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Kissed by Butterflies by kalkay
Chapter 3 : Redefining Life
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 4

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A huge thanks goes out to LilyFire who helped me with editing on this chapter.


I looked at the card closer after she was asleep with tears in my eyes. The inside was empty except for a few marks resembling flowers here and there.


April 21st was tomorrow, Arabella’s birthday. She was taken so young. Only 26. We were young and foolishly in love. DeAnna was born when we were only 19 and we married shortly after.


DeAnna was heart broken but content celebrating everyone’s birthday last year around her mother’s hospital bed. This year she knew that she would gather around her mother’s grave instead, I don’t know if that reality ever set in though.


The next day she worked on the card until we left, not letting me close to her to see what she was doing. Tears swelled in her eyes as she colored, but she managed to keep them back.


She held my hand as we approached the field of flowers where Arabella laid just like DeAnna wanted. Black dresses waved at me in the wind contrasting the white flowers that littered field. DeAnna’s butterflies were out of the pavilion causing splashes of colors amongst the white and green.


Her former students stood at a distance whispering to each other. Stories about Arabella sang softly on the wind as DeAnna gripped the card in her hand, not sure what to do with it. She knew that this is where her mother was, but that she couldn’t give the card to her. She couldn’t put the card in her hands.


She placed the card in my hands timidly and sat down in the grass. She seemed at ease being near her mother, even if she couldn’t see her. Even though she couldn’t find her.


I opened the card finding the letters even more rough and crude then those that were on the cover. I carefully mulled the letters over in my head, trying to figure out what it said exactly but the spelling was not what it should be. Words that my eight year old had been spelling for over a year were filled with misshaped letters and were misspelled.


When I finally figured it out my tears swelled up in my eyes. And so it read, “Mommy, I hope you are happy. Daddy says that you watch me every night and my butterflies send you my kisses when I sleep. I love you mommy.”


I left the card by some flowers that were bundled together. As I watched DeAnna, and my heart sank. Her understanding of the world seemed to be fading and she was falling back into herself. She seemed to be more helpless and numb to emotions.


She got worse over the following days. Then the butterflies stopped flying around the pavilion, refusing to open their wings. A week following that, there were no more butterflies visiting me at night and I took her to St. Mungo’s.


The healers seemed at a loss, not knowing what was happening to her. It was like watching Arabella all over again. I was losing her and all I could do was watch. All anyone could do was guess at what was wrong. DeAnna moved around and did stuff but like a child three years her younger.


I started asking questions to the healers. Trying to find out more about what was going on with DeAnna. Trying to find any information about what happened to Arabella. They all insisted that they found no signs of magical involvement and simply shook their heads when I asked what was wrong. “We’re working to find out.” I heard this phrase so many times. She was dying in front of me and all they kept telling me is that ‘they’re working on it to find out.’


Finally I came across a minor healer, Smethwyck, who said he may have some knowledge on what happened to them.


He said that it was just a theory and some muggle research that he had not involved himself in. He had been looking into Arabella’s case, having seen it more and more recently in others, not having an explanation for what was going on with any of them. “Each case is similar but some live longer then others and are able to do function. You’re wife seemed to have a more sever case.” He said they called it lung kancer or something like that. That it meant there was some sort of growth in the lungs.


Then he told me about DeAnna. That because of losing her mother, she experienced great deal of trauma. Saying that while reading some of this muggle research he came across something called Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. A mental problem that’s extent could not be predicted but from his understanding that my DeAnna, my little girl, would never develop past her current age mental and possibly regress more. She would be here for the rest of her life while they continued to treat her.


Muggle diseases. That’s what killed my Arabella and that’s what was taking away my DeAnna? I shook the thought from my mind. Why should I listen to anyone who believed muggle nonsense? I went back to find DeAnna coloring on the floor of her room, barely able to keep the markings on the paper. She didn’t seem to have control over the fine movements anymore.


After two more weeks they told me that she had lost the majority of her language skills and probably wouldn’t talk anymore then she currently did. Not at all.


A month went by and she trusted only me. If I wasn’t there, she nervously trusted but one of the nurses, even though she remained helpless to all.


They asked me to leave. I was told that it would be for the best and that she would be more likely to improve what little she still could without me there trying to protect her. That if I wasn’t there that maybe she would let people in.


So I did. I just wanted her to be the best she could. I wanted her to get better and be my little DeAnna, sending me butterflies at night.


She started to improve slowly. I walked to the pavilion where the butterflies had returned to. They fluttered all around me as I stepped into the room the first day. Watching them as they seemed to weightlessly fly again gave me false hope. 


Less then 24 hours later, they started to fade. DeAnna was getting worse. The bright colors dulled, they didn’t fly, most of them barely moved and as quickly as they gathered there, they began to disappear. A beautiful, pure, innocent magic brought them into my life and now a sad reality was taking them away. I watch one of the last butterflies she sent me as its pink wings sat unmoving on the side of a flowerpot. I could only watch it for a few minutes, because as I watched it, it started to fade into nothingness and soon it was gone.


My eyes stung with tears at the side, not yet built up, but waiting to fall. My gaze shifted to a small group of yellow and blue butterflies, DeAnna’s favorite to make before she became sick. Just like the others they too faded and then were gone. It was like watching smoke being blown away by a gentle breeze.


My vision blurred and I could no longer see the shapes of the butterflies, but I watched the bright blur of colors faded as they too were erased from the world I had created for DeAnna. Three hours was all it took to erase the butterflies from my life. Soon I was no longer sitting in a butterfly pavilion, but a green house that was filled with flowers and empty of life in my eyes. For in here the flowers were merely a muted backdrop on which DeAnna’s butterflies danced.


I sat there in the empty room for a few minutes before the door burst open a Delganté, DeAnna’s healer rushed in. My tears had dried up and my face was set in an emotionless stone. “I know.” I muttered pushing past him, knowing that he was here to tell me that my little girl was gone.


That night I set fire to the pavilion and watched as the flowers recoiled back from the flames as though they could remain untouched. They were not able to escape the fires grasp and as soon as the flames tongue licked the first plant, they all burned. I watched for but a brief moment before turning my back on the scene.


That night was the last that I walked in my house.


My steps in the house were precise and calculated. I removed any evidence of my relations with my father, favoring my mother’s untarnished name and bloodline instead. My wand in hand, I carried nothing else with me as I apparated to the back alley of the muggle pub, The Hanged Man. I easily spotted the person I was looking for when I entered, “Snape.”


The head of black hair turned at the sound of his name, “Gamét, it’s been a long time.”


“So long that I am a different man now. That is no longer who I am.” Snape’s dull look told me that I should merely get to the point, even though he already knew it. I continued to hold the same unmoved expression that I had set upon my face earlier. I watched his thin pale features, as he seemed to search his memory for something. “I have a meeting at the Malfoy’s.”


And with that we left.


The same night that DeAnna Gamét died in the Unknown Illness and Ailment Ward at St. Mungos' Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the same night a fire burned down the house of Pedja Igor Karkaroff Gamét's house, he met his old friend Severus Snape."


A number of people gathered at the Malfoy house that night. “If muggles are going to take my family from me, then I will happily take their mudbloods from them.” My eyes followed the wand as it depressed the skin on my arm.


Consilio Morsmordre.” My arm burned briefly as his words hung in the air. While they were human; they sounded like a snakes hissing. Everyone watched, except Snape who was in the shadows, as the black smoke emitted from the tip of the wand. It twisted its way around on my arm leaving marks.


Many things happened on June 26, 1977 but that was the last thing to happen that night. Igor Karkaroff became a death eater taking his part in changing history forever.


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