My Baby Blue ((Closed)) [PG-13]

[Dakota Fox S6]

((This thread may contain adult themes and
moderate language and is therefore rated PG-13.
Please read at your own discretion.))

((This is set during August.))

The door opened. From her bed, Dakota barely stirred. The only indication of a reaction was the twitching of her left eye. As footsteps echoed against the floor of the spacious, neatly-kept room, Dakota remained still, her eyes trained in one spot as though she were peering into time and space itself. In fact, her blue eyes, once bright and vibrant and filled with cutting youth, but now shone dull and empty, stared out of the large, rectangular window. Curtains made of expensive material draped across its sides like decorations, its ornaments, framing a picture of summer and sunshine. The beautiful scenery didn't reflect within Dakota's eyes as they remained glassy, transparent, dead. As the intruder stopped beside her bed, Dakota's hand, without her head tilting to watch her movements, stretched past a leg to pick up the glass of water on the bedside table. Calmly, expressionlessly, Dakota placed the drink to the mouth and sipped.

"I feel weak," she finally said, shattering the eerie rather than peaceful silence. The glass was replaced and Dakota leaned back against the bed, tilted up specially to accommodate her as she sat here, day after day. There were times she ventured out into the gardens, beautiful as expected of the man accommodating her every need. He would only have the best quality, and once upon a time, Dakota understood that perfectly. But the beauty of nature, of its purity and innocence, caused Dakota to shrink away as though burned or stung. Anything remotely beautiful had the same effect on her. Dakota had once been a beauty; golden-blonde hair like sunshine, eyes like the sky, they said, and a smile no one could resist. Now, her locks lay flaxen, dry; her eyes didn't wish to look upon this dirty world; and she could not smile. There was nothing to smile for. And so Dakota lay inside a building hidden away from the world, in bed, alone. She'd tried books, music, art. They could only hold her for so long, especially considering her inner turmoil that constantly shadowed her. It pushed against her being, threatening to break her.

Only one thing held her back. Dakota's hand slipped subconsciously on to her stomach, caressing it absentmindedly. She had played music to it, read to it since she'd been taken away from School. Her stomach had grown particularly large now that she was receiving help for nutrition, scans, the lot. She had been given the full package of help and she was grateful for it; perhaps the first time in her life she felt the emotion of gratefulness, of appreciation. She glanced up at Pyro Blackfire, into his gaze, and did not flinch. She was accustomed to him now; the only person she could hold eyes with and not look away in shame. He continued to care for her as though she were family, and although Dakota had yet to thank him with words, the way she looked at him was enough to express herself. Once, Dakota would have been able to voice any thought that happened into her little, narrow mind. Now, every word that left her mouth had been poured over, examined. She would never again so carelessly, so thoughtlessly, fling her opinions around. Dakota was made even more aware of Pyro's kindness towards her and her situation when she compared it to the inevitable reaction of her father: Roland Fox would no doubt disown his only daughter, however much he treasured her. Although Dakota had already lost everything, this was one thing she was determined to keep a secret.

"Can it be possible to love and hate something so much at the same time?" Dakota asked Pyro, her eyes sliding from his to gaze gauntly out of the window once more. Her hand stilled upon her stomach, feeling a gentle kick. They had started a few days ago; healthy signs, the nurse Pyro had especially hired and sworn to secrecy, had said. Dakota was a month away from the baby's arrival, a month away from the start of her Sixth Year at Hogwarts; and she was going to become a mother. Dakota used to pale, a few months ago, at such a thought, but now she had come to accept it with a heavy heart. She looked forward to the day she could meet her child; remove her child. The conflicts in her mind about her offspring remained. It was Stephen's; it was her's. Dakota blinked fiercely and waited for Pyro's answer. He knew she referred to the child. It was all she spoke of these days. The next month would remain dedicated to preserving its tiny life, until its birth in September, when she would be forced to remain away from Hogwarts and Pyro would write a letter of apology, disguised as her doctor. Mr and Mrs Fox currently thought, thanks to Pyro, that their daughter was in the best care at St Mungo's due to having her appendix removed. Little did they know they were to become grandparents in a matter of weeks.

