deny him of rest when she was the whole reason he’d been robbed of it tonight. 

Devina sat back on her knees and blinked. “I could — do you need me to go?

Devina had held her breath for what seemed like an eternity as she watched the tea spill from the coffee table and drip down onto the rug. Her hands hovered above the mess. Drip, drip, drip — the damage had been done. If only she could dissolve into that same fabric, Devina thought — just as she had wished so many times before.

Their eyes locked in a moment of shock. She continued to return his gaze in a moment of defeated stupor, until his back hit the wall and his eyes went glassy. Devina watched as he sunk to the floor. It was as if the demon from the crypts had returned, only attacking him directly this time. He wasn’t angry, Devina realized then. He was panicking.

He was losing it.

She reacted out of pure instinct, staying low to the floor to balance herself as she tried to reach Amycus on unsteady limbs. Devina fell onto her knees in front of him, still a good distance away — after all, her body seemed very much aware of the fact that his emotions could still turn on her in any second.

“Amycus,” Devina whispered as she reached out a tentative hand, her fingers barely ghosting above his knee. She opened her mouth again, then released a troubled breath when no words would come out. A minute passed before she tried again, her brows drawn together in an almost painful frown. “Stop what?” It sounded so innocent as it left her mouth.

“Amycus,” She urged then, as her hand moved towards his arms, her fingers wrapping themselves around one of his wrists. “Hey,”  She whispered and tugged, oh so carefully, at his wrist.

[devinabechtel]

Devina had held her breath for what seemed like an eternity as she watched the tea spill from the coffee table and drip down onto the rug. Her hands hovered above the mess. Drip, drip, drip — the damage had been done. If only she could dissolve into that same fabric, Devina thought — just as she had wished so many times before.

Their eyes locked in a moment of shock. She continued to return his gaze in a moment of defeated stupor, until his back hit the wall and his eyes went glassy. Devina watched as he sunk to the floor. It was as if the demon from the crypts had returned, only attacking him directly this time. He wasn’t angry, Devina realized then. He was panicking.

He was losing it.

She reacted out of pure instinct, staying low to the floor to balance herself as she tried to reach Amycus on unsteady limbs. Devina fell onto her knees in front of him, still a good distance away — after all, her body seemed very much aware of the fact that his emotions could still turn on her in any second.

“Amycus,” Devina whispered as she reached out a tentative hand, her fingers barely ghosting above his knee. She opened her mouth again, then released a troubled breath when no words would come out. A minute passed before she tried again, her brows drawn together in an almost painful frown. “Stop what?” It sounded so innocent as it left her mouth.

“Amycus,” She urged then, as her hand moved towards his arms, her fingers wrapping themselves around one of his wrists. “Hey,”  She whispered and tugged, oh so carefully, at his wrist.

For a fleeting moment, Devina wished she could just lay her head down and close her heavy eyes. This sofa was oddly soft and comfortable now that she wasn’t bleeding out on it from wounds that he had caused her. In this moment, Devina thought, she could almost pretend that she was home — she swore she could briefly feel her mother’s fingers ghosting over her damp hair to soothe her to sleep.

But you’re not home, a sharp voice cut through her mind. You’re still trapped in a viper’s den with no possible way out.

And so, her vigilant, though tired eyes remained trained on Amycus as he paced through the room. She vaguely registered the shake of his hands and the lengths of his strides. He seemed angry, though she didn’t quite understand what she had done to cause it — besides the obvious, but hadn’t he said that she had been punished enough? Maybe she had been naive in believing it wouldn’t end there. Maybe she had been foolish to think he couldn’t change his mind —

Her eyes grew wide when Amycus whirled around to face her from across the room. And when he finally did speak, it was like she had plunged into ice-cold water — every inch of Devina’s body seemed to turn against her as an uneasy feeling settled in her stomach.

He was angry.

Something, perhaps the tone of his voice or the realization that she wasn’t quite out of the woods yet, urged her to do follow his commands as quickly as she could. Devina’s movements were hasty and unsteady as she dropped to her knees in front of the coffee table, her head spinning from the lack of blood. Her trembling hands darted out to the cup of tea that had already been poured for her, but they moved too fast — Devina gasped, painfully aware of his eyes on her as the porcelain tipped over, spilling a wave of tea over the coffee-table.