breathe, keep breathing || lucy & sévérine

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breathe, keep breathing || lucy & sévérine

Post by thegirlnamedcrow on Thu Feb 05, 2015 5:58 pm

      As Sévérine made the long journey back to her dormitory, she did not cry. She drifted ghostlike through the halls and down the stairs with Lily’s words echoing in her ears, but though her eyes burned, her face remained dry.
      I’m not interested.
      It was all over. One hateful, unforgivable word had tumbled unbidden off her tongue, and now it was all over. Years of pretending to be a stronger person than she was, of trying to become that stronger person, had not been enough. Sévérine had showed her true colours, and Lily had finally been unable to continue denying the truth: that she was a bad person, a freak, a mistake, unworthy of love, unworthy of friendship, and certainly unworthy of her.
      Save your breath.
      She would not cry.
      Sévérine hardly noticed her surroundings as her feet automatically led her back towards the dungeon, so lost in her thoughts was she. Though she desperately wished to think of anything else, as if her own mind was set on torturing her, she kept replaying the events of the afternoon in her head, over and over again.
      She should have been able to fend Potter and his cronies off alone. But as always, she had been too weak – too weak to fight off her tormenters, too weak to send Lily away, too weak to stop from giving into temper and lashing out at the only friend she had.
      She was pathetic. It was little wonder that Lily wanted nothing to do with her.
      You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine.
      But couldn’t she see? Sévérine chose her; her place was at Lily’s side and always had been, ever since that first day on the playground. It didn’t matter that Lily was too good for her; she would have spent the rest of her life trying to become a person Lily could be proud to call her friend, if given the chance. It didn’t matter that Lily would never love her the way she wanted. Her presence in Sévérine’s life, her friendship, her laughs and her smiles were like the sun, warm and nurturing and an absolute necessity of life. Lily could marry Potter, for all Sévérine cared, could devote the rest of her life to him, so long as there was a place in that life for her.
      At the thought of Lily and Potter together, of that unworthy toerag waltzing in and simply taking all that she had worked so hard to earn, Sévérine suddenly felt intensely ill and had to take a moment to slump against the wall, resting her head against cold stone and all but choking on air. For several moments she was almost hysterical, gasping air into her aching lungs. Her eyes burned hotter than ever, but she forced the tears back, forced herself to get a grip.
      She would not cry.
      When she finally managed to get her breathing back under control, she pushed herself back into a standing position and forced herself to keep walking, though by now she felt more dead than alive, slumped under the weight of her despair.
      It was all over.
      After what felt like an eternity, she finally arrived at the dungeon. She spat the password out at the stone wall, disgusted with her house and all that it represented. Perhaps if she had chosen Ravenclaw, as the Sorting Hat had suggested to her, none of this would have happened.
      But it was useless to entertain those sorts of thoughts. It had happened, and the sooner she could accept that fact, the better.
      She sped through the common room, brushing off the questioning gazes of her fellow Slytherins. She had no time for them, no energy to entertain their curiosity. She needed to be alone.
      Her bed. She needed to get back to her bed, to wrap herself up in her blankets and simply disappear.
      It was too much to hope that she would be able to escape this waking nightmare into the world of dreams. Besides, there was no way her unconscious mind would be so kind as to reward her with comforting visions, even if she did manage to fall asleep.
      She entered her dormitory, taking in the room that had, for the past five years, been her home. She couldn’t help but reflect that it did not particularly feel like home anymore.
      She wondered if anything would ever feel like home again.
      Caught up in her observations as she had been, it took a moment for her to notice that she wasnot alone in the room.
      Lucy Weasley sat on the bed opposite hers, a look of concern twisting her pretty features. The sight of her filled Sévérine with a sudden intense fury. How dare she intrude upon her grief with her misplaced pity? How dare she involve herself at all?
–– “What the hell are you looking at?” she all but snarled, glaring at her classmate through a curtain of inky hair. She didn’t have to say anything more; her wild eyes, red-rimmed with unshed tears, would tell Lucy all that she needed to know.
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Re: breathe, keep breathing || lucy & sévérine

