Playground }{ Bella, London

[Diomedea Rosier]

Aside from the traps she had unconsciously set for herself and which were meant to have been directed at another unknowing being, there was also an endless pit of despair she would wallow into, and she seemed to be sinking further to depths that were even unknown to her. She was afraid.

When she was a young girl she would stand on the playground, the wind blowing past her golden hair and pale face with the rosy lips and clear blue eyes, watching as the other children laughed and danced around happily in that lovely April’s day.

The swing seats were moving backwards and forwards in the breeze, almost rhythmically, as there was yet another round of laughter coming from the group of girls that were rocking themselves up and down in the seat swings. Diomedea, she could have been ten, stood on a maple tree, her body resting against the trunk, and her arms crossed, as she was watching the scene closely, her eyes troubled and sad. One girl saw her, and suddenly stopped swinging, her feet against the ground making the seat’s movement come to a halt. The other girls followed her eyes, and did the same.

“Why is she watching us, Abbey?” one of the girls demanded in an arrogant tone, looking at her as though her friend had the answer in her pocket and would give it to her. Abbey shrugged, but kept on watching Diomedea.

“She doesn’t have any friends,” Abbey plainly said, still looking at the blonde girl, who realized the small group of girls had now directed their attention to her, and she hated that.

“Well, that’s not odd, is it? She’s a freak!” the first girl hissed, and when she turned to face Diomedea, her eyes were narrowed and hostile. Her face had been distorted slightly into a grimace of dislike. Abbey turned to her friend, and looked at her strangely.

“Don’t say that, Mildred, it’s not nice,” Abbey told her calmly, and turned back to look at the girl by the tree. The two other girls exchanged a look, but kept quiet.

Mildred Gravenor, a wealthy, heavily spoiled child of twelve years old, whose parents had been a highly important factor why the Ministry had passed the new law encouraging discrimination against half-breeds, would not take no for an answer, and so what she needed, or even demanded, was for Abbey to confirm her judgement. However, she did not receive such a reaction, which resulted to her pressing her thin lips and looking rather irritated.

“I don’t care!” Mildred announced with a superior look on her face, and it was subtly expressed that she was jealous, for she was not a pretty girl, like the girl by the tree was, and Mildred was resentful for that. “I hate being watched by that freak of nature,” she insisted stubbornly. “Abbey, go tell her to leave immediately, and that she is not welcome! I cannot bear her sight, and the way she is looking at us, it scares me. Abbey!”

The melancholic black sweater on top of the white shirt the girl was wearing made a significant contrast to the beauty of that day. There was a glint in Diomedea’s eyes; they were crystal blue, and distant, but shone with heavenly light. Her long, straight, golden hair embraced the sides of her slim-carved face, and her fingers were grazing her arms lightly, but there was something in her countenance that suggested something hid behind those coal-black pupils.

Eyes of cold, steel-gray shone pale in the darkness. When they turned to face the girl chained on the chair, they were emotionless, almost empty. Her eyes pierced into hers, and she sensed her agony. She could even relate to this feeling, but they faced different directions. She stood in front of her, tall and imposing, her expression tough and hard, her face detached, unaffected, and so it seemed her heart, but it would slowly crumble.

[London Kale]

The morning had gone somewhat well for London. She had woken up with sunlight shining through the open windows near her bed. She looked up at her poster of Mike Callaghan (the quidditch teacher) as she thought of her dream that she had. She had been in trouble and no one was there to help her. A smile lit up her features as she got out of bed. That would never happen. When would she ever be in a situation where no on could really be there for her. She always had Matt. London Kale was not a morning person but this morning seemed to tell her that things were going to be great. She didn't even know how wrong this feeling was. After taking a shower and getting into her school robes she grabbed her bag. She had enchanted it to be unending and light as a feather. Somehow the thought of magic made her happier. She didn't know what it was about this day, but it made her feel like something big was going to happen. That feeling was spot on. Soon she was heading down the stairs and out of the common room. The portrait said something as she walked out but she ignored it. She felt lifted. Maybe it was because she was going to see her boyfriend. She stopped in her tracks on a staircase. She really though of him as her boyfriend? That was why she had wanted to hurry up and get to breakfast. Not because she was hungry, but she know that the morning post would be there. And she had been hoping that he had sent her a letter.