[Dakota Fox S6]

"PYRO!"

The scream echoed along the stone walls like infected cancer. The sound was akin to the slaughter of an animal, the pain so tangible in that hollow, desperate tone. Hands, white like leprosy, clung to bed rails like a prisoner as a frail, spasming body arched, trembling, on the once-pure-white, drenched sheets.

"PYRO!" The scream shattered the gasps and moans once more, tearing through the heavy, frantic atmosphere in that large but simultaneously oppressive room. Dakota's eyes widened with pain and horror, dilating until the green became black. Her fingernails scraped the metal of the rail, screeching like knife against tile in the ears of the witches surrounding her like flies, buzzing in desire to help, to free her. Sweat dripped like rain across her brow, down her cheek, against her lip as she gave another hoarse shout, this time weaker. Her skin paled as she gasped, "Pyro!"

"Miss, please stay still, the contractions are--"

"Pyro! Where is PYRO?!" Dakota screamed over the vainly attempted soothes from one nurse, almost flinging a fist into her face. Her hair was matted against her neck, straw-coloured, no longer gold along her clothes. As a hand finally closed against hers and her shaking gaze met a pair of strong, steadfast eyes, Dakota knew she was safe. "Help me," she whimpered weakly, desperately. "Help me, I'm scared. Please, stop the pain, it hurts. Pyro, it hurts." Tears she hated herself for finally began to stream down her face, mixing with the sweat against alabaster skin devoid of blood. "Just get it out of me," she whispered brokenly.

"Master, she's gone into labour a month early," one nurse began reporting to Pyro over Dakota's heavy breathing and weeping sobs. "She won't make it - neither of them will, if we don't operate now. She's lost too much blood already. Time is of the essence--"

And that was when Dakota's world faded to black, a hand clutched, terrified, in hers.

[Dakota Fox S6]

The world was black. It was black for a long time; felt like eternity, when it was no more than a few hours, lying on a bed, wands over you, completely at their will and mercy. A broken doll, she was; a dying, broken doll. She wandered the darkness during that eternity, eyes blind in the black as she ate fear like a savage, until finally, the light returned, seeping through the corners of the land until the whole world was lit with its warm, kind rays. Against it, she raised her head, felt it tingle along her face, and smiled.

The first thing Dakota saw as she resurfaced from the sleeping spell was the concerned, even worried visage of Pyro Blackfire. Almost automatically, almost imperceptibly, Dakota smiled. A twinge of pain across her abdomen caused her to wince, along with the near-blinding light that caused the darkness to succumb; she could feel her body, tired and exhausted, crank awake with stiff movement. Still, she felt free. Liberated. Something had changed.

"Pyro?" she whispered weakly, lifting a shaking hand towards him. "What... happened?" Her eyes swept the room - the same room she had inhabited for months. But yes, there was change. The head nurse was not fussing over Dakota, tugging at sheets and scurrying for water, but was gazing over a transparent box with a soft, tender smile - motherly, even. "Is that...?" Dakota's breath caught in her throat.

The nurse, having noticed her wakening, immediately scooped a bundle of cloths up from the box and started towards Dakota. Immediately, a flash of fear along with another spasm of dull pain washed over Dakota's young yet aged face. "Is it...?" She turned to Pyro for confirmation. Before he could answer her, the nurse had placed the blankets into her arms, and all Dakota could do was hold on tight with trembling arms and trembling lips, gazing down at her creation.

"A boy, Miss," the nurse said with a large smile as Dakota stared, helpless, at her child. "Born 10th of August. A bit on the small side because he's a month premature, but nonetheless, he's healthy." With one last glance at Pyro, the nurse left the room to give Dakota some peace and quiet, as well as time. Pyro followed suit, leaving her utterly alone. And yet, she wasn't; she had her child - a boy.

Dakota's eyes raked his face hungrily, his tiny, tiny face, eyes closed in peaceful sleep. Tears filled her throat and before she could help it, she began to cry, grieving, joyful tears rolling down her cheeks that remained pallid and white. "My baby," she whispered to the silent room as she clutched her child close to her chest, never wanting to let go. "My boy."

