Embark on a captivating journey with a young pure-blood witch, hailing from an esteemed lineage in the mystical realm. As she treads the intricate labyrinth of life, she faces the daunting choice between the unyielding bonds of her ancestral heritag...
I took her lack of attention as an opportunity to roll my eyes, joining my siblings in the line. On my left stood a smiling Ludovic, while to my right, stood Rosalind, who was always stuck within a book. Despite sharing the same birthday, Ludovic and Rosalind were complete opposites. Rosalind had an uncontrollable habit of slouching, eating with her mouth open and tutting her teeth. Her robes were often dishevelled, with the silver lining of the Slytherin crest as dirty as the gravel road within the garden. Her tie hung loosely around her neck with an unappealing knot at the centre. My mother had given up making her look perfect years ago, which meant it was impossible.
My mother finally drew her attention from my brother, her eyes trailing my outfit and acknowledged me with a sigh. "Urgh, we have no time for you to change! You'll be the death of me soon, child," she seethed, tugging at my jumper so it would fit me better.
"Sorry, Mother," I apologised, a small smirk dancing across my lips as she began to huff and puff, enjoying the inconvenience it brough upon her for her children not to match.
"Alright, dears, it's time to go!"
The elves were incredibly small creatures, only reaching my hip and were so skinny, they looked like they hadn't eaten for a week. Their eyes were beady, almost as if they were about to pop out their sockets and their various sizes of their head and body was unpleasant to look at. But, despite how skinny their arms were, they still loaded our trunks and birdcages into the back of the car, stacking them perfectly. A burly man stood at the front, his suit flawless and his hands sitting comfortably on his belt buckle. It had been polished spotlessly, sparkling against the growing rays of sun. He began to run the car as Rosalind entered the car, letting out a comfortable hum, and without a word we began to drive away.
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Mother sat with her legs crossed, rhythmically tapping her toe. Now and then, she'd sweep her fingers through the cascade of dark silky hair that I, unfortunately, inherited. Her gaze fixed on the outside world, where blue skies and verdant trees painted a picturesque scene along the gravel road. The silence grew dense, an almost suffocating presence, punctuated only by Ludovic's contemplative gaze, mirroring Mother's, as they watched the landscape flash by. Rosalind, on the other hand, remained engrossed in her book, seemingly distant from the family dynamics playing out around her. Suddenly, breaking the stagnant air, Mother turned her attention to me with a taunting, smug smile. "Olympia, are you ready?" she inquired.
"Yes, Mother, I am," I replied, not rising to her little games so early in the morning; I've learnt better than that.
"I'm still utterly astounded by how that lunatic manages to cling to the title of headteacher," she mused, resurrecting a decade-old grudge that seemed to defy the natural course of fading with time. Her remark garnered a few smirks from Ludovic, who harbored a palpable disdain for our current headmaster's inexplicable presence at the school. Meanwhile, Rosalind's eyes delved even deeper into her book, holding it so close to her face that it practically threatened to merge with her nose – a clever tactic to evade Mother's watchful eye. As for me, I found myself idly twirling the ends of my shirt around my index finger, relishing the sensation of fabric cinching around my joints and momentarily constricting the blood flow. My heartbeat synchronizing with the rhythm of my pulse offered a quiet solace, a rhythm that held me steady under the penetrating scrutiny of my mother.