Girl, girl, you are such a girl, she thought bitterly to herself. When had she turned into a person who actually felt anything besides friendship to anyone? She shook her head quickly. So she had met him months ago and already she had warmed up to him. What had come over her? Did she receive some sort of brain damage? This made London smile again. Of course she didn't like him right away. The first few days, forget that, weeks she had walked on eggshells with her feelings. But maybe along the way he had actually showed more redeeming qualities that only people close to him could see? She shook her head. All that she knew is that the more time she spent with him the less she thought about Sirius. She was supposed to like Sirius. So far as she knew she hadn't liked him for weeks now.

When London had gotten to the fourth floor she suddenly panicked. What if he was figuring out that she didn't like Sirius anymore? She shook her head again. That was impossible. She was acting pretty well. And then she felt something she hadn't felt in awhile. She was nervous. She paused in her walk and debated her options in her head. Before she could even finish a single thought about what to do she was hit with something. She didn't know whether it was a physical object of a hex but she felt herself falling and then everything went as black as night.

London opened her eyes drowsily to find that she was in a dark setting. An empty classroom? She almost scoffed. Well, that was original. She tried to get up but realized that someone had bound her to the chair. She cursed under her breath at whoever put her here. He head was down and she kept it that way, she was trying to think. Wait, where was her wand? He looked down into her robes and shifted slightly. She couldn't the pressure of her wand digging into her so she guessed that whoever got her in here took it. She then looked up, looking for some sort of escape. But it was likely that she would find one. She then caught sight of someone in the darkness. She stared at the form as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was a girl. Considering that London had been kidnapped she assumed this girl was a Slytherin. For a moment she thought about saying something and decided not to. After awhile her mouth took control "What the hell do you want with me?” Ok, so her brothers where Aurors who frequently battled Death Eaters. Maybe they had good reason to worry about if she was well or not.

[Bellatrix Black]

There was a sense of pride flowing from her skin, like a thick aura that captured anyone of a lesser mind and set them ablaze with her holy fire. It was what she was, who she was, and who she would always be. Her deep brown eyes seemed to lighten at the look on her comrades face, she seemed cold - detached. It was the way she wanted her, it was easier for people to be controlled when they were detached from the world and were broken. Bellatrix LeStrange had been there the night she saw little Dio so broken. It made her laugh with glee, this girl who had everything now knew what it meant to have nothing. She would do one of two things now, crumble under the pressure of her own pathetic feelings, or she would learn to rise above it and become stronger, more powerful, more deadly. Dio had a choice to make, and it would be made this evening.

At the sound of London Kale speaking roughly Bellatrix smirked darkly, she was looking to Dio with such disdain. It was amusing to say the least, Bella would rather enjoy this evening. She closed her eyes, leaned against the back wall of the classroom, the moon only lighting part of it and Bellatrix deliberately keeping herself in the shadow, she did not wish for London to know she was here unless Bella had to intervene. She was as a ghost in this matter, a ghost with the power to reach into Dio's mind and get her to do as she pleased. With Dio acting this way, so vulnerable Bella could do anything she wished to her mind. It was Dio's fault by the way... she had this little eye opener coming to her. She was wallowing in self pity over a pathetic man. Bella didn't really know all the details, but she knew that whatever happened, Dio was now weak.

She looked to Dio for a moment, thinking deeply, she could tell Dio was determined at this moment, but that could falter as much as Dio's little frame could be shattered by a curse. Bella was not one hundred percent confident in Dio at this moment, not after how weak she had seemed before Bellatrix got a hold of her mind. Bellatrix did a little twisting and turning, a little manipulation, and then they were here. It was the way that Bellatrix wished it to be. Dio needed to learn that emotions were petty, love was foolish, and mercy could be the death of you, it was the way that life was and she was prepared to show Dio the hard way, well, hard for Dio. This little endeavor, encounter, whatever you'd call it... was no where near hard for Bellatrix. On the contrary, Bella loved it. She was rather glad to be a part of it in someway.

