𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜𝗜 ━━ 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛 𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘
095. all is fair in love and war

MALFOY MANOR

          𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗟𝗘𝗧 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗔𝗪𝗔𝗞𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗗 𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗗𝗜𝗠 𝗟𝗨𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 shooting from a dim light, and that fluorescence caused a sweep of blonde hair to glisten—Scarlet blinked her blurriness away from her irises to notice Narcissa sitting on a rocking-chair by her side, reading a brown-leather book with uttermost concentration.

"Cissa?"

"Oh, honey," Narcissa cooed, placing a hand on the young girl's forehead. "I'm glad you're awake."

Scarlet sat up quickly, pushing away the heavy duvet that covered her body. Narcissa worked quickly to stop her abrupt movements with a hand on the girl's shoulders and pushing her back down with ease. "What are you doing?"

"You're not going anywhere," Narcissa arched a perfectly-shaped brow. "Athena suggests you were immensely dehydrated, and it caused you to pass out. She instructed you to rest."

"Who the hell is Athena?" Scarlet deadpanned, blinking boreally as she asked.

"Lucius hired a personal Healer ever since I told him I had a minor headache last week." She answered and Scarlet rolled her eyes. The Manor felt quite unearthly at the moment—Death Eaters were enrolling in and out, the Dark Lord was literally residing in one of the guest rooms, she had just killed someone and she had no idea where his body is or who knows about the action other than creepy Bellatrix.

"Where is Bellatrix?"

"She has gone home, dear," Narcissa then gave Scarlet a peculiar look, squinting her eyes as her lips curled up, "since when the two of your are best friends?"

"We're not," she dismissed the idea quickly, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "I wish to go home." She declared shortly after.

Narcissa scoffed, "And who's going to take care of you at home?"

      Sirius. Sirius will.

"You live alone." Narcissa added.

"I'll be fine," Scarlet jumped off the bed before Narcissa could stop her. She found herself wearing one of Narcissa's modest gowns and wondered where her clothes went. It's not like she wanted a ripped apart shirt back anyway.

"Was Lucius correct? Did you get yourself into trouble, Scars?"

"No, Lucius is a fool. I am fine." She spelled out the words carefully. Scarlet noticed she was not in her black shirt anymore and it was replaced with one of Narcissa's cream-white silk shirt with floral designs around the wrists.

Narcissa stood up and whirled her around by the arm, she inspected with furrowed brows "What's that on your neck—? Did somebody hurt you, Scarlet?"

A lump was caught in Scarlet's throat, and she ran a finger over the aching bruise on her neck. "Got too drunk last night and things happened, it's no big deal."

Narcissa remained concerned, "Are you sure? This looks very—"

"Cissa, do you really want all the details of my drunken mistake?" Scarlet deadpanned, her hands formed fists to avoid shaking. She turned around right after Narcissa grimaced and reached the door, "See you later!"

"Scarlet—" She was gone by the time Narcissa called for her. 

She could not wait to go home to Sirius. Her lover who would comfort her as she cries miserably and tells him what has happened to her. Her lover who would assure her that it is fine to let it all out instead of suffering silently, just like he comforted her the last time it happened—back when he was not even her lover.

BRIDGET HOUSE

      WHEN SCARLET ENTERED HER HOME, the door slammed behind her due to the rough wind a bit too loudly, and she flinched at her own action. She did not bother to take her shoes or robes off as she walked in, and from a bit far, she saw Sirius in the kitchen.

He held a cigarette between his fingers, exhaling the billow of smoke out of the large window of the kitchen. He put it down the moment he heard her shoes clicking against the tiles.

"Hi, love," greeted the girl quietly, her voice shook and he did not answer. It was nearing midnight, and he must have been very tired, "can we talk?" she asked nonetheless the time.

He kept staring at the dim cigarette in his hand in silence.

"Sirius?" She called again, one of her hand clutching onto her other tightly to refrain from shaking, "please, can you—uh, come with me to sit?"

"Can you show me your wrist?" He asked in an eerily calm manner. His words did not hold a strong tone, and yet it knocked the wind out of her lungs. She stumbled over various words, pleading in her mind. Pleading for what? She did not know.

He turned around slowly, starting to take a few steps towards her with squinted eyes. Scarlet could not read his expression. Usually, they are expressive. Or perhaps... she never quite saw that look on his face. 

      Like he was hurt... like he could hurt.

"I—I don't understand, what do you mean?" Her voice became lower and lower when he approached her, hair strands falling out of place, eyes darkening in a manner that shot a dagger through her chest. She stumbled back, body feeling fragile from the horrible night she had endured. "Why?"

