A flower just to pluck
They apparated into an isolated chamber, the oppressive darkness immediately closing in around her. The room had no windows, no hint of the outside world. Before she could regain her bearings, Lucille found herself locked in a cage, the iron bars cold and unforgiving against her skin.
She screamed, her voice echoing off the stone walls, a raw, desperate sound that filled the empty space. She tried everything to release herself, her hands clawing at the bars, her magic powerless against the enchanted metal. But it was all in vain.
In the suffocating silence, memories of her crimes in that village flooded her mind. She saw the terror in the eyes of the villagers, the blood, the chaos. She remembered the screams, the horror as she lost control under the full moon’s light. She saw the faces of the Wizards and Muggles she had killed, the lives she had destroyed. Her heart ached with guilt and despair.
"Dad!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "Dad, please! Help me!" But her cries were swallowed by the darkness. Remus Lupin, believing her to be dead, would never come. The bitter truth of her isolation settled in, an unrelenting weight pressing down on her.
Her injuries throbbed, the pain a constant reminder of her nightmarish reality. The bite on her shoulder burned, the wound refusing to heal. Her scars and burns added to her torment, each one a cruel memento of the past. The Dark Mark tattoo on her arm stung sharply, a relentless, burning pain that reminded her of the allegiance she had never wanted. She had no sense of time, no way to know whether it was day or night. The chamber was a void, trapping her in a perpetual state of confusion and despair.
With no way out, Lucille curled up on the cold floor of the cage, her body trembling. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered to the darkness, "Please, let this end. I can’t take it anymore."
But the darkness gave no answer. It watched, indifferent and unyielding, as she lay there, her spirit breaking under the weight of her memories and the relentless ache of her injuries. The pain of her scars and burns, the constant sting of the Dark Mark, and the unhealed bite on her shoulder all combined to create an agony that seemed to have no end.
Her head throbbed as she tried to remember anything from before the attack. Every attempt to delve into her past was met with searing pain, but fragments began to surface through the haze.
She recalled her old house, the walls filled with memories now blurred and indistinct. Her father’s face, once so familiar, was now just a distant, hazy image. She struggled to piece together memories of Remus Lupin, the man who had tried to protect her from the very curse that had now consumed her life.
Small details of Hogwarts floated to the forefront of her mind. The grand castle, with its enchanted ceilings and moving staircases, seemed like a distant dream. She remembered her teachers—Professor McGonagall with her stern but caring demeanor, Professor Flitwick’s cheerful and encouraging presence, and Snape’s cold, piercing gaze that had always made her feel uneasy. The faces of her classmates flickered briefly; she could almost see Padma Patil’s smile, hear Hermione Granger’s earnest voice, and catch a glimpse of Ron Weasley’s fiery hair.
Lucille squeezed her eyes shut, trying to discern whether the memory of the bite was real or a figment of her imagination. The pain in her shoulder felt all too real, a constant reminder of that horrific night. Slowly, the pieces began to fit together. Greyback. The name sent a shiver down her spine. Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who had turned her father into a werewolf, had eventually come after her. She remembered attacking people, the chaos and the blood.
She realized she must have lost control during the full moon, the curse overtaking her, and ended up in that village, causing the carnage she was now being punished for. The weight of her actions, the lives lost and the destruction she had caused, pressed down on her like an unbearable burden.
Lucille's mind spun with the realization. The memory of the bite was no dream; it was a cruel reality. The full moon had triggered the beast within her, leading to the massacre that had sealed her fate. She was trapped in this cycle of violence and guilt, her humanity slipping further away with each passing moment.
As she lay in the cage, the darkness around her seemed to close in, the walls of the chamber pressing down on her. She was alone, her cries for help unanswered, her memories a painful reminder of the life she had lost and the monster she had become. The ache in her head grew stronger, a relentless pulse that echoed the torment in her heart.
Perhaps, she reckoned, she deserved this. Being locked in a cage meant she couldn't hurt anyone else. At least here, in the cold, unyielding confines of the cell, she was contained. She wouldn't be able to lose control again, to cause more pain and destruction. This cage, as cruel and suffocating as it was, might be the only place where she could no longer be a danger to the world outside. The thought offered a grim solace, a tiny flicker of peace in the overwhelming darkness.
