WHO: Isobel MacDougal and Mitzi Abbott. WHAT: Isobel wakes up and Mitzi fills her in. WHEN: May 24 night. WHERE: Mitzi's. WARNINGS: Unforgivable Curses. Death.
Eyes fluttered open, and Isobel took in her surroundings, trying to assess where she was. Instead, a sharp pain flashed through her nerves and she groaned, shifting her position. She recognised the room, the particular decorations Mitzi chose very obvious.
“Mitz?” she called her friend (or girlfriend or whatever it is she was), reaching for a vial of pain potion that was set on the table next to the bed. “Mitzi?” she called again, her voice raising a bit.
“Try to keep calm.” Mitzi’s voice travelled into the bedroom before she did, and she walked in with a glass of juice in her hand. “I’d hate to have to redo all the stitching I did.” She sat next to Isobel, careful not to disturb any of her bandages.
“How do you feel?”
Isobel groaned, her nonverbal answer being the perfect response to exactly how she felt. Her chest felt heavy and she drew in a breath, but with great effort. A grimace followed but she tried to sit up, anyway. The grimace continued, but eventually she was able to get into a sitting position, and she reached for that glass.
She raised the glass to her lips, the liquid tasting funny on her lips. Her face contorted into a momentarily disgusted expression, mostly because the liquid felt especially bitter. But the more she tasted it, the more she realised it was only orange juice. She’d be fine.
And then: “What happened?” Vague images of Hogwarts popped in her head, but nothing clear.
Mitzi watched Isobel, her heart heavy. She loathed the feeling. She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, avoiding Isobel’s eyes. “Our Lord is dead. The Potter boy and his ilk were victorious. We failed.” She stood suddenly, turning her back to the other witch.
She chewed on her thumbnail as she paced the room, mind racing. “Love. Love is what makes people weak. I saw it first hand in battle. This witch could’ve ended me but she let me live for the sake of the boy.” She turned to Isobel, frowning. “Weak.”
Momentarily taken aback, Isobel tried to chalk up her surprise to the general haziness that surrounded her. She’d just woken up, she was tired, and she just needed to figure things out. Isobel needn’t be worried or concerned about Mitzi’s words, but she did find it a tad curious for it to have been brought up that way.
She took another sip of the orange juice, getting used to the taste once again. Isobel frowned, and her attention returned to Mitzi. “Love isn’t weak,” she replied earnestly.
And then thoughts of her family emerged. They wouldn’t have been at Hogwarts, but her younger sister was still a student there. “Morag is okay?” she inquired after a moment.
Mitzi’s hand slipped into her robe’s pocket, caressing her wand like a worry stone. Isobel’s question barely registered, but she made an affirmative noise before clearing her throat. “Morag is okay. They’re looking for you.” Time was running out.
She started to pace again, pulling her wand out and twirling it in her fingers. She finally stopped and pointed the wand at Isobel, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “I love you, Isobel. But love makes you weak, and I can’t be weak,” she said, almost pleading. She stayed where she was, wand still pointed at the other witch. “And you know too much.” Her voice was cold now, though the tears flowed when she blinked.
She wiped them away. “My darling, are you ready to die?”
“Mi-- Mitz--,” Isobel stammered, the creases on her face full of shock. “You ca-- can’t do-- Mitzi, pl--please.”
She pushed the bedsheets off of her and let her feet dangle over the bed, carefully placing the juice on the side table. She just needed to convince Mitzi. She would never do anything to hurt her, she loved her.
The wand pointed at her sent a shiver down her spine, but Isobel tried again. “Don’t do this, Mitzi. I won’t do anything to --.”
Isobel gulped and desperately held out her hand, hoping Mitzi would take it. “Please. Mitz, I love you.”
For a moment, Mitzi considered taking Isobel’s hand. They could be together. They could…
No. Her posture hardened, her expression following. “I don’t love anything.” A lie. She loved lots of things; her father(s), her sister, chocolate, animals. Isobel. She loved Isobel. And that was the problem.
She could still stop this. She could change her mind.
But Mitzi never changed her mind. Her eyes flashed cold. “Avada Kedavra,” she intoned, green light rushing from the tip of her wand.
The middle child of the MacDougal clan didn’t see her life flashing before her eyes, didn’t have a chance to scream, didn’t have a chance to react. Isobel’s face settled on a horrified expression as the green light hit her on the chest, exhausting her of any will, any thought, any breath. Her body collapsed on the floor at once, her eyes left wide open and staring at Mitzi.
A gasping sob escaped from Mitzi after Isobel collapsed on the floor, and it took all her strength not to join her — girlfriend on the floor. She gave herself a moment to get it together, then cast a scouring spell on Isobel’s body to get rid of all evidence that could link her to Mitzi’s home. She transfigured the body into a locket, and clasped the charm around her neck. She would leave the untransfigured body outside of St. Mungo’s soon, but first she wanted a little more time with her.
Fiddling with the locket, Mitzi sat down on her bed and picked up the book she had been reading on regrowing limbs, flipping through it. She had other things to worry about, now.