╔══════════════╗

chapter nineteen

"TO KILL A SALVATORE, TAKE TWO"

╚══════════════╝

     The men in black stood outside. Colourful fabrics peeped out from the pockets of their jackets. Cars lined the street. Relatives that hadn't been seen outside of a photo album for decades stood around, silently critiquing what they could, smiling as they said, yes, I would love a cup of tea...

     Their family was the sort that had had a relative in all continents, the sort that went all-out for any occasion somewhat special. Birthdays were treated like the second coming of Christ. Funerals were celebrations of death and black outfits. Even the current reason of gathering was being treated like it needed a chapter in a history book — it was literally just a nice dinner party to say farewell to one of the younger family members. Like, that was all. And yet, the house-elves were working tirelessly to make the house look spotless, and the food look perfect.

     Christmas Eve held events across the globe. Families would visit friends and start the festivities of the following day. People without families would gather and clink their glasses to the holiday. Those that didn't celebrate would celebrate the day off work, and the peacefulness of the streets for the next couple days.

     The Salvatores had their traditions, like every family. They'd gather and have a banquet for dinner, from roast chicken to cauliflower cheese, and they'd celebrate Christmas altogether. Great aunts and third cousins would arrive and the house would be chaotic, but that was why they held the event on the twenty-fourth, not the twenty-fifth.

     So. The house-elves scurried about to finish the assortment of roast-dinner foods. Everything would be finished by half-two in the afternoon, but until then, the house radiated stress and exhaustion. Those that lived in the house were trying to get ready to greet those already arriving downstairs, whilst the house-elves were being worked to the brim.

     Em sat in her bedroom. A yellow hairbrush ran through her hair, floating in the air as she held onto a glass of water. She felt like she had been hollowed out since the start of the holidays — she felt like her spirit had left for the winter, gone south to somewhere with sunshine that made the world a golden colour.

     She hated it. She hated every second she spent with her family — and this was the time of year where family-time was pretty much twenty-four-seven. The only time she could escape was by getting up later, taking longer to get dressed, and going to bed earlier, but, the thing was, she could get up later. Breakfast was half-eight on-the-dot and if you missed it — if you dared to fucking pancake time — you'd go without the meal. The house-elves were forbidden to give them breakfast if they weren't at the table with the rest of the family at half-eight.

     It was weird. She knew that now. When she was a child, she didn't think it was anything odd. She didn't think that it was weird how angry her godfather would get if you missed time with the family, because what family did she have to compare it to? The only other kids she knew as a child were her siblings, and up until the age of seventeen, she tried to justify her family's peculiarities.

     But now, she struggled to do so. She struggled to pretend everything was fine when she felt like the wallpaper around her was burning and curling and peeling off the wall. She felt like she knew the Salvatore family and it's legacy of misfortune and wickedness, and she couldn't ignore it. She couldn't see past the others in her family without remembering the things they had done.

     The time Second-Cousin Electra was found carrying out Death Eater dirty work, but the Aurors had their memories wiped before they could get her arrested. The time Marie dumped her kids off at her father's and never returned. The time Chandler was attacked by his own godfather.

     The family was sewn together with betrayal and cover-ups. They believed in blood being thicker than water, but they ignored this whenever it suited them. They were a clan made up of awful individuals, all with their own flaws and vices.

     Em didn't want to go downstairs. She didn't want to spend another day with not just her close family, but the extended family, too. She didn't want to spend another day forcing a smile and pushing a dead conversation along. She didn't want to be looked at oddly by her godfather, or reminded by her godmother to wear sleeves and keep the inked flowers hidden.

     She looked at herself in the mirror, tears slowly gathering in her eyes as her teeth gritted together. This was all bullshit. Why the fuck was she going through this? Why the fuck was she allowing her godparents to criticise her like this? Why did she have to live by their ideas, by the way that they wanted the Salvatore name to be presented? She knew how shitty their family was, and really, she didn't think a teenager with blue hair was the most scandalous thing they had faced.

     Em closed the curtains to get changed. Fuck the long sleeves. She knew who she was — and, sure, maybe in the future, she wouldn't have the blue hair, or maybe she'd dress differently — but she accepted who she was in that moment, and she was fucking tired of people thinking they could alter that. She couldn't help who she was — and, really, why should she try and change something as simple as clothes, or her appearance?

     So she moved to her wardrobe, to get out one of the short-sleeved dresses. She stared and frowned at it and thought about how her godparents would react. She shouldn't. She shouldn't. All she would be doing is egging them on, encouraging them to do to her what they did to Chandler.