Post by lindarkness on Thu Feb 05, 2015 6:00 pm

  Other people were a precarious matter, and Lucy knew that very well. Like a hot, steaming potion, the smallest shake could make for dangerous, sometimes even deadly consequences. It was only when you knew how to treat them, if you took the right steps, at the right time, if you were as careful as could be, that you were able to get something useful from them, make them react pleasantly to your presence.
   In times like these, especially, the girl had to be cautious as not to threaten the balance between her and them that she had worked so hard to establish.
   War was brewing outside the walls of Hogwarts, growing darker, and more dangerous with the moment. The school had promised a safe haven for its students, but every single person in Slytherin house, whether they were choosing to involve themselves in the conflict or not, was aware that the war did not end on school grounds - not in spirit.
   There was violence on their minds, and it was twisting them.
   For Lucy, this meant that she was more often than not to go against her natural inclination of putting herself in the center of attention, talking about herself, or even interacting with people at all. A precaution such as this might seem like quite the overreaction, but it had turned out a very reasonable course of action for the girl. You could say that her paranoia had overruled her extroversion.
   It was a sacrifice, of course, and weighed on her for every day she followed by its rules. This lack of socialization was often terribly straining to her, but it was necessary.  Yes, it required her energy, yes she would have a lot to gain by implying certain things to certain people, and yes, there were times when her self-imposed loneliness made her completely miserable - but it was worth it, all of it.
  There was too much at risk if she stepped out of line.
   The girl had spent her entire afternoon hidden in a quiet corner of the library, doing her homework, working on an essay, and devoting some time to study. It was to make sure she was as efficient as possible that she was there. These sessions had quickly become part of her daily routine, and often occupied the majority of her day, if only to provide a solid excuse for her to keep out of the social battlefield.
   When she had finally brought herself to leave the safety of the library, she had headed directly to the dungeons, calmly keeping her head up along the way, as it had been too cold to sit outside, by the lake. She did not mind any of the looks she received when she entered - no, she kept it as always.
   The others were used to her odd manner in either case. It was nothing unusual to them. Lucy would walk down, late in the afternoon, flash a smile into the common room, and go on to spend the rest of the day in her dorm, reading a book, writing a letter, or just… lingering.
   And so it was that she had, after a long day, sat down on her bed, and carefully brushed her hair. The repeated motion, as well as the illusion of security that her bedpost gave her, soothed her nerves, and eased her breath . It was odd how such simple things could comfort her like that, she thought. Time flowed, then.
   In fact, it was just when she had finished tying her hair into a neat ponytail as one of her room mates barged through the door.
   Sévérine Snape was a pale, scrawny, plain-looking, little thing with no sense of proper attire. Usually, she mused, she was not as focused on looks when it came to other girls, and most faults in their appearances she overlooked with ease. In Sévérine’s case, however, they bothered her because they were just so damn fixable.
   She could make such a pretty girl if only she would take some good care of herself.
   First of all, there was the issue of her skin for just looking at it made her internally cringe. There were large red areas that just seemed incredibly itchy, and uncomfortable to wear, and her whole body was covered with a thin film of grease - the same kind that filled her hair, and she wasn’t even touching on that issue.
  She strongly suspected that if she were to push it back, it would reveal a whole mountain of spots and pimples on her forehead. Sévérine didn’t take care of her skin at all. If only she would wash her face, at least, with more than just water, the problem would take care of itself, surely.
   The girl had other, more worrying flaws, however, that made her quite doubt the state of her health. Even though Sévérine at least tried to conceal that one with baggy, boyish clothes, and bad posture, everyone could still see that she was skinny as a twig, made of nothing but skin and bones. Did the girl not eat?
   Yet, at this very moment none of this mattered.
   There was tension in the air, a heavy, hot steam that the girl had brought with her. Sévérine , for all sake’s and purposes, looked absolutely devastated, and you did not need a genius to figure that one out. Her eyes were red from tears, as was her throat, and a great part of her face. Anger, sadness, and despair lingered in her expression, as Sévérine  let herself fall on to the bed in front of her.
   Lucy leaned forward, symbolically reaching out to her dorm mate, as her features instinctively adapted the signs of appropriate concern. Internally, however, she wondered just what could have happened to the girl that could have made her cry like that, and what could have beaten her down to the point where she would allow her to see her in that state.
