He was the woken dead as he sat there, exhaustion tracing his veins like a slow stutter. Where is she, Mother? He wrote in his letter, his words shaky as his breath. His vulnerability bled onto the paper accompanied by a brother’s worry.
They told him she had not visited. Not a whisper was heard from her. Had she really given up? Had he really fucked it up this time? The pain in his forehead was just a flicker of the torment inside.
Where is she, Mother? Where is my sister?
Amycus was rather pissed. Agitated. Ticked off. It was early. Far too early. He had yet to set foot in the Carrow Manor during the previous night to rest his weary eyes. He had a long, hard night with his monster. And the poison was still coursing hot through his veins, setting him on the edge. He could only grit his teeth and transformed his features to carry out his master’s orders. A move that could possibly render him trapped and unable to escape in the Ministry of Magic should he fail.
He had nearly lost the sight of his unfortunate victim as the milling crowd jostled about. Surely they had work to do instead of walking like cattle through the halls. A clumsy witch, who wasn’t paying attention, distracted him from his target by crashing straight into him. Papers flew in a cascade like confetti. For a moment, he was stunned by how familiar her eyes were. Pushing the odd feeling away, he had to forcefully stop himself from pulling out his wand and making a show of her. Her apologies were what made him realize he was not behind the safety of his mask. The hand that had slipped into his pocket slowly eased off its grip of his wand as he smiled. “No, I am truly sorry, madam. Here, let me help you.” He had to pretend that he was a gentleman when on the inside, he raged with blackness and sickening thoughts. How he would love to have her entrails scattered on the pristine floor. He quickly gathered the papers into a neat pile and handed them over before pushing past her.
“Who is she?” he’d ask his brothers back at the headquarter, inquiring about the auror with bubblegum pink hair.
And their reply would send him feeling sick, ”Andromeda’s girl, Carrow. Don’t you know? She’s Nymphadora Tonks.”
I did nothing to you. I was innocent. All the accusations against me were false. I thought you knew.
‘You should have been there.’ They taunted her.
‘He was calling for you the whole entire time.’ They tsked at her.
‘Where were you when he needed you the most?’ They sneered at her, unable to comprehend why the beloved sister did not show up, not once, to see the brother she claimed to love so much. They judge her, called her selfish even, but they do not see the fresh bruises hidden underneath her robes.
They know not of the scars she now bore, the nightmares she now has, and most of all, they do not see the dark fear gripping tightly at her whole body.
