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Leafwood
Author of 4 Stories |
Disclaimer: Nope, don’t own HP, and I got the name Gylfie from Kathryn Lasky’s Guardians of Ga’Hoole. But Isabella is mine, and always shall be.
This is a story I thought up while I was writing To Trust Again. I hate writing two stories at once, but I had to get this plot bunny out before it killed me. This story will not be updated very quickly, as TTA is going to be my main focus. But it WILL be updated.
It takes place during OotP, from my OC’s PoV, and it follows the book in some places, but it’s mostly an AU fic.
Isabella is such a sweetheart…she’s so much fun to write! Ah…OC’s. They warm your heart.
And so, I give you, the first chapter. Enjoy.
-Chapter 1-
She shifted slightly, body screaming in protest. She heard nothing except the beating of her heart in her ears. Her wrist throbbed; it was either broken or badly sprained. Her leg was one big knot of pain that flared up whenever she made the slightest motion. Her ribs ached when she breathed and she could never get enough oxygen into her lungs, which burned and made her cough up blood every so often.
She had to get help. She had been enduring this for too long. But help from who? There was no one willing to take her in, a severely injured, abused teenager. But she had to find someone, before her cousin went too far.
She could write to him. He was, after all, the one who had gotten her into this mess. But he had abandoned her. He hated her, hated who she reminded him of. That’s why he had given her away. But surely, if he had known just what type of person his cousin was, he wouldn’t have left her with him. Would he? Or had he known – and just didn’t care? Did he hate her that much?
But…she had no choice. She had to write to him – to beg, plead – that he get her out. After all…he was her father.
She reached out her good arm, ignoring the pain that shot through her body, and scrabbled around on the table beside her bed – if you could call it a bed – for a piece of parchment and a quill and some ink. After a bit of hunting, she finally found the supplies, and forced herself into a position suitable for writing.
She lowered the quill point to the parchment – and paused. She didn’t know what to write. Something that would get his attention. Something that would send him over here immediately. Finally, after much thought, she wrote:
Please…you have to get me out of here. I can’t take this anymore. It’s…I’m going to go crazy I just know it. Please…help me. I know that you don’t (here she wrote down some words, muttered angrily, scribbled them out, and after a few moments, continued writing)…I know that when we separated, it wasn’t one of the best days ever (God, that was the understatement of the year. She had had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, into the car that would take her to her new home) and I know that you hate me…but (at this moment, a drop of blood dropped onto the parchment and she tried to wipe it away, but it smeared. Panicky, she scribbled eight more words at the bottom of the parchment, her breath quickening)
OH GOD, I’M GOING TO DIE!!! HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (she calmed down a bit, but noticed that more blood had dropped onto the parchment, crimson red against fading yellow. Well, maybe it would bring him all the faster.)
-Isabella
Slowly, painfully, she awkwardly folded up the letter and stuck it into an envelope, labeling the front of it. She gave a small whistle, and with a rustle of wings, a small barn owl swooped down and lighted.
“Here, Gylfie,” she whispered, coughing a bit. “Take this to…you know.” Gylfie bobbed her brown head and took off, soaring up and out through the window, which had been broken a while ago and never fixed.
Isabella collapsed back onto her bed and closed her eyes. Now all she had to do was wait. And pray that he wasn’t as heartless as he had been when her mother died.
Of course, the fact that an evil megalomaniac wizard bent on ruling the world had returned put a slight damper on things. Oh, and the fact that he would have to attend meetings at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, which turned out to be his worst enemy’s house.
Scratch that. He wasn’t looking forward to the summer at all.
“Severus?” a familiar voice called from outside his office.
“Albus? Come in,” Severus called, slightly puzzled. Why was Dumbledore paying him a visit? He had already told the man everything that had happened at the Dark Lord’s little welcoming-home party.
The door opened and the silver-haired Hogwarts Headmaster came walking in. Severus sat up a little straighter. Albus didn’t look particularly happy. In fact, by the way his blue eyes were almost as hard and cold as Severus’ own; the Potions Master could safely say that Albus Dumbledore was pissed off.