   Now, despite the fact that they had since they were both eleven years old, shared a room, and had thus, basically grown up together, Lucy did not actually know the other girl very well. In part, of course, this was her own fault.
  Her parents had lectured her on the importance of keeping their secret, about keeping her sister away from harm. On top of that, the little girl had at first been so frightened to have been sorted into Slytherin that she did not dare speak to anyone there, and even as she grew up, she had always kept a quiet attire around the others, and avoided most conversations, except for the most crucial.
   And yet, it was likely that she knew more of any other Slytherin in her year than she did of Snape, with only having spent much time in the common room every once in a while.
   Most people had a natural urge to express themselves to the world, and receive at least some amount of attention from other people - these were urges that she herself struggled to suppress day to day. It came forward at every moment of their existence. People talked, they moved a certain way, they indicated their mood, and their opinions with gestures and expressions.
  That way she knew Mulciber’s Muggleborn aunt through marriage was the reason why his cat didn’t have a tail anymore, as well as the reason why he was all into the pureblood thing nowadays. Hecate was full-set on traveling to Russia, as soon as she finished Hogwarts, to find some sort of lost fortune. Crouch had massive daddy issues. And Douglas… Well she assumed he was obsessed with his own genitalia since he drew it on literally every surface he owned.
   But Snape? What did she know of her?
   She did not seem to like her very much, for once. She had never smiled at her - not even briefly. The few times she had attempted to talk to her, or even reply to something she had said, the girl had shot her down almost immediately. Even a greeting, it seemed, was too much to ask of her, as the most she would give was a low grumble, or an irritated huff into her direction.
   But maybe this was simply part of her natural attire.
   It was feasible, at least, that this level of antisocial behaviour was completely normal for her, and directed toward everyone. After all, Sévérine Snape was just as closed off as she was, although most likely for different reasons, and seemed to be quite the introvert, or sometimes even directly opposed to social interaction.
   So far, she had known her dorm mate to be as grouchy as all hells, always walking around with a bitter frown, or a sour expressions, and glaring at any one who might approach her. Occasionally, she would snark at something that was being said by someone around her, or call someone an idiot, but otherwise, she didn’t really involve herself.
   And sure, she wasn’t a social butterfly herself, and only saw glimpse’s of the other girl’s life, but what she had seen, she thought, had pointed her into the right direction.
  A sharp, hissing sound interrupted her thoughts, as the girl spat the words at her, rejecting her offer of help, before giving her enough time to make it in the first place. Sévérine’s eyes were tense, and burning red, as though she was only barely managing to keep the tears at bay. And although Lucy had already half expected it, the anger and hostility in her voice still surprised her - yet it did not sway her.
   What was she looking at?
   With no knowledge of background or history, the creature in front of her seemed almost pitiful. With her hands shaking, her hair all over her face, her face red and puffy, her voice hoarse from crying, she looked weak - vulnerable. It was a startling contrast to her usual tough, cold exterior. Did she have a choice in presenting herself to her like that? Her entire person seemed so fragile now, like it would take only a little shake for her to break down into tears now.
   A cruel, twisted part within her wanted to push her to that.
   As quickly as the desire had sparked, she pushed it back again. Appearances would not fool her now - no matter how hurt, how harmless she seemed now, Lucy knew that she had to tread softly when it came to the other girl for she did not want her as an enemy.
   Snape did not need to tell her anything of her personal convictions for her to know that she was dangerous - actions spoke louder than words, at any turn. In this case, the girls actions had proven to be troubling to say the least. Even the greatest fool could not ignore the warning signs - how she kept hanging around with folks like Mulciber, and Avery, some of the greatest bloody psychos in their year, and her… interest in the Dark Arts.
    No, she wasn’t going to risk anything with Snape.
    She softened her features some more now, to look her in the eye. It was a gesture of peace, of comfort, made to ease her anxiety, but most especially her anger. Lucy would rather have her be nervous, than angry at her, but even then, she knew that in the best case, the other girl was to be made comfortable in her presence.
   ”Shhh…”, she soothed, and gave her a tiny smile, meant to comfort, meant to say ‘you’re safe with me’, “Take it easy, dear”
   She had to be friendly now, had to be someone she would like to be around in times of trouble, and so she had to prove herself to be just that. Her eyes were warm, yet concerned. Her demeanous was soft, yet steady. Her voice was quiet, soft, just a notch above a whisper, but yet, clear enough to understand. Everything about Lucy now was as gentle as could be; it was her essence.
   ”Is there anything I can do to help you?”
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Re: breathe, keep breathing || lucy & sévérine

