Post by Ruth Hosker-Thornhill on Aug 3, 2009 0:16:48 GMT
{I'm unsure if this truly is a PG-13 thread, but better be safe than sorry. (:
Contains alcohol and murder references that could be disturbing.}
[This thread takes place in the future, and not at the time in the year I'm posting it in.]
This is a one-post closed thread.
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Ruth Hosker-Thornhill stared into the eyes of her mother, and felt nothing. They were eyes that had once mirrored her own in almost every way, but there were a few new differences these days. Ruth’s had hardened since she had left Hogwarts. They had acquired an unusual edge to them that had not been seen before in the ex-Ravenclaw. It was an unfriendly, cold edge that did not welcome anyone and yet looked oddly at home upon her face. Ruth would much rather have this edge to her character than the look she saw when she looked into her mother’s eyes. They were glassy and lost, misted over by a cloud of confusion and grief. They were eyes that mourned heavily. They didn’t grieve for the husband Claudia had lost, nor for the hard-working and obedient daughter that had spent her years looking after her mother, a daughter that now wanted nothing more to do with her. Claudia’s eyes mourned not for her beauty, which had once been something to boast of but now was just a mere whisper of the past, as her hair hung grey and limp with various clumps singed or pulled out, her skin equally as grey. The eyes mourned something that wasn’t visible; at least not to most. They mourned her sanity.
“Mother.”
Ruth’s voice was cutting, and broke the sticky tension in the room only to set in place a new awkwardness that hung above the sickbed with even more weight. But the young woman knew that only she could feel this discomfort in the room; her mother felt nothing true. She could barely feel anything anymore and for all Ruth knew, she couldn’t think anything true and just either. Of course Ruth didn’t really know how her mother’s illness worked. She had poured for five years over every single article, news piece, documentary, book and replying letter that had anything to say about Fronto-Temporal Dementia, but still could not understand her mother’s mind to a level that pleased her. She only understood the grief that Claudia used to show when told her husband was long dead, but not the following bewilderment and certainly not the untimely rage that was now so common.
This rage used to cut deep into Ruth and gnaw upon her feelings and confidence for weeks afterwards. The beastly rage would shout and scream at Ruth from Claudia’s mouth, shrieking wild obscenities and calling for Claudia’s own mother; a woman who Ruth knew to be long, long dead. Indeed her mother’s mother had died so long ago Ruth had never even met her, and thus could not relate when Claudia began speaking of her – and to her – with such vivid descriptions. The anger from Claudia would meld with the memory loss to create a monster in the sickbed that made Ruth afraid to enter the room, to even make a noise about the house. When those two moods mixed Ruth was in the most danger emotionally – and even physically once or twice – and she would have to build endless wall after wall in her mind to shield herself from her mother’s words and tone, from her unseeing eyes. Claudia had stopped truly ‘seeing’ Ruth for almost a year now; she had stopped having ‘good days’, on which she would look at Ruth as if she really did recognise her and at times would even allow her daughter to read to her for an hour in peace. Those days were long gone. Recently each day only brought new insults from Claudia and, hidden from the carers and peeping eyes, new tears from Ruth.
“Mother…” She repeated the word. It sounded unfamiliar on her tongue and she scowled inwardly, an expression now all too common upon her face. “Claudia.” This was a little better. “Ms Hosker-Thornhill… no… you don’t deserve the name.” Ruth wished Hosker-Thornhill had been her father’s name then, and her mother had been the intruder into the family; then she could call Claudia by another name now, and not feel the dirt upon her tongue by using Hosker-Thornhill in reference to her. Her father had not been the true ‘HT’. He had been Tyson. It was a good name and it pleased Ruth inwardly, but she doubted it held any strength in the wizarding world. She wouldn’t know as had never used it nor enquired after it.
“Ruth Tyson…” She played the words in her mouth for a moment, but as much as she wished she could like the sound of her father’s name after hers, she could not. “Hosker-Thornhill.” She said it again, and soon afterwards repeated it with even more force. “Hosker-Thornhill. You know what I learnt, Claudia?” She quizzed the baffled eyes sternly but got nothing in the form of recognition or reply back, merely more mystification. At least she could be certain Claudia would not respond angrily in one of her fits; she was far too full of her prescribed muggle pills and her head even drowsier than usual for such antics.
Glancing for the first time away from her mother’s eyes, Ruth continued, her words disconnected and faltering. “I learnt just how important we once were. Yes, even you – or at least, your ancestors. My friend told me. Of course I knew about it since my first years in school, but never desired to know just how great the Hosker-Thornhills had been until recently. Until he…” Wavering slightly, Ruth’s left hand removed itself from the rail of her mother’s sickbed and slipped absently into her blazer pocket, where it fingered the blazing phoenix feather that rested there lovingly. “…enlightened me with the knowledge. Just think… all those riches. All that fortune. The clothes I could wear… the books I could read! The house I would live in. The stupid conceited material things I could own, and the horses!– Bold white stallions, great golden palominos, dancing thoroughbreds and perhaps a sweet dark mare just to keep the balance. All mine… wouldn’t that have been brilliant, Claudia?”
As the question came out Ruth’s left hand shot forwards and grasped her mother’s chin brutally, forcing it up and down. Her eyes narrowed as the blazing movement stilled, but her hand remained upon her mother’s grinding jaw. In response, Claudia moaned helplessly, but Ruth was unaffected by her efforts and tightened her harsh grip.
“But all was lost in some stupid fire and in some stupid, stupid woman’s crazy mind. She was like you, this Hosker-Thornhill woman. Didn’t have a bloody clue where she was, who she was… just like you. Fortunately for her family she put an end to their misery and burnt them all to the ground, taking herself too… why haven’t you done something so selfless yet, Claudia? Why have you remained for all these years in a ruined body, with shredded thoughts and sense?” Her flashing eyes darkened as she leant in closer. “Because you’re selfish.” The words were spat from her lips brutally, while at the same time her hand snapped away; as if Ruth was afraid of catching something.