The door opened slowly. Petar entered, holding a glass of water and she could smell the food from his plate, it made her sick. Lucille watched him with empty eyes, too tired and lacking the will to do anything. He opened the cage door and placed the food on the floor, the aroma of the meal mingling with the cold air of the chamber.
“Eat,” he told her, his voice firm but not unkind.
Lucille turned to the other side, ignoring him.
“Aren’t you going to attack me? Or at least try to escape?” he asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone.
She continued to ignore him, her silence a stubborn barrier.
“You need to eat. You haven’t touched food for days,” he advised, his eyes scanning her gaunt frame. “You probably don’t remember much, do you?”
Lucille remained silent, her gaze fixed on the far wall.
“Do you remember me?” he pressed. “I’m your cousin, Petar. We’ve met before. Pretty sure you used to like me, a little bit at least.”
“I’ve never seen you in my whole life,” she replied, her voice hollow and detached.
Petar sighed. “You have, Lucille. I promise you. I’ll help you get your memories back, but youwon’t be able to if you starve.”
She didn’t move, her will as immovable as the iron bars around her.
“I have some matters to attend to, but I will come back,” he said, standing up. “Sorry you have to stay in this very cage but if the other wizards saw you outside, you’d be in big trouble.”
He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “Are you still in pain?”
Lucille refused to respond, her silence a wall between them.
“I’ll bring medicine, but you’ll have to stay here a little longer. Greyback’s orders,” he explained.
For the first time, Lucille looked directly at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of desperation and determination. “If you truly wish to help me, take me to my father.”
Petar laughed, a short, bitter sound. “We both know that’s not possible.”
With that, he turned and left, the door creaking shut behind him, leaving Lucille alone once more in the suffocating darkness of her cage.
The food spoiled as she refused to eat it, the stale bread and cold meat now a testament to her despair. What hurt most of all was the Dark Mark tattoo. It wasn't just a physical pain; it was a deep, searing agony that seemed to burn into her very soul. The mark pulsed with a relentless fire, a constant reminder of the allegiance she had never willingly given.
Desperate for relief, Lucille used the glass of water to pour over the tattoo, hoping to dull the pain. The cool liquid offered a brief respite, but the burning sensation returned with a vengeance. In a frenzy, she began to scrub her arm, trying to erase the mark. She rubbed her skin raw, her efforts growing more frantic and desperate as blood began to seep from the broken flesh. Still, the tattoo remained, dark and immutable.
Lucille's sobs echoed in the small chamber, each cry a mix of pain and frustration. She had no memory of when she had received the mark, no recollection of the moment she had been branded with this symbol of darkness. The lack of memory only added to her torment, leaving her feeling lost and helpless, trapped in a nightmare she couldn't escape.
She cried, the tears mingling with the blood on her arm, feeling utterly alone in her suffering.
Petar returned as he had promised. Whether it had been days or hours, Lucille couldn't tell. Time had lost all meaning in the dark, windowless chamber. He carried food again, but as before, she refused to speak to him. He glanced at the previous meal, now spoiled and untouched, and sighed.
“This is a pain relief,” he said, offering her a small vial.
Lucille eyed it warily, considering the possibilities. It could be poison, but at this point, she wouldn’t mind. Her life was a shattered mess, a nightmare she couldn’t escape. If it ended her suffering, perhaps it would be a mercy. With a resigned sigh, she took the vial and drank. Almost immediately, the relentless pain in her injuries began to dull, and the burning of the bite eased to a faint throb.
Petar's voice softened. “The soup is from our grandmother,” he said. “She made it with deer meat. It’s delicious.”
Lucille blinked, confusion clouding her thoughts. Since when did she have a grandmother? The memories eluded her, slipping through her mind like sand through her fingers. Petar seemed to sense her hesitation.
“Eat, and I promise I’ll help you get your memories back,” he urged gently.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Lucille picked up the bowl and began to eat. The warmth of the soup spread through her, its rich flavor a surprising comfort in the cold, bleak room. Each spoonful was a small moment of solace, a reminder of a world outside her suffering.
As she ate, Petar watched with a mixture of relief and determination. “I am the only one you can trust. You will get through this. One step at a time,” he said quietly
She didn’t respond, but for the first time, she allowed herself a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way out of this darkness.