Chapter Text
Fork. Plate. Mouth. Chew.
Fork. Plate. Mouth. Chew.
Fork. Plate. Mouth. Chew.
It was the gentle chant she replayed in her head that kept her sane, the rhythmic clatter of the utensils reprising actions over and over dimmed the roaring chaos of her brain. It stiffened her mind to a numbing rhythm, allowing her to remain woefully ignorant to the thunderous bolt of green that zipped past her head to strike the researcher who now lay limp on the dining table, whose stiff fingers strayed threateningly close to her plate.
It was another gathering of death eaters and their relatives, another session of Voldemort's' inspirational advocations of cleansing the earth of all muggle-born concluding with yet another corpse gracing their table. This time it was a witch, their own kin, who sprawled lifeless below them. She had believed that muggles and witches could breed and publicly advocated her beliefs, even publishing research to prove that no "contamination of pure blood" had any correlation with decreased wizarding ability. It was what some more conservative speakers of the magistrate argued to be a blasphemous outroar, condemning the inflaming public support that had now inevitably ended more than just her career.
And now all she could do was stare down at her dish and beg her mind to maintain her nonchalant illusion as horrors unfolded before her, it took all remaining shreds of sanity and control to shred yet another piece of tasteless beef and chew it to groundless mush, to disregard the singed, blooded curls that now danced around her plate.
Savage choirs of gratitude to the Dark Lord from her parents and their fellow death eaters chipped at her ability to anchor the stale meal to her stomach, yet her current focus was now derived from urging her body not to hurl but instead forcing her eyes to remain downcast as they had been for the entirety of the event. Battling to restrain the almost uncontrollable will to cast a subtle upwards glance at the boy sat across form her, knowing exactly what she'd be faced with.
His face would be a pale deathly glow, lips pursed to a trembling blue line, eyes welled with unshed tears resulting in bright, puffy red lids. Arms quaking with effort of wheezing breaths through the suffocating guilt, fists clenched atop the table, meal untouched, nails digging into the skin of his palms till they broke away crimson.
She'd have to remember to clean them later.
.
He didn't understand how she did it. Didn't understand how she could be so steadfast and undisturbed by the nightmare unravelling itself before them. Couldn't understand the grace of her unwavering motions as she picked up yet another piece of meat and placed it to her lips while the corpse of yet another person, one that had been breathing and desperate and pleading only seconds ago, dropped with a sickening lifeless thud before them.
Couldn't understand the unbothered demeanour that surrounded her like a plate of armour, one that deflected the screams and pleas of all victims that would torture his mind for weeks but prevented her from a single second of flinching unease. Didn't understand how she could seem so detached from all the torment she witnessed but have all that armour fracture and rupture the moment she found seclusion.
If only he knew that in the darkest depths of isolation did she shred apart every raw, comprehensible emotion and allow herself an instant where she could break down every feasible sentiment and be oh-so vulnerable.
Only in those feeble seconds would she hold herself and dream beyond hope that one day this would all be over, that this entrapment was merely a temporary sentence.
It was the silent, hysterical weeping the quivering and trembling that kept her sane just a little while longer.
But he didn't know, and so those were the thoughts racing through his head as fought against the sob racking its way up his neck.
It was then that their eyes met. Only for an instantaneous second did she break the rhythm of her motions, fork hovering just below her lips for a fraction longer yet it was all the communication they needed. A momentary glance at her pale, glassy eyes and he understood the meaning, a single flicker between himself and his meal a silent, urgent appeal to avoid any deriving suspicion.
And so that's what he did. With trembling motions he unclenched his palms, which broke away crimson, and mirrored her every action to perfection.
Fork. Plate. Mouth. Chew.
Fork. Plate. Mouth. Chew.
Fork. Plate. Mouth. Chew.
And silently he understood.