Moving away from her mother’s bedside, Ruth approached the tray she had brought in with her. Upon it sat a half empty bottle of white wine and a single glass. She poured the glass until it was three quarters of the way full, before tipping the liquid down her throat in one fluid motion and filling it up again, coughing once. She brought both glass and bottle with her as she slowly walked back to the bed. As she went, she swayed slightly as if in a dance, her eyes never leaving her mother’s face.
“So father was a squib.” Her tone was flat, unimpressed. “You can’t tell me, I know that. But I think he was, and that could explain why he went for such a daft muggle job, and why he never used magic around me… but you? Why didn’t you teach me with your wand?” For the first time Ruth’s voice was laced with a hint of sadness. “I’m awful at wand magic. I have to practise a spell so much harder than anyone else. For a whole year I believed I was a disgrace to the meaning of Ravenclaw! I remember thinking the hat should have put me in Hufflepuff, where those who are often inept go… but people who care for others wear the yellow robes. And honestly, mother? I don’t care for anyone.”
More wine disappeared down her throat. She perched on the side of Claudia’s bed now, continuing her talk absently, not bothered in the slightest if her mother was listening or not. “As for the other house, Gryffindor, I would have just been too aggravated there. I’m not brave anyway; this all will probably prove that in most people’s eyes. I’m too scared of too many things to be even remotely brave. As for Slytherin... who knows. I think Ravenclaw and Slytherin are far too alike. Lions and badgers are so diverse; but snakes and eagles? They’re both determined, both ambitious, in my view. I know what I want. I know how to get it. And I’m sure I will… but I crave knowledge too. If I don’t know something, if something is unfamiliar to me, I’ll fear or hate it.” She eyed her mother once more, thinking how true her last words were. “Just like I hate you. First I feared you- for so, so long I feared you. Now I just despise you. You disgust me and you disgrace me.”
Filling her glass up with the remainder of the bottle, Ruth then cast the empty bottle aside carelessly. “So you see, I know myself rather well now. I know I sound like an awful person, too… but I’m not. I’m just angry. I want my chance in life, Claudia. Can you understand that? I want my time to do what I can do, I want to be… substantial. I want to matter. And I’ve found a place where that can happen for me – actually, two places.” Her eyes glittered at the prospect of what lay before her; a huge decision, a life-changing choice. “I’m leaning towards one at the moment… I think the next hour will heavily decide for me.” With a grin at her mother’s wildly confused expression, Ruth stood up. She began to walk slowly around the bed, sipping her wine slowly.
After a moment, she paused. She was at the foot of the bed now. Leaning heavily against the tall wooden frame, she took a long, dark object from inside her light coat; her wand. It was twirled gracefully between Ruth’s fingertips while she drank down the rest of her wine. When all of the liquid had been drained she threw the glass beside her with as much care as she had handled the bottle with; the glass smashed upon the floor. The pieces scattered across the carpet but Ruth ignored them.
“So what now? What happens now... well, I’ll make that decision I guess. I’ve got new friends, mother. Powerful friends, if you will. On both sides. Something is approaching; something you’ll probably be happy to miss out on actually. You’ll be glad you won’t be a part of it.” Claudia’s eyes went wide and for a moment, a flash of crazed recognition shone in the glassy pupils; but it was gone by the time Ruth saw it for what it was. It distracted her though and she changed topic, fingering her wand instead. “I wonder what would happen if I were to Obliviate you? Nothing, I’m sure. There’s nothing left in your daft, messed up head to remove…” She pointed the wand at her mother. Her arm was stretched out before her and she held her head high. Upon her lips the memory-cleansing charm danced. But she bit it back and lowered her wand arm slowly, a small smile stretching her lips. “There’s no point. It’ll all be gone soon anyway.”
A silence then hung in the air. Ruth scratched her arm and stared around her, taking in the room and her mother once more. She didn’t speak as she walked the length of the bed once more and sat again upon it. For almost an hour she merely sat there. Sometimes she watched the emotions and fear jump across her mother’s damaged face. Sometimes she closed her eyes and went inside herself, blocking out the small sounds of the country, the eerily dark sounds of her mother’s heavy breath. And sometimes she just sat, breathing almost as heavily as the ill woman beside her, her mind almost as lost.
“Well then.”
Again Ruth rose, this time for the last time. She kissed her mother upon the head, her lips pressing into cold, clammy skin hard. Then she strode towards the door. Glass cracked and was crushed beneath her heeled boots and the air seemed refreshed, as if a cool breeze had swept through. Ruth Hosker-Thornhill turned at the threshold of the exit and lifted her wand arm once more. In a gentle, slightly broken tone, she put an end to her mother’s life.
“Avada Kedavra.”
The green light filled the entire room before leaving it in sullen darkness; the sudden noise of a strong wind did the same to a sullen silence. For a moment Ruth wondered if her magic would work, as it had failed her so many times before. But she had practised the killing curse upon small creatures and it did not disappoint.
Without allowing her eyes to linger upon anything in the room let alone her murdered mother, Ruth tucked her wand away and swept from the room.
As she strode through the house her figure changed; it twisted and bent over, mutating awkwardly. Her hair shrunk to her head – now smaller and elongated – only to then spread all over her, the blonde fur becoming spotted white and brown in various places. Her form ducked until she was on all fours; except she was not upon her knees now, but on four small clawed paws.
It was not a young woman who left the Hosker-Thornhill cottage for the last time that evening, but a swift and sleek panther-like creature with no regrets, and no family.
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