She looked to London and to the very silent Dio and rolled her eyes. Alright, it was time to get this ball rolling. She concentrated on Dio, her mind gliding through the long strands of blond hair, through her scalp and into her skull, sliding through the bone and the marrow, gliding into her brain, into the part that held her mind, her thoughts, her abilities. She kept her concentration on her with acute precision. She smirked as she felt herself lock onto Dio's mind, she was in, it was almost too easy now, she had been in her mind so much lately it was like Dio left the door open for her now. It was perfect. Her Dark Master would be proud. Bellatrix got to work, she slid in thought of tormenting London into Dio's mind, the feel of Dio's wand her in own hand, how the love of the game was better than anything. She pushed Dio's mind to work, to torture...

[Diomedea Rosier]

What did Diomedea want with London Kale? The girl was chained to the chair, immobilized, but her face was staring at her captors accusingly; perhaps this was a dark joke to refresh the Slytherin sense of humour, perhaps this was not even happening. Perhaps it was all in everyone’s imagination, and they would soon wake up from their illusions and shackles that kept them from seeing things for what they truly were. London Kale, to be aware of Sirius’ real feelings and the current setting towards which her actions had led her; Diomedea Rosier, and her incapacity to believe in the world outside her mind; and Bellatrix Black, under vain belief of glory that would never come, or importance that was never there. Three human beings that had managed to persuade themselves they had for a moment dispelled their worldly insignificance, and acquired personal consequence according to their own minds and wishes.

Abbey Blackburn walked towards the young girl with steady, carefully counted steps, her expression not unkind, but not particularly forward either; she did not dislike Diomedea Rosier, however she found she had nothing in common with her, and had thus rarely, if ever, spoken to her. She would mostly spend time with the rest of the girls on the playground or in the late afternoon for tea, after which they were used to going upstairs to her bedroom and play with her beautiful dollhouse, which had of late arrived from Bath from her Uncle Tiberius Aldridge. She walked across the freshly mown grass, and eventually approached the lonely girl.

“Hello,” she said lightly, looking at her with hidden expectance, but the girl did not answer; instead, she kept looking at her as though she was the strangest thing in the world to behold, her fingers creating a graceful arc inside her palms which stood by her sides, and her crystal blue eyes, very piercing and bright, stared back into Abbey’s hazel ones.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Abbey looked at her now oddly, and crossed her arms, not rudely so. “My friend Mildred was telling me you have been watching us for some time now,” she said, looking uncomfortable, and uncrossed her arms. She did not like Mildred’s idea of talking to the girl simply because of this reason, and she resented the fact she had to be the one to do it; it was so silly, Abbey thought, but now she could not make a fool of herself to the other girls. She paused for a few seconds, until she took a step closer. “I have seen you have not had any friends around you. Do you have a brother or sister?” she asked the girl, trying to sound conversational, but once more there was ultimate silence to silence Abbey as well for the next couple of seconds. However, Abbey was not going to abandon her little mission, and now determined as ever, she took another step towards the girl, who was staying silent and almost wintry in front of her, by the tree.

“You know, you could come play with us,” she encouraged her in an animated tone, her eyes widening, and she smiled. She was perfectly aware Mildred would be angry by this, but Abbey wanted to play with a new friend; Mildred was always bossing her around, and she preferred the odd girl to the little brute. “We can go play in the seesaw together! Or maybe in the swings. Alice told us a new trick, I could teach you if you like! Mama said we should not do it, and that it is dodgy, and I told Alice that, but once you try it, you won’t believe the feeling! It is like flying!” she chirped, but the girl again did not respond; she merely stood there, like a statue or a leaf of tree that had been ripped off by the wind and carried away.

Abbey at this point frowned, and pursed her lips. “Come!” she insisted, and outstretched her hand to grab the girl’s arm, but with the momentary touch, Diomedea immediately pulled it away in a fraction of a second.

“Don’t touch me!” she hissed with a ringing force, her cold face eventually revealing an expression of impatience, anger, and even hopelessness. Her eyes shone brightly as they stared at Abbey accusingly, condemning her for a simple human act. She could not touch humans, she did not want to be close to them, or understand them; every touch brought her back to the moment she made the fatal push that sent her mother way down below. She was enraged at herself, and confused – she did not know why she had done it, or how, what purpose did it serve, and feared the consequence it would have in her life. She looked strangely at the spot where Abbey had touched her, and widened her fingers, as though looking at them for the very first time. She nervously pulled a lock of golden hair behind her ear, and refused to look at Abbey any longer, who was staring at her, shocked and utterly disheartened.

