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dianna d. dobbs ([info]babyd) wrote in [info]valesco,
@ 2011-07-03 23:14:00


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Entry tags:derek dobbs, dianna dobbs

Derek!
Dianna stood in front of her bathroom mirror, pushing the same blonde curl behind her ear for the twentieth time in the last ten minutes. Her hair was just not sitting right. It wasn't curling onto her shoulders like it had once perfectly done during her years at Hogwarts, and she was refusing to accept the fact that it was never going to again. She had not done anything to her hair, so why should it not behave like it once had? The only thing that had changed since her Hogwarts days was...her.

She frowned at this idea and shook it away, pulling her hair into the clip whose springs were nearly worn with how often she'd secured her hair between its claws. Dianna looked down at her sink, wincing at the ring around it and forcing herself out of the bathroom, stepping over the towels that needed to be washed two weeks ago. She darted to her bedroom, ignoring the shoes and books and bags that lined the hallway, and was glad that the summer cloak she wanted to wear today was sitting on top of the pile of clothes nearest the door in her room.

Her flat, a disaster zone, was not a place she wanted to be, or a place that she wanted anyone to be. Dianna was so much more than ashamed by it, but the shame it brought terrified her out of her skin and she couldn't be moved to clean it up. That's why she hadn't had anyone over in---she jumped at the knock on her door and her heart began to race like it was going to run straight up her throat. Panic, panic! Dianna rushed to the front door and made sure she looked presentable, glad she at least had the sense to keep the front of the entrance way clear, in case she had visitors that would be shooed out into the hallway outside her flat. Dianna pushed herself up on her toes and let out a squeak. Derek?

The surprise caused her to throw the door open much wider than she had in months, "Big brother!" she let out happily. Though, Dianna did have the sense to push him forward with a hug, and out of her entrance way.



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[info]bigd
2011-07-20 03:22 am UTC (link)
Crack.

The hand he'd forgotten about, the one not touching his sister in anyway, holding his wand, seized. Snapped the useless instrument in two.

Bits of the wood jutted into his palm, scraping it, piercing it. It didn't matter. He threw the pieces away from him. It didn't matter, because that wand hadn't done anything to stop this. A wand, in fact, was what allowed his sister to be so—

He could not think it. Did not dare think it.

Nausea rolled over him in waves. He could feel that same hand tensing, as if unable to stop itself from ripping away at that flesh with its incessant crawling and creeping and dragging and itching and burning because this was his doing, and it was his fault—

He slid closer, more for himself than her, to know she was still alive, and still here, and still walking and talking and thinking and his baby sister. He extended his arms now, gentle, so gentle, like she was moth wings and the slightest touch might crumble her, and slid them around her utterly still frame.

They would not touch her again. They would never touch anyone he cared for once more, ever.

"I will make it all right," he told her tonelessly, numbly. "I will make everything all right again."

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