Poison Ivy [Sirius Black]

IVY AND THE DEADLY DEMENTORS

ＮＩＮＥ

𝕚𝕧𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕪 𝕕𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕤

      BY NOW, IT WAS NOT A SECRET how demoralized she had been when she first left Hogwarts. Everything that she knew had been reduced to nothing. She had wandered without purpose for months, backpacking across Europe, across China, Iran, Africa, all searching for answers. That was akin to the feeling she had now, rushing through her like a bad spell as she walked into Sirius Black's dream. It was a memory.

       Her sister was slumped, dead from behind her. Ivy had tried not to look, not see her colorless face, the jumper that Ivy had given her on Christmas when they were 14. It hurt to know she had died in it. It hurt that she had died at all. Ivy didn't look again, didn't run her fingers through Lily's hair, didn't look at the colorless complexion that was almost a mirror of Ivy's face. They were fraternal twins, but Ivy had a hard time looking in a mirror and not seeing her sister staring back at her.

      She knew that if she looked long enough, much like that portrait in the Potter estate, she'd never be able to look away. She'd be broken and useless to everyone. And just because it was a dream, did not mean she was safe here. She had to get her answers and then she had to get out before the dementors came to devour her soul. They could have it when she was done with it.

      Holding Sirius by the root of his hair, feeling him flinch in pain over the touch, didn't block any of the sorrow that was clawing against the barriers and walls in her mind. She had to keep it out a little longer. She let him go, her hand running through her hair to push back stray strands. "Who then was the secret keeper?" But Ivy knew the moment he answered with 'no'. She connected dots that were only theories before, and her mind always connected them. It had been a suspicion, but she didn't have enough evidence to go off of before. 

      "Peter Pettigrew," Sirius bit out, staring directly into her eyes, and looking every bit the broken shell of the man he likely was on the day James and Lily died. She wondered if it was the same clothes he wore that day. It had to be because she had seen what a thin, scraggly shell of a man he had been when she visited him in his cell before interrupting his nightmare.