     Emilia opened the curtains and sat back down. She felt like shit.

***

     Dinner that night was the same as it had been since the start of the holidays, only, the table had been extended to fit the room better. The dining room was no longer a massive room with a table a little too small in the middle — relatives conversed and cutlery clashed as plates of roast potatoes and broccoli floated into the middle of the table.

     Em thought she had gone unscathed. The most memorable part of dinner, for her, was when someone asked Chandler about the cut on his face, to which he said, "It's nothing — isn't it, Emilia Elodie?" He kicked her under the table. Em stayed quiet but struggled to do so. The candles' flames flickered higher, but, other than that, she didn't react.

     But that wasn't it. She should've expected something else would occur, she should've known that when the others were leaving and she was saying her farewells, knowing it was the right thing to do, her godfather would look at her, slight distaste on his face.

     He held onto his wand and muttered something. Her arm with the tattoo began to burn, and as she moved to put her hand on it, she could see her hair returning to dark brown. Em looked up at her godfather, who looked pleased with himself.

     She wanted to cry. The skin on her arm felt like it was burning off, and it was taking all of her might to not start crying and swearing right then and there. Em moved, to go upstairs to her bedroom and try and relieve the pain somehow, but her godfather grabbed onto her arm to stop her.

     "Not everyone has left yet," he said. She could feel his eyes sending daggers into hers, despite the smile on his face. She was in horrible pain and he knew, and he was glad. "You're a Salvatore. Act like one."

     She was leaving. She was going to go upstairs and she was going to get her stuff and go. She wasn't going through any of this, not again. She was through. Fuck her godfather. Fuck her siblings. Fuck her parents. Fuck the Salvatore family and the shitshow they produced.

     The last of the relatives left. She saw blood trickle out from underneath her sleeve, and she felt sick. As soon as the door closed, Em moved to dart upstairs, ignoring whatever comment her godfather was making. She didn't have to fucking deal with this. Not anymore. Not anymore.

     Em locked the door behind her, pulling her sleeve down to look at the arm in pain. There was a visible dent in her skin that made out the outline of the tattoo. Her forearm was stained blood-red, and as she moved to go to the bathroom, to clean herself up, she stopped herself.

     She could clean up once she left. Once she was at Carmilla's. She had tears in her eyes, from how great that sounded. To be with friends, with people that loved her no matter what. Her family didn't love her like that, they loved the image they wanted to present the world with.

     The anticipation was killing her. Soon, she'd be gone. Soon, she'd leave this house and she'd never return, never again. She'd be done with the Salvatores for the rest of her life. She'd be able to leave and change her surname and forget the blood she shared, move on from the people she grew up with.

     She heard her godparents walk through the hallway, and up to the floor above, where their bedroom was. They'd be retiring for the night soon. They were gone now. She could go. She could go!

     Em opened the door quietly. She slipped into the hallway, and crept downstairs. The floorboard creaked as she stepped near the stairs. She stopped. The rest of the world didn't. It was fine. It was fine. They hadn't noticed yet.

     She put a foot on the top step. She moved down the stairs on her tiptoes, recollecting every time she had used the stairs, and which parts were prone to creak. Em got to the last step, and she saw the clear way to the front door, and before she could think and slow herself down, she darted towards it, towards freedom.

     The cold air hit her outside. Em hurried to get down the street to the phone-box, using her wand to Accio enough money to get the thing working. She looked up and down the street to check for cars and for Salvatores, before crossing the road, but before her foot could hit the road's tarmac, she heard someone go, "What the fuck, Salvatore?"

     Sirius frowned at her. Em saw him say something to James, and he carried on walking to the Co-Op up the street, still open. She looked over her shoulder at her house. Nothing had changed. The place wasn't crumbling down at the realisation that someone had escaped.

     "What happened—?"

     "I'm sorry, I should've listened to you — I should've listened to you and everyone that told me not to go back — I shouldn't have gone back, I'm not welcome, I'm not one of them, I'm not—"

     "You're out, Em! You don't have to go back, you—"

     "Oh, fuck! Ripper!"

     "You left your rabbit?"

     "I left my rabbit! I can't leave him there! They'll have him for breakfast!" exclaimed Em, her eyes widening. He had his hands on her arms. There were grey-black stains down her cheeks from the tears, and she moved to wipe them away, beginning to move the one stained in blood to her cheek before remembering why her arm hurt when it was touched.

