in the end you have to be your own hero

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After Braelynn had died, Cecelia had been terrified. Terrified of death, terrified of life, and terrified of everything that came between. When people had asked her what her greatest fear was, Cecelia had said that she was afraid to die. When she had encountered an escaped boggart in the halls of Hogwarts, it had taken the form of Desirae, because to Cecelia, Desirae had become synonymous with death. Her sister was a murderer, and somehow that was a more concrete image in her head than a reaper of some sort coming to collect her soul. Cecelia wasn’t sure about her opinions of the afterlife, so the idea of a being devoted to taking people there just… didn’t work. But someone who was a taker of life? That was what death looked like to her, and she was afraid of it.

When she had discovered that Braelynn was alive, Cecelia’s fear of death didn’t disappear. It became more distant, no longer peering over her shoulder as she made every decision, but in some ways, being distant made it more terrifying. It was more threatening when it was further away, looming but not close enough to fight off. No one had asked her what her greatest fear was after she had discovered her sister’s true fate, but if they had… Cecelia wouldn’t have been able to answer. She still feared death, but even more, she feared the fact that she was never going to be able to see death coming. People were snatched from her, and lives were snuffed out like lights from a candle – all it took was one breath, one explosion, one person devoted to doing evil… and then they were gone.

Presented with the opportunity to live longer, Cecelia didn’t have the strength to say no. (She didn’t know what would happen if she refused, either. The vampire was well-dressed and charming, but he had a feeling that he could just as easily turn savage if he wanted to. Desirae had been the same way, constantly switching faces as it suited her purpose.) She had been whisked away to a castle whose location she didn’t know. It was crumbling down, but she had been promised that she would be safe, and she would be looked over. Promises meant little to Cecelia anymore, and those that did mean something weren’t given to her by perfect strangers.

Cecelia had tried to write letters to excuse her absence, but her captor – or keeper, she wasn’t really sure which, considering this was semi-voluntary – said that it was essential that no one come to interrupt them. He obviously didn’t understand that the risk of someone looking for them was much higher if she disappeared completely, but Cecelia had learned quickly not to argue with people, even if they were wrong. Talking back just made them angrier, and that was a bad thing when the man in front of her literally controlled her fate. It would be all too easy for him to bleed her dry and then say it was the result of her refusal to complete the ritual. No one would ask any questions. Her body would probably never be found, and then the people she loved would be alone.

That was the thing, Cecelia decided. The reason she had gone along with this crazy vampire and his convoluted story was not because she was afraid of dying, or afraid that she would not see death coming – in this case, it would be easy to predict what would happen as a result of her refusal. Somehow, staring death in the face wasn’t as scary as watching it loom in the distance. No, the reason that she had complied was because she was worried about what would happen to everyone else when she was gone. She had been the one left behind too many times, and she knew how much that hurt. People assumed that it was like a cut that healed and scabbed over and eventually was nothing more than a story to be told, but for Cecelia, grief had been like a stomachache – constant and sickening. She didn’t want that to happen to the people she cared for. She didn’t want to let her parents believe they had lost all of their children and she didn’t want to let her sister know the pain of being the last surviving sibling. She didn’t want her friends to know what she had felt the moment her old schoolmates had been shattered by an explosion, and she didn’t want… Merlin, she couldn’t even think his name. But she didn’t want him to hurt, because he didn’t deserve to hurt. He deserved beautiful lives, beautiful futures – everyone did. And her dying? That would be a blemish in the beauty, distracting from everything else that was possible.

Maybe Cecelia was twisting this whole experience to make herself the hero, but if she was… what was the harm? Cecelia wasn’t used to being a hero of any sort, and even if this act barely qualified as heroic, she would be damned if she let go of it. Three days wasn’t a long time in the grand scheme of things, even if the hours had crawled by on her own with nothing but books (and, of course, her vampire friend) to keep her company. She counted the minutes and the seconds until she could leave.

When she did leave, it was without fanfare. Her vampire associate – was he her father now, since he had turned her? The thought turned Cecelia’s stomach – bid her farewell and gave her a portkey to St. Mungo’s, looking at her with a smile that was equal parts warm and wicked. Cecelia didn’t know why he was looking at her in that manner, but she took the Portkey anyways. It was her only way home, and the whole reason she had done what she had done was so that she could go home to the people that she loved. She needed to go home.

With a whirl, she was transported into the lobby of the hospital, and Cecelia suddenly understood why the elder vampire had looked at her the way he had. The scent of blood was everywhere, fresh and warm and tempting. Cecelia clamped her hand over her nose to try to dampen the scent, but it didn’t do much. Instead, she focused on breathing through her mouth as a nearby witch approached her. It was obvious the woman was a Healer, and even more obvious that she had realized what had happened to Cecelia, with the way she was looking at the girl. The witch cast a Bubblehead Charm over Cecelia’s face so that she could breathe without the stench of blood distracting her every sense, and then lead her down a long, brightly lit hallway.

The Healers asked her questions, and Cecelia answered them as vaguely as possible, knowing that the true story wouldn’t be believed by anyone, except maybe her sister. At the end of the interview, they sent her into a hospital room, where she would remain until she could be given blood and learn how to resist the urge to bite humans. When the Healers had suggested restricting her visitors for the first few days, Cecelia had vehemently disagreed. She needed to see her people.

She needed to know this was worth the cost.