[Dakota Fox S6]

Dakota looked up at the sound of footsteps against floorboards, watching her blonde-haired saviour enter the room with understandable cautiousness. Although her face remained passive, the startled look did not fade from her eyes - those terrified, haunted eyes. Silence reigned for several minutes as Dakota's fingers caressed the patch of flaxen-blonde on top of a tiny head nestled warm within her arms. Her eyes left Pyro's to stare in bewilderment, amazement, at the creation sleeping against her chest - her creation - a living, breathing human being. Not for the first or last time that day, Dakota blinked back hot, guilty tears she did not understand, and swallowed tightly. "His name is Damien," she finally said quietly, her voice sorrowful and tired.

Dakota's finger trailed across little Damien's face. He had her eyes, her beautiful, baby-blue eyes, and she couldn't be more grateful for his physical features - they were all hers. No one would ever be able to tell this was Stephen Donahue's child, unless he grew to have his face, that head-set jaw, those merciless flints for eyes. Bringing Damien closer to her protectively so his face pressed into her collarbone, Dakota looked to Pyro again. "I-I know I can't keep him," she stammered out in a broken, desperate voice, "But he's mine, Pyro, he's mine! I gave birth to him, I made him, he belongs to me, not some stranger b**** who's going to call herself his mother!" Her tone had reached a strangled scream, a hollow echo against the walls of the room.

The noise caused Damien to stir within Dakota's arms, emitting a tiny grunt of discomfort. Surprised and alarmed, Dakota quickly fell into silence, clutching her son carefully, possessively, unwilling to let go. She knew - Pyro knew too - that this could not be, but she could not accept it. Quickly, Damien became quiet, slumbering on innocently, ignorantly, whilst his mother began to cry. "Why, Pyro?", she whispered, pale and stricken with grief. "Why does life have to be so unfair?" Wiping her tears away with an obstinacy that had not disappeared from Dakota's personality, she then said more firmly, "Promise me, Pyro; promise me that you will find him a good home. Not like my parents, my useless, useless parents who gave me everything but love." Her tone was savage for a moment, before lapsing into sadness once more. "Promise me he will keep his name of Damien, because it's all I can give him. He can't have any of my possessions, my money, my surname, my lo--" Dakota choked on her words, a sob sticking in her throat.

"My love," she finally forced out in a voice thick with tears and sorrow. Taking a shuddering breath, she continued brokenly, "I thought I would hate him. But I can't. He's my child." She bent her head and pressed it to her son's. "I-I thought what Stephen did to me was the cruellest punishment I could ever imagine. But I was wrong." Her hand tightened around Damien's little wrist. "This is."

[Dakota Fox S6]

"Miss?"

Against her pride, her stubborn will, Dakota whimpered softly and clutched Damien ever more tight to her chest. "No," she whispered brokenly. "He's mine. I can't let him go." As though sensing his mother's frantic urgency, Damien opened his little mouth and began to cry, quiet but piercing sounds that echoed through the room.

"I'm sorry, Miss," the nurse continued, trying a kindly voice, a sympathetic face; but her eyes were firm and pressing. "Master Damien must leave now with his new family." Dakota knew so much. The man and woman who would become her son's new parents were not so far from her, only rooms away, waiting for the new addition to their family. Dakota knew nothing about them, except they were a good family, with few connections that would make Damien's arrival suspicious. They were not wealthy, but neither were they poor, and they had the means to support Damien - especially with Pyro's constant guidance.

Despite their willingness to take Damien, Dakota could hardly stop the resentment she felt towards these two strangers. This man and woman, they were taking her son away from her; how could she possibly be grateful for that? The only person Dakota felt any peace towards was Pyro; Pyro, who had provided her with security and sanctuary, who had taken care of her - not like her family had, waiting on her every whim - but in a genuinely kind and caring manner Dakota had never before experienced. This was true empathy, one which she was only beginning to learn about. She was a Slytherin, yes; but she was - or had been - an unfeeling Slytherin, and only now did she realise how despised she was, even in her own house. Even she would have despised herself, the Dakota one year ago.