Careful, Scarlet. Be very careful — he's angry. Angry people do unpredictable things. 

For the last of better phrasing, Scarlet was terrified. 

She did not need this right now, she needed him to hold her whilst she broke down in a weak, pathetic manner which would not matter because it was Sirius she was with. She needed some peace and softness for a few hours before the universe decided to play yet another cruel card with her life.

Not today, not now, please, not now. Scarlet was strong, however, at that moment, she did not know how much more of the hurt she could bear anymore. At least that night, all she wanted was Sirius' simplicity and his reassurance. For him to notice the marks and bruises on her skin and merely hold her whilst she—

He stepped forward more and more eagerly towards the girl until her back was against the wall, the coldness of it biting against her skin through the smooth fabric of Narcissa's thin shirt. She raised her hand and put her palm softly against his chest—desperately trying to keep some space between them.

She knew this was Sirius, she was safe yet memories from a few hours ago were triggered, and she was shaking again uncontrollably beneath the weight of Sirius' suspicion and incoming hatred. The loss of control, the touches all over her body—she visioned it all over again and before she knew it, she was once again the pathetic soul she tried escaping many times.

However, she has been vulnerable and weak in front of him so many times. There was no universe where he would ever hurt her. Not physically, no. She was safe with Sirius, there was nothing to be afraid of... perhaps, under other circumstances. 

Being brought up in a house like the Bridget's, witnessing Zircon and Celeste Bridget's relationship — it rose doubts and fear that no amount of comfort and assurance could erase. 

She swallowed a lump in her throat, and tried to inhale. Inhale. Exhale, exhale. Exhale. She could not inhale.

Mustering some words, "Sirius, just—step back, a little, please" he pressed her up harshly against the wall until she could not move at all. His hands gripped her biceps and moved down to her wrists next to her hips; they were pinned against the wall, and his broad chest completely leaned against hers. Her wrists were already bruised from being gripped and twisted endlessly from earlier that night, and the mere touch of Sirius' hurt. "Please, I can't—" 'can't breathe, she wanted to say.

Suddenly, he pressed his forehead against hers in a rather sweet manner if context and the dark look in his irises were ignored and squeezed his eyes shut, his grip on her arms tightening as his breathing increased. She could feel every fragment of his body trembling against hers, every part of him aching as he held onto her. He was hurting. He, too, was hurting and Scarlet had been the cause of it.

"Can you just—" he stopped for a moment, and with his eyes still tightly shut and his harsh grip on her arms, he continued again. "Can you just show me?"

His body language contrasted his sweet tone intensely, he held her as though he was praying he was wrong. Begging her to tell him that he concluded the wrong thing.

"Get off–" was what she said, trying to squirm out of his forced hold and breathe. She felt like suffocating, "Please, please."

"Just show me, Scarlet." He stated, voice cracking roughly as he said her name. "Don't make me ask again."

"Let go—" her strong words were caught in her throat. Her cheeks flushed and eyes so teary, she could barely see anything out of the blurriness.

Finally opening his eyes and not sparing her pained expression any momentum glances, he gently tugged at her sleeve, pulling it up to reveal her plain, smooth skin. Scarlet was unable to see his expressions or what he was acting on due to the close proximity of their bodies, he tilted his head away and downwards to take a look. To take a look at the pigment that put her heart to shame—the one thing engraved into her skin which made her feel disgusted about herself.

She still couldn't breathe properly with him having her pressed against the wall that way.

"Please, Sirius, I don't understand," was all she could mutter breathlessly. 

It hurt. It hurt so badly, everything fucking hurt━

There was nothing else she could do except wonder, yeah, please, darling, take a look at the very thing that will make you hate me forever. If she could fight harder, if she were better—perhaps this wouldn't be a dead end. Perhaps it wouldn't come to this. However, she could barely inhale. She couldn't do anything as the best thing that ever happened to her was slipping through between her fingers like water. All she did—standing with Sirius's body pressed against hers—was stare at the fireplace that was in direct viewpoint from her eyesight on the opposite side of the room.

Waiting for it to be over.

Waiting for all of it to be over.

His wand touched the skin over her wrist slightly, and she felt it softly hover over as the concealment charm wears off. 

Then, the painful gasp—the horrifying cry he let out was something she would remember for the rest of her life. A cry that would amplify all her nightmares.

All this time, she was waiting for him to get his hands off of her, however, when he did, she wanted nothing more than for him to touch her skin. To hold her—and she wondered if he would ever hold her again. Whether this was the last time he would ever touch her—whether the last time he does so would be harsh and suffocating and not the sweet, sweet and gentle manner he always pursued.

