The Choices We Make ∆ Harry Potter Sister

Chapter 5.1

Once upon a time, there was a boy, born at the end of a war, not knowing he would grow up in another. He was born into a home as cold as a December night. He was lonely, with the darkness being his only friend. That was until he was twelve years old, and he found himself in the presence of an eleven years old girl, lost, and alone. It was the first time that he did something his parents had never taught him, he did something purely out of the kindness of his heart. He found himself drawn into the girl, as he reminded him so much of another girl he had missed for many years, and he realised that perhaps in a way, she did return to him, more materialised than she's used to, in the form of a dark coffee brown haired girl with emerald green eyes. He invited her to his house for the holiday, and she was the light and warmth that the house lack of. Her graceful fingers brushed upon the piano keys, playing a simple melody, singing to a simple rhyme.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
There's a land that I heard of once
In a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true

Little did anyone knew, he held onto that rhyme like a prayer, even more during the last year. He would often find himself looking up at the sky, searching for a rainbow. Maybe if he looked enough, a rainbow with all of its beauty would present itself to him, and he would chase it, fly towards it, until he reached its other end where the dreams he dared to dream would come true. Of course, he knew it was only wishful thinking, but it did not stop him from wishing it. Maybe it was the gallons of blood he had lost stirring up his hallucination, or maybe the gods above had finally taken pity at him, but when he lied in the hospital bed, scars littered across his chest, he had seen a rainbow that all along had been there, hidden behind the grey clouds of his mind, of his beliefs, of the things his family had told him to be true. Funny isn't it, that it takes someone to almost lost everything for them to finally see the beauty that was always there all along? He had finally seen that Eleanor Potter was the rainbow he had always needed, and maybe he was to late to get his dreams come true, he was far too deep in the storm to get to the clear sky, but he could still keep the dark clouds away from her, from feeding on her colours, until she was nothing but a shadow of an arc.

That was why when she came to him, he could not tell her what had happened, because after everything she had done for him, how could he take more from her? She had seen the poisonous ink colouring his left forearm, delicately shaping a skull with a serpent dancing out of its mouth. She had let him share all the weight he had to carry, aided him however she could, risking her relationship with her own brother just to buy him time, time that they both know at the end would not be enough, but she tried either way, and no one had ever gone to such measure for him. All because under the cheek and the glares of Eleanor Potter was a heart of glass, beautiful to look at, but fragile all the same, and that heart was shattering inside of her, creating a kaleidoscope of melancholy within her chest for the boy whose skin was once as perfect as porcelain had become a shell of a ghost. No longer was his grey eyes full of life, no longer were his lips pulled into a smirk, no longer was he living in the present.

That unfathomable night, Ellie rushed out of the castle to the foot of the astronomy tower - her wand tightly clasped in her left hand, strands of her hair escaped her ponytail, her robes left forgotten somewhere in the castle hall, discarded so that she could fight with less hassle - she felt nothing but numbness at the sight of the motionless body of the great Albus Dumbledore. She knew she could save him, perhaps she should, but the echo of a voice in her head kept her still. Vith every bargain, you fall deeper into Death's game, Xenyk had told her at Christmas Eve when he found her sitting beneath an oak tree by the burrow. Her brother was conspiring, or at least trying to get her godfathers to believe his conspiracy theory. The twins were showing Tonks their new line of product, Bill was smitten with Fleur as he had been all year long. She had escaped the warmth of the Burrow, embraced the cold winter breeze like an old friend, and found peace in her solitude, or at least it was a solitude until Xenyk joined her, but the peace that had settled did not waver, it only grew with his presence, despite the weight of his words. Ven you are deep enough, you'll realise there's no way of getting out. You've made your first kill, Eleanor. Look me in the eyes and tell me it vos the hardest thing you had ever done. She had looked at him, but she said nothing as she found a little truth in his words. It was a lot for her to accept that she had killed a man at just fifteen years old, but it was not the hardest thing she had ever done. Doing it was as easy as breathing. Accepting it was as hard as pulling a knife out of your heart. It vill get easier over time, until you find it too easy, and you took the wrong person. That's ven you lose to Death, because then you vill fold your cards and let him take and take until there vos nothing left of you. Death is not kind, it is ruthless, conniving, cunning.

Death is not kind, it is ruthless, conniving, cunning. That much, she agreed. Had it been kind, it would not pick the prettiest flower in the garden, it would not shoot down the most graceful stag to ever prod the forest. It was ruthless, it showed the entire castle that had been the silent witness of a glorious wizard that even the great would crumble like a dandelion in a windy day at its hand, and Ellie stood at the back of the crowd, letting Death blew on the dandelion, because in order to get to the king, she needed to let a few pawns down. She might have felt like a pawn before, but now that she knew how to turn the table around, she bloody did. She let the numbness in her flow through her veins as she watched everyone around her mourn over Albus Dumbledore.

No longer was Albus Dumbledore the great, he had turned into a saint, because saints are born from the ashes of sinners. Whilst the wicked drown in the blood of their victims, those whom were scarred by their whips were praised and held high as saints, martyrs. How else should a martyr rise when there was no ground for them to step on? Dumbledore had died a saint, for a boy marked as a sinner with a sweet kiss from a serpent on his left forearm had crumbled into nothing but ashes. Dumbledore would be remembered as a saint, a martyr, whilst Draco Malfoy would be remember as nothing more than a death eater. Not a son, a friend, or an ally. No one would remember him as a boy who offered his house to her every Christmas, even though she had only taken his offer once. No one would remember him as the boy who sat with her in the cold silence of their common room, with throws over their body, the fire crackling in front of them as they fell into a comfortable silence.

When the order came to Hogwarts to pay their tributes to Dumbledore, Eleanor Potter ran as fast as her legs would allow her, away from the huddle of red heads, away from her professors, away from her godfathers, and away from her brother. She ran and did not stop until she reached a dark eyed boy, whose hair was just as dark. She did not stop to say hello after six weeks of not seeing him, she did not slow down. Instead, she snatched him by the hand, dragged him with her, and for the second time within the span of a year, she found herself running towards the gates of the castle with him hot on her heels, until they passed the apparition boundary. Once there, she finally stopped, she let herself fall into the arms she trusted with more than her own life, and clung to him for dear life. He did not ask questions, he did not say meaningless words, he just disapparated without a second glance, straight to the front step of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. They barely made it inside when Ellie finally collapsed on the floor, heaving through the pain burning on her chest, because she was finally mourning. Not for Dumbledore, the wizard that many had come to mourn for that day, no, but for the friend she had lost in the brewing war, and the friends she would lost. Death had always seemed so final, but what most failed to realise was there are more ways than one to reach a finality.

So once upon a time, there was a boy born into the wrong side of the war, his fate sealed for him by the blood running in his veins, destined to be a sinner in the eyes of the seeing. The only salvation he had ever known came from the light and colours that was Eleanor Potter, whom was now mourning on the ashes of a sinner.

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