Post by thegirlnamedcrow on Thu Feb 05, 2015 6:38 pm

–– “Go fuck yourself.”
      The words were out of her mouth before she’d had a chance to consider what she was saying. It didn’t really matter; with more consideration, she perhaps could have come up with a more coherent response, but the message would have been the same.
      Besides. In her current state, that was probably the best she could do.
      She really should have just left it at that, but her emotions were rising to the surface now, and it was easier for her to unleash her anger upon this innocent bystander than to face the depths of her own despair.
–– “don’t know what you think you’re doing, but please, stop it. I’m not some pathetic little girl who needs her hand held, and I want none of your pity. Go impose your presence on someone else; I want nothing to do with you.”
      She was really spitting fire now. Lashing out at the Weasley girl was making her feel better, at least for the moment, and so she kept at it. “Where the hell is this coming from? You and I have barely talked since we landed in this infernal place, and now suddenly care about what’s happening to me? Well, piss off, Weasley. I don’t need you, I don’t – ”

      And then Sévérine burst into tears.
      The sobs did not start softly before building; instead, they burst from her at full force, torn from her lungs with such violence that for a moment Sévérine was sure that she would be utterly destroyed. After a moment, the storm calmed enough for her to breathe in, ragged inhales that rasped against her raw throat.
      She all but forgot that there was somebody in the room with her as misery completely overwhelmed her, wringing painful sobs out of her chest and reducing her to a shaking heap of self-hatred. Her shoulders heaved with the strength of her emotion. Her hands shook. In an attempt to ground herself, Sévérine sank onto her bed, curling her legs up and tucking her head between her knees. 
      Sévérine had always thought that the term ‘heartbroken’ was a stupid one – love came from the brain, not the heart, and to attempt to compare irreparable physical damage to one’s vital organs to matters of romance had always seemed stupid to her. But in that moment, she finally understood – her chest positively ached under the weight of her despair, and every breath felt as though she were inhaling broken glass into her lungs. She knew that emotion came from the brain, but it was her heart that was hurting, and she wrapped her arms around herself, hoping for some measure of relief.
      She did not find it.
      A small voice from within her pointed out that this was exactly what she deserved – that she deserved to suffer for throwing away the only good thing in her life. That she deserved this and worse for betraying Lily’s trust as she had.
      It was true, of course. But the thought that should have comforted only made her feel worse.
      It was all over.
      Some girls were able to cry prettily, but Sévérine had never been one of them. No, in this area she proved herself as great a failure in the feminine arts as in every other aspect of her life. Sorrow distorted her features into an ugly mask, nearly unrecognisable as her own, and the sounds coming from her mouth were positively bestial. She was an absolute mess; her face and parts of her were soaked with tears, and her whole body was no doubt blotchy with crying.
      Good. Let her exterior reflect the ugliness she held within.
      It was only with that thought that Sévérine remembered that she was not alone in the room. For a few brief moments, she attempted to collect herself, but only succeeded in choking on a particularly violent wave of sobbing. It was hopeless; deciding that she couldn’t be bothered to stop, she continued to cry. At that moment, she couldn’t care about how she must have appeared. She couldn’t care what Weasley thought of her.
      She couldn’t care about anything.
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Re: breathe, keep breathing || lucy & sévérine