He let go of her, and she stumbled to her left to clutch onto the dining table until her knuckles went white, and a billow of air finally reached her lungs. She turned around to see him still facing the wall, his white shirt slightly soaked from sweat and his forearms resting flat on the wall.

He swallowed a lump in his throat—Adam's apple bobbing slightly, and then instantly struck his knuckles against the plain white wall. The witch turned away, harshly slamming her palm against her lips to avoid a whimper to escape as the violent resort Sirius took.

With another gasped cry, a lowly grunt leaving his lips, his knees buckled and hit the ground. He had his face held hidden in his palms, and the top of his head was pressed against the wall in a defeated manner. Scarlet did not move as he cried—sobbing miserably as his body rocked back and forth, head hitting the wall over and over again but not too harshly.

His hands trembled in his lap and all she wanted to do was reach over and hold him.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—

She took a careful step forward and whimpered slightly, "I'm so—"

"—No, no," he mumbled under his breath, shaking his head vicariously. "No, please, don't—"

"I'll explain—"

And within a snap of a finger, he vanished. Even with her gaze burning into his figure, she did not see when he flickered his wand and Apparated away.

Then, once again, she was left all alone in a haunting house.

      THE NEXT THING SCARLET KNEW WAS THAT HER FEET GLIDED across the white tiles of her bathroom floor and she threw up in the sink. A churn of disgust was buried deep in her stomach to an expanse where she could not waver it. Her body oscillated until she was clutching the sink once again until her knuckles lost all its blood and turned white, and she threw up again.

      Staring into the mirror felt repulsing. Very desperately, she itched at her own skin, right over her arms and around her hips, trying to get rid of the feeling of every touch. She looked delicate and vastly elegant in Narcissa's soft and thin creamy coloured shirt, looked very put together. 

      Sirius, Sirius, I'm sorry, Sirius. 

      She continued to stare at herself in the mirror.

      Large blue eyes, the eyes that used to hold a strong blaze in them which threatened most with frostbite. Dainty but over the years, she grew muscles in her biceps, knees and around hip bones.

      Surely, she looked normal. Pretty in a way Scarlet Bridget had always been.

      She was a pretty little nothing. Her cheeks were always hollow like all the other Bridgets, but the fire in her eyes dimmed. Dead. The spark that she regarded as most intrinsic to who she was had gone out.

      After so many months, she felt like she was she staring at the reflection of her mother.

      A living, vibrant, beautiful corpse dressed up in expensive dresses, diamond tiaras and pearl earrings.

      Pretty in a Celeste Bridget had always been. The initial fire in her eyes covered in heavy snow.

      She just wanted all of this to be over. She wanted to forget. Clutching the sink as tightly as she could until her knuckles turned pale again, she gasped in pain. A sharp electricity shooting through the veins of her heart.

      She wanted to forget what had happened to her in the sixth year. She wanted to forget about this night. All the mortifying deaths she had caused when she was under those trances as a sixteen-year-old girl and the uttermost hurt she brought to those families, she wanted to forget.

      Looking sharply into the reflection of her cobalt eyes, her gaze narrowed. Her fingers wrapped around her sharp wand and she pointed it directly in the mirror. Onto herself, right on her forehead.

"Obliviate."

It was a far-stretched hopeful action. And it did not work. Why is it not working?

"OBLIVIATE!"

      She screamed, and screamed again when it did not work. Her cries turned to choked sobs, and sobs turned to pathetic pleading. 

"Obliviate—obliviate!" Her heart was aching, and her throat felt as though it was being ripped apart when she yelled the spell over and over again. So loudly, she could feel the ground beneath her shaking. "FUCK!"

"Please, please," she looked down, tightly holding the sink once again as tears rapidly fell down her cheekbones. I don't want to remember. I don't want to be the one who remembers. I want to forget. Her thoughts were a lethal weapon made to destroy her.

      Fire blazing in her guts, her knuckles connected with the mirror in front of her as she imagined the reflection to be herself, and punched it over and over again until it split into many more of her own reflections. For once, the mirror never lied. It was as much in pieces as she was—and that was the truth. Not the image of a porcelain doll that would stare back at her, perfectly put together every time she would look into this very same mirror.

      She ignored the way she drew blood, knuckles split and crimson liquid dripping all over the broken mirror and the white sink. 

      I'm sorry.

      WATER DROPLETS DROPPED FROM THE SKY at a slow rate, it was not too heavy to hurt one's skin but it was still easily felt. Scarlet never liked the rain, especially when it surprised her on a random spring day. 

