Chapter 1 : Poisonous
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“Don’t worry. They don’t have to. I understand you.” The words are confident as they leave your lips. Still a child yourself, but not in your own mind.
And with that simple statement, a friendship is formed. You know that you’ve opened the doors to something amazing, something unspeakably important.
There’s no promise like that of friendship, and you give her your everything. Did you know though, that you were sacrificing yourself, handing over your own life? Maybe you did... you probably wouldn’t have done a thing differently, even if you had the chance.
They say she has the face of an angel, and maybe she does. Cheeks as high as skyscrapers, and lips that -- one day -- every man will beg to kiss.
But you know her face is what does this all, creates the terrifying tangles in your friendship. For those blue eyes and waves of blonde hair -- with just a gentle tinting of red -- are simply a cloak. What breathes behind that mask is something you still struggle to comprehend.
She’s a mastermind, hiding under you, concealing herself since that moment you agreed to take her in. She’s using you, using those delicate touches of beauty to her own advantage, and you can’t stop her. Even if you could, part of you is so certain you wouldn’t want to.
“What would it be like? To do anything we wanted?” you ask her, your voice shaking as you bring up the prospect of it. You knew she’d latch to the idea. Even before you spoke the words, you knew what would come of it.
“Darling, we can do anything we want,” she replies, flames crackling her cold, blue eyes to life. Now slipping farther from children and wading into the depths of womanhood, you know how true this is.
You can do whatever you want. You can be free.
You both can.
And it’s that decision, like the flick of a light, that forced you to stop resisting your friendship. You no longer try to cringe when her lips part and tell a string of lies that everyone believes. Now you lie along with her, as convincingly as if it’s what you were born to do. Maybe you were.
She has the face of an angel. You have the face of an angel. A thin cloak disguising the destruction that brews just under the surface. And you're willing to use that face, to use everything about yourselves, in any way you can.
You want it all, and you're through caring about the consequences. Those don’t apply to you.
By the time your Hogwarts career has ended and your life is ready to welcome you into the world as an adult, you’ve already drowned any inch of humanity you may have held. Or at least, you've attempted to.
Once upon a time there was a life you assume would one day be yours -- a beautiful home with a loving husband, the way your dad loves your mum. Children, maybe two daughters and a son just like your family boasts of.
But the image of all that has been shattered, the friendship you formed years ago stronger than anything else you could desire.
They all knew it was too late for you, even if they continued begging to help. But you, Victoire Weasley, don’t need help. You’re perfect, as perfect and fucked up as they come.
Your lover tried to save you, whispering promises of one day marrying, telling you that you’d grow out of your wild phase just as he did.
There is no phase. There is no growing out. You made your allies, that beautiful blonde child you befriended so many years ago, and neither of you are ever going to turn your backs on the life you’re destined to live.
You don’t care if you’re fucked up. You don’t care if you’re sulking about all hours of the night, intoxicated on your own special kind of substance, taking by hand men you’ve barely met and leading them into the shadows. Did you ever give Teddy a single thought? No, all you wanted was to have it at, to feel alive while you destroyed everything you touched.
You don’t care if you’re too fucking out of control to be saved. It’s their fault, anyway. That’s what your friend tells you during those few times when you break down, sit in a bath so hot that it burns, and cry yourself into dehydration.
She reminds you that they all did this to you from the moment you were born. Expecting you to be great, expecting you to be everything.
You aren’t. You aren’t perfect. You aren’t a fucking angel living simply on earth to please the those who swear to love you.
You’re whatever the hell you want to be, and right now, my dear, that’s destruction. In your heart lives the desire to tear it all apart, and laugh as it burns. Everything they wanted to build for you, thought they’d build themselves, you want to take it and suffocate the life from it.
“They don’t care. They’ll still love you no matter what,” your friend whispers as you stare into the mirror, the dead of night full of it’s own sort of seduction as it surrounds you.
“You’re right,” you answer, only the words never actually leave your lips. She’s always been there for you, just as you have for her. And as you stare into that mirror with moonlight brushing over your flesh, you realize what your friend means for you both to do. It’s her hand and your hand that raise and brush away a strand of hair as it dangles over your cheek. It’s her hair you're touching, your hair.
There was a time when she used your face, the face of an angel, to disguise her own hellish needs. There was a time when you tried to force her down, to convince her just to trust you, to let them -- your family, your cousins -- love you. But you don’t care; you both stopped caring and you know she won. She won. The friendship you sealed so long ago with the young child whose heart beats as your own, the soul that grew with yours as you learned to coexist together. That friendship won.
They -- Fleur and Bill, the parents you can’t seem to understands -- will always love you. Dom will always half envy you, the troubled beauty too fucking careless to feel, but she still thinks she can save you. And Louis, maybe he knows. Maybe he’s known all along about the bond you made, the one you refuse to break, with the perfect monster living inside of you.
But they all think they can fix you.
“We’ll show them,” your friend mutters, her lips moving as your own. A wicked smile crosses your face as you realize that it’s time. You look into the night and a soft ring of laughter dances through the dark. The dark of the night, the dark of whatever it is raging inside you.
“It’s time,” she whispers again -- you whisper again-- as you reach for the phial on your dresser and walk, still naked, from the room. It’s time to show them you can’t be saved.
To take away the life they’re so certain they can carry back from Hell.
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