“Fine, then!” she retorted, her eyebrows furrowed. “Do as you please, I have many friends, as you can see, and judging by what I can see, I can’t say the same for you,” she rejoindered, and then turned her back on the girl as she began to walk away, but just then Mildred, having observed the situation from afar, had come to interfere.

“Abbey! What on earth is going on here? Why are you talking to the freak? I told you to simply tell her to go away!” she demanded, bossily placing her hands on her hips and looking at Abbey enquiringly.

Abbey looked at Diomedea, and then back to Mildred, unsure of what to do, or what to say. “You are right, she is a freak,” she said heavily, throwing another spiteful glance at the girl. “Let’s play, Mildred,” she said, and grabbed her hand; Mildred, evidently pleased at this, failed to remember her original plan to make the girl leave straight away, glimpsed at her superciliously, and then joined arms with Abbey as they moved back to the swings.

She heard voices into her mind, distant and blurred voices that spoke to her, embraced and then wholly engulfed her as though she was a shell drowned by the waves in an endless ocean of no limits. Voices encouraging her, telling her the reason she should do it, a way to redeem herself from ever submitting to feelings. Diomedea stared at London Kale, but did not speak to her. Her lips were as though glued, but her eyes looked torn, though determined. It had been a great mistake to succumb to emotions, and though she had avoided it masterfully all her life, now came the moment to ruin her. She knew pain would follow, and had thus distanced herself from sentiments of any kind that would make her for a second time weak or vulnerable. Though she did not know it, her subconscious hid such information that could destroy her; she felt she did not want to connect with people because she had been once hurt through affection, but the truth she had reflexively buried way down below was she had once involuntarily destroyed someone important to her, which had caused such a traumatic effect to her psyche, the only way of survival was forgetting.

She hated people, because above all she without knowing hated herself; and she manipulated, because without knowing she had been once manipulated herself into destroying the one person who was significant in her life, the ground beneath her, and she had thus very harshly fallen.

And like her relationship with her mother had been one of a confused amalgamation of love and hatred, so had it been with Tristain. He had been a mistake she, being a human and only a human, had made, but she would not let it drown her. She had persuaded herself she had not taken the wrong path, she had just been looking at it for a long time; long enough to take a sting of what it would feel like to follow it, but now she knew, and she would continue her way. Tristain was nothing to her, nothing! Only cowards hurt women, and he had hurt her more than he had bargained for, perhaps. She would be strong again, invulnerable, and powerful. Slowly, she raised her arm and pointed it at Kale’s stomach.

She would wear a crown of thorns, and pretend to be queen of the world. She could raise her hand and pretend giving orders to minions existing only in her mind, and participate in battles that served no other purpose but further boost her ego and personal esteem. Kale would not make a single sound, just as she would order her. She was her minion, and taking her down way down below had been her own battle, to which she would come out as a victor. She liked that feeling; she liked being the one to dominate. Being the predator, for it made her feel superior, it made her feel special, and alive. Nobody had ever been there to tell her she was the most beautiful, the most intelligent, the best of all the little girls in the world – she had no mother to do that, and that is all she had ever needed back then.

But she had gone away too early, and the little girl had been forced to replace that role with that of her own self. No, she could not remember what her voice sounded like, but the image was still raw inside her, fresh and raw, and visible, as she lay on the end of the stairs in their house in the countryside, her eyes wide open and glassy, her lips half-closed, and her legs and arms sprawled on the floor – images she had abolished a long time ago. She was a queen with a crown of thorns, rising from the golden intricate seat that had been the rickety old chair, and moving next to non-existent minions that were a wooden old table, a painted, broken porcelain, shredded curtains, and had walked to Kale, staring at her with the same piercing and bright eyes but now unforgiving eyes, and her thorns shone in the night, and pierced at her forehead, and the blood oozed down her eyes, only that instead of blood there was a stream of guilt, and isolation. Her crown of thorns.

