Liar, Liar

13: The Room and The Spell

I had thought my professor was going to kiss me. I thought he was going to close the short distance between us with those long strides of his and kiss my bitten lips.

And just like that, he had made me feel like an insolent little girl, foolish, ridiculous. I didn't bother to clean my lip off with the tissue he had given me. I just ran. I had detention in a few nights, and class tomorrow. I had to see him tomorrow. I would never live this down.

I ran from my class, ran through the hallways, ignoring the jeering of the portraits. I ran to Merlin-knows-where, just wanting an escape from everything. Just wanting to get the hell out. Why had he defended me like that in front of Malfoy seconds after he had called me a fool for letting my thoughts run wild.

Seconds after saying I was a disturbance.

I was going to throw up, I knew it. I wanted to see Riss- but I could never tell her that her teasing about Snape had been true, that I, like an idiot, had fallen for my professor, and couldn't even keep it a secret from him. Who else could I break down in front of- to reveal the ache in my heart, the pure representation of my stupidity.

Passing stairs, classrooms I'd never visited, I ran. As if I was going to make it away from this castle, as if I could outrun the heartache.

Finally, my worn shoes skidded on the ground as I almost hit a wall- a wall that had appeared out of nowhere. However, as I tripped, ready to face a certain faceplant, I passed through the wall. A chill flitted through my body- and then, silence.

I stopped to take in my surroundings. A room- full of things. Every imaginable thing ever was there. That was the only way I could begin to describe it. It was an expanse of cluttered area- it took my breath away, yet made me feel incredibly claustrophobic. Stuff- that was the only way I could begin to explain what I was looking at. From dusty robes to an entire dining set, the room looked like a never ending attic.

At least I was alone.

I took a moment to collect my thoughts, which was kind of hard, considering my surroundings. I stepped over a fur rug littered with fragments of what was most likely an old and broken china set.

My curiosity got the best of me, and I set off to explore the room, all thoughts of Snape flung far from my mind. I felt like I was treasure hunting, but the treasure? Unknown.

Chandeliers hung from the mirrored ceiling, which only added to the illusion of the room being as infinite as it was stuffed with items, both old and new.

A sapphire set on a crown of Goblin's gold caught my attention. It was sitting on a tall coat hanger, carelessly tossed amongst some hats and a fur coat, which smelled suspiciously alive.

However, it wasn't another bejeweled item that caught my attention. It was a cry. A cry of pain, coming from nearby. I shuffled through the trunks and blankets sprawled across the floor. I nearly tripped over a taxidermized fox, which startled me. I made my way to a gigantic cabinet, which took up a significant amount of space in the room, and touched the ceiling.

A burning on my right arm made me jump. A fire started from my wrist, spreading to my forearm. He was calling. No, he was near. Sucking in my cheeks, I made my way toward the Victorian cabinet, where the cry became louder. My mark burned hotter, and I nearly believed it was about to burn through my robes in its struggle to be noticed.

Finally, I found the source of the crying.

In a disgusting heap of misery, my ex-lover, traitor, and blonde piece of shit, Draco Malfoy wept on the floor.

I cleared my throat, not wanting him to think I cared whatsoever about what ailed him, but I knew he felt the burn of the mark.

He whipped around, standing in a flurry, pointing his want directly at my jugular.

"Zelle," he snarled. "Sectums-" he started.

"I know you feel it too- Protego! I cried, deflecting his painful spell. "For God's sake, Malfoy."

I hated the boy, but what could I do. He was crying on the floor for God's sake. And he was feeling it too, that I knew.

"I know you felt the burn of the mark, Malfoy."

"It's my mission, not yours," Draco spat at me.

"I have absolutely no clue what you're talking about," I said honestly.

"It's because he doesn't tell you anything," Malfoy laughed through his tears, which I inconveniently found funny. Malfoy in tears?

"You're laughing?" Malfoy rose to his feet, thrusting his wand at me once more.

I pulled my wand out just as fats. "Watch it, Malfoy," I whispered.

"Oh, why? Your precious professor isn't here to save you now," he cackled.

"Malfoy-"

This time, I was not ready. His words had caught me off guard, hitting exactly where he knew they would hurt. I let my guard down.

"Sectumsempra!" he cried.

The taste of metal. Copper. It was in my nose, it was on my face. I was inhaling it, I was feeling it. The heat, the white hot pain. It was excruciating and it ripped through me, scissors to the flesh, unforgiving was the blade that his spell had summoned.

I fell, feeling my knees thud to the ground as if I was in another body. Was I floating up, was I dead? I hope I'm dying. If death is after, then death is bliss, then death is release. Release from his spell. And Malfoy's. When pain is summoned, it takes you whole. I begged for release, watching my legs sprawl to the side. I was floating, I was submerged. Was I in the Black Lake? It would be a nice place to die...

Footsteps. I was being lifted from the Black Lake, I begged my savior to let me back, to let me float. I was picked up, bridal style, my legs dangling out of someone's strong arms. I felt those arms re-adjust their grip on me, holding me closer. Mumbling a spell under their breath, cursing.

How could I explain that everything was already messed up? I wished they would set me back down. More mumbling, my head started to ring. How could I explain to them that they should set me back down. Perhaps Malfoy was right...

My savior's voice was smooth silk, wrapping me up. I was warm, I was enveloped in heat. Hands fixed my pleated skirt. Another smoothed my hair back. I was confused.

Why fix my hair? Perhaps my savior was to place me in my grave. My head lolled back.

A cool hand touched my forehead, and traveled down to my jugular. Feeling my pulse. I froze. Even in death, I knew that hand. The hands that had picked me up. I knew the hands of my savior.

The hands that had crushed my heart were now mending my skin, piecing me back together, flesh and bone.

A/N: thank you all for the reads :) every save and vote keeps me going.