     Sirius' eyes widened. "Is that—?"

     "He did some spell and took it off. Same with my hair. I'm the same as I was before everything started," she said. She couldn't even force a smile, to pretend that it wasn't as bad. It was. Her individuality had been taken. And he looked terrified when he had done it. "I need to get Ripper. I—I'll let you know when I'm out when I'm at Carm's."

     "Just stay safe, yeah?"

     Em nodded. He hugged her, being wary of the arm that once had the tattoo, kissing the top of her head. She hugged him back, her head resting in a way that let her spot the phone-box across the road.

     "Sorry for messing up your evening," she said. "Have a good Christmas."

     "Are you sure you don't want me to do anyth—?"

     "I'm fine," said Em. "I'll call Carmilla, get Ripper, and go." She almost cried at that. Go. She was almost free. Almost.

     She crossed the road, putting the coins into the phone-box. Carmilla picked up quickly, and Em quickly began to explain. "How quickly can you get here?"

     "I'll be a couple minutes."

     "See you then."

     Em hung up, letting herself out of the phone-box and hurrying back across the road, back down the street, back down to the house she was almost free of. She slipped back through the front door and opened the passageway near the foyer, the one designed for the house-elves. Ripper had been left in the hutch downstairs. She made her way towards it.

     She opened it up but couldn't find him. Her gaze moved towards the passageway into the kitchen, where a house-elf must've had it open whilst carrying dirty plates, and left a big enough time gap for Ripper to get out. Em swore under her breath and ran after Ripper.

     "What are you doing, Emilia Elodie?"

     Em froze. She grabbed hold of Ripper, hugging him tightly but not tight enough, in case he got scared and died. She desperately hoped that her rabbit wouldn't sense her fear because as she looked at her godfather, she could feel her heart pounding.

    There was a reason the siblings found him scary at times, why the others tried their best not to cross him. He looked calm but angry, which scared her even more. She was waiting for it, waiting for him to snap and shout some curse at her. Her arm still hurt from earlier.

     "The front door opened. Did you leave?"

     "Only for a couple minutes," said Em, her voice shaking. "I saw my friends outside."

     "I see," said Capulet. He picked up his glass of whiskey, moving it so the liquid would roll inside the glass. The glass moved upwards, closer to his mouth, and he took a sip. It sat back down on the kitchen table. "You see, I disapprove of your friends. Some of them, at least. That mudblood, that half-blood, and that boy, the one that even the Black family couldn't tolerate, and that's saying something, with how disgusting they are... The only good one is that Dinah girl. I don't see why you and her distance yourselves from the others, and their dirty blood."

     Em didn't want to say anything, but she couldn't help it. This wasn't her being targeted. It was the people she loved and cared about. She couldn't step down when she heard this. "I don't see how that affects you."

     Capulet laughed. His expression went from a little happy to angered. Her heart began beating faster. She worried she'd scare Ripper and kill him. "You forget, Emilia Elodie, that the people you surround yourself with affects not only you but the way this family is viewed," he said. "We are a noble family. We do not associate ourselves with those sort of people — we do not dye our hair unnatural colours because we do not agree in things that are unnatural. Half-bloods and mudbloods are unnatural. So are rotten families." 

     She wanted to laugh.

     "Well, I—"

     "What happened, Emilia Elodie?" he asked. He narrowed his eyes, leaning closer. "I always knew you were going to be the best. I always knew that you were going to succeed, but your siblings wouldn't. I always knew that you'd be the kind of wizard the Dark Lord wanted to support him — good people, smart people. You're that."

     Em looked over at the door. She could get out. If she legged it, she could get out, get into the street, and she'd find Carmilla, and they'd leave. She could do it.

     So, she started to rise. "I'm not joining him."

     Capulet rose, too. Only, with him, it felt as if the light in the room faded, along with all of the warmth. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stick up, as he stood up, looking at her. "You are," he said. "There's no use fighting against it. You're helping him. You're going to do what is right."

     "That isn't the right thing to do."

     "Yes, it is." Capulet stepped closer, and she stepped backwards. She heard a thud from the living room. It made her godfather smile. "The right thing is to exterminate the pests. The right thing is to pluck out those with dirty blood, those who have tainted pureblood." Her initial thought made her eyes widen. "Starting with your siblings."

     Her stomach dropped. She remembered the thud.

     "You've always wanted them dead, haven't you? You've seen the way they treat you, the way they despised you for no reason! They've destroyed the pure blood they were born with."