Post by lindarkness on Thu Feb 05, 2015 6:52 pm

  The first reaction she had to the girls words were shock, confusion, and curiosity, in that exact order.
   There was shock because she had hardly ever been shot down so suddenly, so bluntly, and so rudely all at once. Yes, the girl has had worse things thrown at her in her life, and the insult itself was nothing, but it was simply that in most cases she had always been able to anticipate it beforehand, as to not let her attention be swayed by the shock of it.
   There was confusion because, well, why did she feel so attacked by her concern? Why was she so upset in the first place?
   And there, of course, was curiosity, which was the most interesting notion of the three. She wondered, above all, just what the girl was going to do next. Obviously, she did not approve of her methods of comforting her, nor was she going to warm up to her any time soon. Whatever had brought her to this state, it had obviously been something that she did not want to share or even be remembered of at this very moment.
   Lucy herself was starting to feel quite conflicted about the situation at hand. By now it was clear that nothing she could say or do without conflicting her entire appearance was going to help the girl feel any better, and Lucy truly did not want her upset her so much as to make her into her enemy, or resent her all that much.
   It would have been much wiser, at this point, to simply leave her be.
   Yet, there was something else there that drew her in and kept her from doing the smart thing and turning away. There was a special notion in the girls outburst, a sort of rage that was directed not only at her but that filled her whole person, every last space of her body, and her shaking fingertips.
   Obviously the girl was in distress and, oh dear, did she want to see that. 
   Sévérine started to rant at her, then, but this time Lucy had been prepared for it, and so her features, which had fallen back into surprise for a second, returned to a expression of concern once again, looking out to the girl like a mother would a small child who was crying about getting ice cream on their face.
   Apart from being the logical response, considering the way that she had acted toward the girl so far, she enjoyed doing it, too, as it felt quite natural to her at this point. The gentleness with which she held herself at this point, the soft look of concern, that almost had a trace of pitylaced within it she was giving her at the moment gave her an odd sensation of power.
  Lucy was calm, and completely comfortable in that position, a voice of reason that simply sought to bring the other girl down and make her feel better, whereas Sévérine was nothing, but emotional, upset, ranting and of the verge of tears, in a heat of anger demanding that she stop looking at her like she was something to pity. But they both knew that anything she said or did at this point would simply look to Lucy looking at her with more concern.
   It was delightful.
   The girl could feel a smile creeping up inside of her, and briefly wondered whether she should work to suppress it, or embrace it and turn it into something gentle, caring, and reassuring, before dismissing the notion. A feeling in her gut was telling her that the girl would look right through her, and recognize the smile as the mockery that it would have been.
  Although this feat became only slightly harder to maintain once Sévérine started crying in front of her. The temptation to soften her features into a smile was just too pressing, so instead she made sure to distort them even more, and show her, a sort of empathy of her distress, and hoped that would do enough to convince her that she hated seeing the poor girl cry.
  For - oh, could she count the ways that she milked her tears.
  That she had actually lost her composure enough to cry in front of her, that she looked so deliciously ugly doing it, all snot and red spots, and agony, that she handled herself so pathetically, that she had seemed to have completely succumbed to her agony now, and her pain - it was all oh so sweet to her.
   She gave her a gentle smile.
   ”Would you like a tissue, my dear?”
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