      Her back was leaned against the side of the head-stone, and her fingers wrapped around a bottle of wine lazily as she drank. Rain drops hit her face repeatedly and all she wanted, at that very moment, was for her own body to be covered under the grave. With her mother, in her arms as she muttered sweet things to her.

      At the moment, however, Celeste could not even realise the presence of her daughter as the girl hurt and hurt, a rotten heart beating in her ribcage. Scarlet could not help but often wish her bones too laid with her mother under this rain. Free of the acknowledgement of the guilt and never-ending pain, free from the world. In peace.

      Suddenly, a hooded figure appeared right by Celeste Bridget's gravestone. There was no indication of danger but the tall figure in black approached, and a source of light fell upon her structured cheekbones. 

      What the hell was she doing here?

"You're not going to say anything judgemental?" Scarlet blurted out, chin pointed up. The blonde's hair currently looked like a nest, with her robes scrunched up, knuckles bloody as her hands gripped the wine bottle tightly, bruises littering her neck. 

"I shall not judge you for how you choose to mourn, Scarlet," the venomous tone never really faded away from Walburga Black's soul.

"What are you doing here?"

      Walburga did not answer, but her eyes glanced down onto the grave where a bouquet of dead flowers laid. She picked up the dead flowers and replaced them with a brand new, colourful bundle. Oh, so she has been the one to leave flowers at Celeste's grave whilst Scarlet did not visit once, trying to distract her heart and not wanting to face any of this.

      Scarlet felt a little more remorseful that she only chose to visit Celeste's grave only now that she was crestfallen, not bothering sooner when she got that position at the Ministry or decided to move in with Sirius, or all the other joyous times.

      She winched when she thought of Sirius and gulped down another sip of the drink in her hand.

"It's peculiar," Scarlet's drunk and hazy mind slurred out.

"What is?" Black's monotone spoke.

"How you don't hate me," said the girl. "For that night."

"You're the one who gave my son the courage to run away," Walburga stated clearly. "You're the one who took him away from our house and I cannot help but resent you for it. That is all true."

      Scarlet's breath hitched. The world was tough enough already without not just one, but three Blacks loathing your presence.

"But you're also the girl who grew up before my eyes. Our families spent so many hours over breakfasts and tea. It was your mother who stayed by my side whenever Sirius' mischief made the front page, or whenever trouble struck me. When Sirius was 11, we could not pass by any flower-shop without him insisting to buy white roses for you. Orion starved him for his stubbornness and yet he never gave up. Somehow, both my sons loved you, and somehow, I started to care for you too."

     Scarlet could not help but allow a shard of tear to escape her eyes. Suddenly, the entire idea of Walburga Black telling her how much she cares after all the horror she has caused made Scarlet laugh. It was more like a breathy cackle she could not suppress. She threw her head back until it hit the side of the headstone again, laughing uncontrollably as the rain hit her face.

      The older woman grimaced and decided to ignore her mad behaviour. She continued to talk in a neutral tone whilst the girl on the ground sat and drank.

"Truthfully, I would ask for you to come and stay with us. I understand Malfoy Manor would be your destination but I would still ask, just in case. But I know you are in good hands. He'll always love you."

      Scarlet's head shot upwards, her chin raised and wide eyes met with storm-grey ones. Merlin, she knew. Walburga knew about her and Sirius. Of course she knew, for fuck's sake! A mother always knows, Scarlet believed that now.

"Celeste was always concerned that you may end up alone, and she repeatedly left me hints between conversations to make sure you have people by your side. But I know you're not living alone, and that is why I have not asked you to come live with us," the woman told her. "No one will know about you two, I'll make sure of it."

      If that was one thing Walburga could do for the happiness of her son, then so be it. Sirius and Scarlet had enough going on. They did not need another scandal where the pure blood community made a big deal out of the Bridget heiress being courted by a "blood traitor".

      It was strange to think Celeste would leave Walburga responsible for Scarlet's well-being, then again, it was her who was the Bridgets' neighbour and friend for many years. She knew Scarlet, and she knew her enough to know about her secrets.

"Good hands?" Scarlet repeated her aforementioned words with a tiny, soft smile, "Careful, Mrs Black, some may surmise you still hold motherly pride for him."

"My son may be a rebellious, reckless fool but he loves with all his heart, Scarlet," Walburga told her. Sirius loved her with all his heart, and she ruined it. Scarlet ruined it. "As long as you have him, I do not need to worry about your well-being, I know he cares for you. Honestly, I do not worry about him either knowing you're there for him."

      Something about the way Mrs Black talked sent a pang through Scarlet's heart. Walburga could not even bring herself to say Sirius' name but she repeatedly referred to him as her son.