“Severus,” Albus said in a tone of voice that said he meant business, “we need to have a little talk.”
Damn. He was really not looking forward to this summer.
The music grew in pitch and tempo, only to slow down again a few seconds later. The woman sighed again. “Poor girl. No wonder she’s such a good player, there’s nothing else for her to do! Damn my husband and my blasted cousin!”
The song continued its soft-loud, slow-fast tune until it just stopped abruptly, as if the pianist had either forgotten or was missing the rest of the piece. The woman knew better, however. “Poor girl,” she repeated. “You poor, poor child.”
Silence fell over the house thickly, blotting out the remaining residue of music in the air. The woman shook her head sadly, and continued with her work.
Isabella had been eight years old at the time.
She jerked awake, panting and coughing. At first, she wasn’t sure what had woken her. She looked around groggily. There was no sign of Gylfie anywhere. She hadn’t really expected her to be. She had been stupid to send that letter. Why would her father come now, when he hadn’t before? Foolish. A foolish hope that only a foolish fool would foolishly think would work.
Her leg killed. So did her ribs, her chest, her lungs, her wrist…everything. She felt feverish and hot, and could barely recall where she was or even who she was.
The doorbell rang, and she realized that that was what had woken her up. She strained to listen as she heard footsteps hurrying toward the door, a pause as the door was opened, and then an earth-shattering scream. Another pause, more footsteps came running, and then a voice bellowed out:
“YOU!!!!!”
Isabella perked up her ears, but she couldn’t hear anything except a low murmur in response. Then her cousin – he had been the one who had bellowed – cursed, and she covered her ears, for Leonard had always been loud.
“YOU DARE COME WALTZING IN HERE!” her cousin roared. Again, a soft murmur that Isabella could barely make out as an incantation, and the sound of Leonard’s body hitting the floor.
A wizard, then. Could it possibly be…? No, no. It was impossible. He hated her.
More talking below, done by the wizard and Leonard’s wife, who was a nice woman, but timid. Why she was Leonard’s wife was beyond Isabella.
Isabella’s breath caught as the sound of Rachel’s footsteps and the wizard’s sounded. Was it her imagination, or were they coming closer?
“I hate you for what you did to her,” Rachel’s voice sounded from right behind Isabella’s door. Isabella heard the sound of a key ring jingling. Probably snatched from Leonard’s belt. “You didn’t just break her heart, you shattered it into dust. And I would like to say that I’m proud – and glad – that you came back, but I’m not. You should never have done it in the first place, and now, you’re too late. Five years too late.”
Oh, God. It was her father! Isabella didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. But she couldn’t do anything except stare at the door and wait for it to open. What a sight for her father to see…herself, curled up on a blood-stained mattress, malnourished, with every breath sounding like dead leaves rattling around in her chest.
The lock slid back and Rachel spoke once more. “I just hope,” she said, as she turned the doorknob, “that she’ll be able to forgive you, because I know I never will.” And she flung the door open.
Light flooded into the room and Isabella flung her arm up to shade her eyes. It turned out to be the worst thing to do, because in her fevered state she had forgotten that she had been lying on the edge of the bed, right next to her bedside table, and when she flung her arm up, which happened to be the one with the broken wrist, she cracked it against the edge of the table. Hard.
Pain exploded up her arm, shooting down from her wrist, blinding her. Pain that felt like someone was holding a white-hot poker to her skin. It built up until Isabella vaguely wondered why she wasn’t screaming with it, and then she realized she was screaming and her lungs burned, and she coughed. She coughed and coughed, and blood stained the mattress, and she fell into darkness.
And in the doorway next to his cousin’s wife, with an uncharacteristic look of shock written all over his face as he stared at the person on the bed, who was his daughter, stood Severus Snape.
The next chapter of TTA will be up soon. I’m thinking Saturday or Sunday.
2nd chapter will be up after TTA, so maybe next week or around there.
Please review and tell me what you think.
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