Not that she would ever thank Stephen Donahue for evoking such a change. This change wasn't all a learning curve; it was also seeped with revenge and resentment. Dakota may be worn and tired from giving birth, from having her child wrenched cruelly from her, but she was still determined to destroy Stephen if it was the last thing she did. She didn't have anything to live for but this ultimate goal. Dakota was never to see her son again; too dangerous, Pyro had said, and she knew it, trusted him, but it was still heart-breaking, to know Damien would never know his mother. And yet, it was only kinder to let him go, Dakota's demons argued; he would live a happy life, with parents who had the means to love him and provide for him, and he would never know the terrible truth of his birth, of how he was conceived. Dakota would never tell him; and neither would Pyro.

"One last goodbye, then," Dakota's voice shook, drawing Damien closer and pressing her chapped lips to his forehead, feeling short, soft strands of blonde touch her nose. The child fell into a subdued hush, again sensing his mother's grief and turmoil. "Goodbye, Damien. I'll be back for you one day," she whispered almost fiercely. "You're my son and I promise you I will never forget you. Whatever person I used to be... I love you." Stroking Damien's head one last time as he gazed up at her owlishly, Dakota finally passed him to the nurse, who wrapped his blankets tighter around him and began to walk out of the room. "Please," Dakota suddenly cried out, watching Damien step out of her life. Tears were flooding silently down her face, her knuckles a matching white to the linen sheets it gripped. "Please don't take him away from me," she begged in a whisper, eyes wide and overflowing with grief.

The nurse gave Dakota one last grave look, before exiting the room.

[Dakota Fox S6]

Dakota didn't have time for recuperation, for recovery of any sorts. Hogwarts was beginning, and she was to return today. Damien had been taken two days ago, gone forever, with Dakota weeping in her room, watching the carriage fade away with her son, her beautiful son born out of agony and hatred. Now it was time to forget Damien and move on; back to Hogwarts, where Dakota's peers - naive, innocent, untainted - would surround her, oppress her until she shrank into nothing, screaming for mercy. Dakota had never wanted to avoid people, avoid the world, so much as she did now, staring blankly outside of the window, at the beautiful September scenery, a trunk in the corner and time ticking by. Every second the clock struck reminded Dakota of the strength she needed to find, to return to school and live her life again. She'd been shrouded away from the world for so many months, in the security of this serene and quiet abode, that she'd forgotten the harshness of the human nature, one she'd once been the epitome of.

Returning to Hogwarts, with Stephen Donahue, was both horrifying for Dakota, and an opportunity. Although she despised him, flinched from his presence and those flinted eyes when they met over crowds of students, Dakota had not forgotten her rage over her fear and agony. It was time to take her revenge on Stephen, to pay him back for everything he had put her through these last nine months. Dakota was determined to be strong against him, even though he was her worst nightmare. She had never in her life held such a fierce conviction: to bring down Stephen Donahue. Yes. Dakota would kill him, she had to, she was going out of her mind with the ache in her chest, forever pounding painfully so she could barely breathe. The only time she had truly breathed easy these last several months was the moments after she regained consciousness, after Damien had been removed from her womb and placed in her arms. The only time. And now that cure had faded, been snatched away, and Dakota was again alone in the world.

Alone. Totally alone. No Pyro at Hogwarts, no post to lean against, no arms to catch her if she fell. From now on it would be Dakota, not Dakota and Pyro; just her to face Stephen, to take on her NEWTs. She'd done well in her OWLs, but the thought of two more years at Hogwarts was overwhelming. Dakota was unsure of whether she would make it, but she needed to return; if not to prove a point, then to exact revenge. A frail hand brushed aside a curtain of blonde hair from her eyes, before turning and walking out of the room, away from the peaceful scenery, away from the memories of solitude and endless days, the memory of her wailing child in her arms, alive. Away... back to Hogwarts... where Stephen Donahue lay in wait.