"Do you regret it? Not reaching out to him and shunning him?" Scarlet asked and watched Walburga taking a deep inhale, chin rising with a pointed look.

      Being exiled must have been horrible for him despite the relief. It is like being slapped in the face by your mother, only this is not physical and yet your soul burns away. Scarlet saw what it did to Sirius. Even now, his family is off-limits—icy-glares that he would shoot whenever anybody but him spoke ill of the Blacks. These habits take long, sometimes forevermore, to die.

"I think if I ever see him again, I would ask him to return." The woman answered. Perhaps the haze of the night sprawled her emotions all over the place, or perhaps... She was heartbroken. Walburga Black was heartbroken.

"Is that because he was your heir?"

"It's because he is my son," she replied.

      Is.

      She said is, and not was. Oh, a mother's love and its unexplainable magic and tepid unpredictability.

Voice sleek and cold and lacking any sort of sorrow. Her words contrasted her quality of saying them. "But do not tell him that, Scarlet. It is a foul thing to feel pulled into your past when you have already left it behind."

      Scarlet nodded, and just to anger the older woman a bit more for the sake of it, she took a sip of her drink.

"Now, stand up. Proper ladies do not drink by their mother's grave at mere sunrise." Walburga scolded, and Scarlet let out a small chuckle. Of course, the woman could not hold it any longer. But she held in her pristine scolds and stayed calm long enough to surprise the younger.

      Scarlet is drunk, of course, even her sharp mind cannot push away the effects of alcohol. When she lazily stood up, almost falling back from the dizziness, she turned to the woman, "Have fun with your best friend."

      Brushing off the dust from her robes, she seized the bottle of wine tightly and started to brush past Walburga's still and straight frame. She stumbled a little, and when she passed the woman, her voice said something peculiar.

"It was poison."

Scarlet turned around, eyes boring on Walburga's back. "What?"

"Celeste told me to tell you this. I could not bring myself to do so — you're just a girl, Scarlet. How could I tell you such a thing?" Walburga was most likely wondering about it to herself due to the way she spoke, voice neutral and flat, a little concerned.

"Tell me." Curiously, Scarlet asked. Her eyelids were falling shut and yet she stood there, Walburga did not turn around to look at her and instead stared at Celeste's headstone.

"You once accused your mother of killing your father. You were not incorrect, Scarlet." Walburga stated, and Scarlet felt the wind knocking out of her lungs. "It was not some grand plan or wicked magic. It was poison. Zircon was ill and Celeste snuck poison into his medicine."

"Oh."

Walburga chuckled softly. "I do not know how much you remember. The first time Zircon threw something at your head and hurt you, Celeste warned him. At least, she warned him — he should have seen it coming," as it seems, Celeste and Walburga talked a lot. Deepest, darkest secrets. She knew so much. "Zircon was a stupid man. The next time he hit you, Celeste killed him."

      Truthfully, Scarlet did not remember the second time Zircon raised his hand on her. She never thought about it, or felt hurt at the memories. Scarlet never really found out how she could have forgotten such a thing. Could Celeste have obliviated her? Surely, her mother would never do such a thing. Right?

"When you first suspected it, you called her a monster," Walburga stated. Merlin, did Celeste tell Walburga everything? What the actual fuck? "I doubt you will still think of her as monstrous now that you've grown, now that you know everything and understand to a greater extent."

Scarlet shook her head, "I know my mother was anything but a monster. I made mistakes, Mrs Black, I regret them."

"Not all of us mothers were courageous like her when it came to our children's safety. Do not let everything Celeste has done go to waste." Walburga sternly stated, still staring at the grave as her voice grew stronger by seconds.

Scarlet nodded even though the woman was not looking. "Goodnight, Mrs Black."

"Goodnight, dear," her voice was almost inaudible, lost in the thick, foggy air.

      Scarlet did not go back to Bridget House. How could she? When the soul that gave the place life was no longer there, Scarlet did not know that that was a home she would step into again without Sirius. She spent the next few nights drinking herself to sorrow until she could not recognise herself in the mirror and renting dusty, old motels for the nights.

      Out of all the good things she ruined, this was by far the worst.

𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑨 𝑺𝑷𝑬𝑨𝑲𝑺

oof, writing this hurt.

also, a reminder: I do not publish
new chapters unless i get enough
comments on the recently posted
chapter. this is to ensure my 
motivation (which I'm thoroughly 
lacking atm), comments mean a 
lot more to me than votes, even 
one or two!!

and i wrote this on the bus so

it's extra sad