“Not a sound,” she whispered execrably, approaching her prey, as the wand was raised higher to her face, and silenced the girl, so that the pain would be greater, and such would be Diomedea’s satisfaction. “Not a single sound,” she said slowly, and with a sudden movement she pulled back her wand into her pocket, and removed a knife she had taken from the kitchens for this purpose alone. She approached Kale with danger in her steps and frigidity in her eyes, the blade glinting in the darkness. “A wand is so impersonal …” she said quietly, looking at Kale’s eyes, and then she walked even closer, closing every distance between them. She stretched out her free hand, and caressed Kale’s dark hair, softly pulling back the locks of hair that had fallen on her face, but careful not to touch her skin. Her right hand pushed the knife into her left cheek, but did not press to make it bleed; the edge was only brushing her skin in a very slow movement, almost rhythmically.

“You know,” she said, and leaned down to whisper to her, their faces inches apart, “people say emotional pain is so much worse than physical.” Her fingers travelled down Kale’s hair. “Well,” she said with a twisted smile, “I’m about to prove that wrong.” In a second, a disgusting sound was heard as the knife slashed through the skin in Kale’s stomach, ripped her shirt and cut through her flesh, blood oozing from the swollen, open wound that was yet not deep enough. Because of the spell previously enforced on her, Kale could not scream, but Diomedea was certain she was shrieking inside her head.

“I’ll make you feel better,” she whispered to her, and something demonic shone in her black pupils as she pierced into Kale’s eyes. “Let’s say we are … in a playground,” she told her, and the cold, unforgiving, heartless smile re-appeared on her lips; “So let’s play,” she added forcefully, her lips pressed and her teeth gritted with disdain and determination, as the knife travelled around the wound’s area. “I know a swell trick. I can teach you. It might sound … dodgy, but once you take a bite, you will always want more, you won’t believe the feeling. Oh, trust me,” she hissed, “it will feel like flying.” She pulled out her wand and cast a spell on Kale, making her relive the worst moments of her life.

(I gathered that since Patricia and I plotted the torture, and since Patricia actually wants her dead, and since it is Dio torturing, that I have creative licence? Haha! London ends up dead in this thread anyway, so the end satisfies the means )

[London Kale]

London stared at the figure in the dark classroom. She didn't know what was in store for her but she wouldn't give them the benefit of seeing her thinking she didn't have a way out. There was always a way out of everything. She shifted slightly to look at her hands behind her back. Maybe if she could just slip one of them out...And then what? She didn't have a wand, she couldn't even use muggle combat to get out of this. They would curse her faster than she could even start to run towards the door. She cursed in her head. They had her, and there was no way out. She just had to hope it was going to be torture and someone would find her. After all, at least one person had to be wondering where she was...Right? She started out of her thoughts as the girl's, Diomedea, arm raised to point something at her stomach.

She watched Diomedea walk towards her with a glare. Once she was out of her, once someone found her, she would kill her. Then she spoke. London gave her whole attention the Slytherin who was keeping her here. Not a sound? So it was torture. If she was going to be hurt she at least wanted to provoke some of it. "Yeah? Well-" Then she was silenced. She moved her mouth but no sound came out. Her breathing slowed as her heart rate picked up. She wasn't going to be afraid. She was going to face this with pride. She continued to glare, wanting to scream out every insult she could think of. London snapped out of the glare when Dio put her wand away. What? Then her eyes narrowed when she saw the other choice of a weapon. A knife. Fear froze her for a moment but she snapped out of it. Her jaw locked as she looked back up at Dio. Her eyes flared as if to dare her to do it. As if to dare her to cut and she would see what would happen. Fighting back was a far fetched idea, as she had no use of her limbs. But she thought that she could get mad enough for her magic to flare up.

London found Diomedea stretching a hand out to her. She instantly moved away from the touch but the range of which she could move her head was limited. She froze as the knife pressed against her cheek. The knife then started to move and she could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Dio began to spoke again. She looked away from the knife, and could feel her stomach tightening. When she said that she was about to prove it wrong London's gaze snapped back to her. She winced, her face tightening in pain, as the knife ripped into her stomach. She clenched her fists and her fingernails dug in so deep it tore her skin and she bled from her palms. Her face fell down wards and all she could see was the sickening red pool that was oozing out of her. It made her want to scream and she opened her mouth to do so but no sound came out. She could still feel her throat ripping as if she were actually letting out sound.