    "That doesn't mean I—"

     "You can admit it now," said Capulet. "You can admit that you hated them, more than they hated you. That they deserved an early grave. They did, didn't they? The way they've treated others, all throughout their lives. It's only justice that they drank that poison."

     "That's not justice," said Em. She stepped backwards, closer to the kitchen door, closer to the front door. "Just because they were bullies doesn't mean they deserve to be killed. That isn't justice."

     "I disagree," said Capulet. "Let's see, shall we? You're edging closer to the door anyway."

     He pushed her shoulder, with enough force that she almost hit the wall. She moved back into the hallway, where the living room door was open. Capulet grabbed onto her arm so that she'd stay so that she'd see the bodies in the living room.

     "See? Mona, Paisley, Chandler—" Capulet went still. The anger on his face faded, as he stepped into the room, the anger returning as he snapped at the house-elf in the room, "What is she doing in here?"

     "Master, she was already in, I didn't know—"

     Em could see in the crack in the door her godmother. Donna sat, dead, on the sofa. Tears filled her eyes at the sight of the four.

     She knew that it was stupid of her, to be upset, but what else did they expect? These were her relatives, her blood, the people she grew up with. She couldn't help but feel heart-wrenchingly upset, seeing them dead. She couldn't help the pain she felt from it.

     And then he said it.

     He grabbed his wand and shouted the Killing Curse, striking the house-elf dead. Em snapped out of it, darting to get out of the front door before he could do anything else, but he grabbed her arm again. She could see her vision blurring from the tears, and she couldn't process whatever he was shouting at her; everything was building up and up. The pain. The sadness. The mourning.

     He raised his wand.

     "You're going to—"

     "No I'm not!"

     He went towards her, but she put her hand out. Everything went quiet. He stopped shouting. Through her blurred vision, she saw orange flames appearing on his arms, quickly dancing to cover his body. He stumbled backwards, shouting in agony, knocking the candles off of the dresser and setting the carpet on fire.

     Em watched in shock. She still couldn't process it properly. It wasn't until she saw her godfather fall down that she realised what was going on. The flames weren't just hers anymore — he had caused the candles to add to the fire. It wasn't just her fire anymore. It wasn't safe for her anymore.

     She ran outside. She stopped on the path outside of the house, the tears still on her face as she saw the orange glow casting a light into the dark street.

     Soon, her friends would drag her away and force her to stay in hiding, because they all knew that the whole thing wasn't her fault. Soon, she'd be forced to live in an apartment-sized attic at her friends' house and she'd argue over it every single day until she managed to get herself free, to free herself of the guilt of what happened. She still killed him. She still deserved the sentence.

     Soon, she'd give herself up and move into a dark cell in a place where the only colours were black and grey and the air contaminated everyone with negativity. Soon, she'd be lying in her cell, and she'd see the boy she would've loved, if she had been given more time, get thrown into a cell near. Soon, she'd look over, and she'd be too emotionally exhausted to feel confused, but she'd think, What happened?

     Soon, her best friend would marry a man she always talked about in school, one that ended up taking her godfather's old position at the Ministry and gaining the access to the Azkaban prisoners. Soon, that best friend would fall dreadfully ill and ask for one last thing — to let her other friend see the sunshine again. Soon, she'd leave Azkaban and the world would believe she had died and they'd uncover what truly happened in the aftermath, but it would be too late, because she was dead.

     Soon, she'd go to the house where the boy she would've loved with a little more time grew up. Soon, she'd see him again, outside of a cell, and they'd hug, and things wouldn't feel normal, but things would feel better.

     But, for now, that's not the case.

     She looks at the house. Now, she's nothing but a girl surrounded by these mean spirits.

╔══════════════╗

THE END

╚══════════════╝

╔══════════════╗

i'm going to cry lol

anyway!! this is the last chapter, and there will be a lil extra sort-of epilogue and, if you're wondering, there is a sequel/spin-off to this!! it's called abracadabra! and it will be posted on halloween.

special thanks to mickey for being a wonderful human being and putting up with me and my inability to make any decisions, and overall being a great friend that i love lots and lots

also, i should've said this months and months ago, but, thank you so much to lyrabarnes, who does the spanish translations of my fics. it's so wonderful how many fics she translates in general, and i'm so appreciative of how much effort she puts in with all of the translations she does.

so, i hope you enjoyed this, and let me know what you thought! :)

╚══════════════╝