⫶⫶⫶ ᴇ ᴅ ᴇ ʟ y ɴ ⫶⫶⫶
― Edelyn Aurélia Black learned
from a young age that h e r o e s
aren't always the ones who win.
They're the ones who fight. And
so, Edelyn fights, until the green
lying dormant beh...
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𝓐𝓑𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐫'𝐬 𝓦𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡
⟠
She couldn't breathe.
Her heart momentarily stopped, lungs collapsing as air escaped her parted lips. Her skin burned as if it was fire, prickles rippling down her arms and tingling at her fingers. Her muscles froze, unmoving, and the pain that pierced through her chest was far worse than that of the Cruciatus Curse.
Ripping.
Tearing.
Eyes stinging with salt, she squeezed them shut and the memory of him — because that's all he was now, a memory — flashed through her mind. She could see those once-youthful features and striking grey eyes that speckled with the same glints of mischief that would spark in hers; hear the ghost of his barking laughter echo in her ears; smell the scent of Firewhiskey that always seeped through his skin.
"Breathe, baby, breathe."
But she couldn't.
And she felt like she was slipping. Fading. Drifting away from her own body as the tingling in her fingers intensified. A loud buzzing filled her ears and she could only vaguely discern the triumphant screams and cackles of Bellatrix Lestrange mixed with Harry's desperate bellows.
"SIRIUS! SIRIUS! LET GO OF ME, REMUS! NO! NO! SIRIUS! NO! HE — IS — NOT — DEAD! SIRIUS!"
But he was dead.
He was gone.
He was never coming back.
Just like Cedric.
Just like her mother.
Sirius was dead.
Like the splintering of a twig, Edelyn broke, and with pins and needles stabbing every cell of her fingertips, an explosion of air erupted from her, blasting those in proximity off their feet and making the ground beneath shake as a deadly ire coursed through every vein of her quivering body.
Her eyes snapped open and brilliant green orbs scoured the room like a predator hunting for its prey. Patient. Vigilant. Hungry. And when they finally landed on Bellatrix Lestrange, the speckles of her irises flared and her pupils narrowed into ominous slits.
The malevolent smirk on the Death Eater's face faded into a hostile glare that masked a hint of fear. Tongue darting and sweeping across her upper lip, the corners of Bellatrix's mouth twitched before she turned on her heels and dashed up the stairs.
With a grace that had never befallen upon her before, Edelyn followed, robes sweeping in her wake and ebony curls drifting in the air.
She did not know where they were headed, she did not care where they were headed, for the ancient powers of the Beaumanoirs were coursing through her veins with a hunger — a thirst — that needed to be satiated; she was out for blood.