London couldn't take looking at the blood much longer. It started to make her feel nauseous. She pulled her head back up only to be met with piercing eyes. She could hardly listen to the words that were being spoken to her. The pain was almost all she could focus on. Her eyes were only half open. Her breathing had picked up but it hurt almost as much as the cut had. The last thing she saw was a wand before a white flash covered her vision.

London was on the floor in her first home. She had just got through playing with Dylan and she was happily exhausted. Suddenly there were voice outside and her four other brother's burst into their house. One of the grabbed her by the waist and followed her mother who had just come from the kitchen. "In here!" Her mother told them as she opened the hall closet.

"Mommy!" London cried out but she was shushed.

"Honey...I'll be right back. I love you." And with that she left their site. London could only sit there and stare at the place she had last seen her mother before her focus was pulled away from it. She heard shouting but couldn't make it out. Then her mother reentered the room followed by people in masks. The only thing she could do was watch as one of them pulled there wands out.

"Avada Kedavra!" Shouted a man and a flash of green light filled the room. London covered her eyes but quickly uncovered them again. She saw her mother fall to the ground, lifeless.

"M-!" She started but one of her brothers covered her mouth. She wanted to scream but she couldn't. Tears blurred her vision as one of her brothers held her close to them. They stayed hidden for ten minutes after the people in masks went. As soon as they let her god she pushed the door out of her way and ran over to where her mother was.

"Mommy?" She shook her mother. No response. "MOMMY!"

Flash

London stood in front of a mirror. She stared at herself for a few moments before her bedroom door opened. Her eyes shifted to see her father, "Dad!" She screamed with excitement. "I didn't think you would be back for a few more weeks! Did you get me anything?"

He smiled at her, "Yes." She smiled. "It's in the living room."

"Come on!" She exclaimed, grabbing his jacket and pulling on him. She looked at his arm after she grabbed it and saw something green. "What?" She stopped and lifted his sleeve to see...The Dark Mark. Her face turned from happiness to fear as she looked back up at him. And it suddenly came rushing back to her.

"Avada Kedavra!" It was his voice. That meant that he had killed... London pulled away from him but he pulled her back, looking furious now.

"No!" She let out before he hit her. His fist made contact with her over and over and over again. She couldn't take too much. She passed out before he was finished. When she woke up he was gone. She moved to get up but let out a scream. Her arms...She looked at the to see them angled wrongly. Before she could figure out what had all been done to her Jacob entered her room. "GUYS!"

The rest of them rushed in there and froze when they saw her. "Saint Mungos...NOW!" Dylan picked her up despite her cries of pains. He froze and she got enough time to look at herself in the mirror again. She cried even harder when she saw that she didn't even look human anymore.

Flash

London was leaning again a column as others said their goodbyes. At last it was her turn. He turned to her. "Look, I'm...Well, you know. Obviously I'm going to miss you, McCullum. Do you think you'll ever come back?" She asked, hoping it was the case.

He shook his head making her stomach tighten. the pain was already coming on. Without a sound he hugged her and she felt the incredible warmth again. The feeling that everything was right. And she knew what was to follow when they parted. "Is there anything else you want to say? Anything?" He pleaded. She buried her head into his shoulder and muttered that she didn't. "So when I asked you if you felt anything...."

"I told the truth. I don't feel anything for you..." He pulled away and the pain was almost unbearable. She wanted to pull him back. It was as if she had lost everything. Her eyes started to water but she blinked the tears away. She barely knew him, why was it so hard to let him go?

"Well," He started as if he could feel the immense pain soon. "I hope I see you someday, Lon..."

She just nodded and he turned his back on her. She couldn't do this. She turned her back on the train and started walking away. After all, she didn't want him to see her so vulnerable. She didn't want him to see her cry...

Flash

A knife tore through London's skin and this time she could yell, and she did. Her throat ripped.

The pain came on once again...

And again...

Flash

London could feel herself back in the chair. Her breathing was hard. She just wanted to die.

Kill me! Kill me...