𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐃.𝐌

Chapter Thirty-one

TW: Blood/ self-harm

EDEN SLAMMED the bathroom door shut behind her and strode over to the sink, her mind spiraling with complex feelings of rage and bitterness.

Her hands desperately clutched either side of the sink and she writhed back and forth, trying to control the roar of fury boiling up between her ribs.

She felt bitter. Hurt. But then, who wouldn't feel their heart break at the devastation of this whole situation?

Eden asked herself every question possible; what, why, how, but there was no answer.

Harry was hot-headed, dangerous, vicious; always striving for the greater good but careless in hurting other people in the process. All of his missions led others to danger.

Like in the ministry, where she'd been hit with the Cruciatus curse.

How could she have been so foolish into following him around, like he was her purpose?

Why did everyone around her act like he was their salvation?

He couldn't be treated like some sort of God when he clearly wasn't. He was evil. Vile.

Perhaps as vile as Voldemort in his own sick and twisted way.

Eden looked up at herself in the mirror and cursed the reflection for being so blind, so dense to trust him. Fuck, she would have given him her life if that was what The Order had asked of her.

And the tragic part was, that she'd still do it.

The thought hit her like a train and the tiny bit of sadness that circulated through her, preventing her from breaking everything around her, turned into danger.

Control yourself.

Her pulse quickened and a five-course serving of pure rage decided to claw its way out of her. She dragged in lungfuls of air, her lungs squeaking like a crooked windpipe, but counting to ten and breathing exercises didn't stop the turbulence.

She stared back into the mirror as she felt something wet trickling down her cheek. Her eyes were scarlet, inflamed with a horrible composition of raw anger and misery. When had she started crying again?

You're fucking pathetic.

No, they were pathetic.

Her chest heaved with sobs and she turned to face the wall, her fists closed so tightly that she felt the sweat trapped inside of them.

Her anger built up. It rose and rose and Eden tried everything in her power to keep it still but she couldn't. It had to break, break free from the suspended agony.

Just break. Just break.

Then, it did.

She whipped around and thrashed the mirror with her fists. She punched and punched, unable to control the anger that coiled around her chest and arms.

The mirror fell to the ground.

She struck again.

And again.

Blood flowed thickly out of her fingers, making her hands sticky. Images of blood gushing out of Draco's deep cuts invaded her mind and it only worsened the pit of fury billowing in her stomach.

She wished the mirror was Harry. He needed to hurt. Stupid Slug hex! Why not an unforgivable curse?

The Cruciatus Curse, perhaps?

Eden wickedly pictured him, crying on the floor, begging for her to stop.

She'd drive him insane. But then, he did a decent job acting insane all by himself.