𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝑶𝑩𝑳𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑨𝑻𝑬 ─ 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝒙 𝒐𝒄

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤

⭒๋⭑

Good evening, babies. I've decided that I needed to take the weekend off for a bit of R&R (that's research and reckless drinking).

At the end of the chapter, you'll find the first illustration I've done for "Obliviate." I actually started the story because of it, but, to be quite frank, I've never been terribly fond of it.

Nevertheless, I reckon it's important to share. Later on, I'll try to think up a better way to illustrate one of the scenes from this chapter.

You lot can choose which one—do let me know, alright?  Love you all.

⭒๋⭑

Don't speak, I know what you're thinkin'

I don't need your reasons

Don't tell me 'cause it hurts

Our memories, well, they can be inviting

But some are altogether mighty

frightening

As we die, both you and I

With my head in my hands, I sit and cry

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 ─ No Doubt

─────▕⃝⃤─────

The sun shone with an unusual intensity for the month, a welcome contrast after a week of grey skies and the constant whisper of a chilly breeze. My heels echoed against the polished marble of St. Mungo's, resounding through the spacious corridors as I advanced towards the lift.

The stiffness of my movements could be likened to that of a marionette with its strings entangled, a not-so-gentle consequence of the morning's dalliance with Andromeda.

The marks still burned on my back, concealed only by a swift spell to avoid curious glances and unwanted questions. It could very well be mistaken for a bear attack.

I had barely crossed the threshold of the lift when a blur of blonde and dark locks emerged in the corridor, rapidly advancing in my direction.

I reached out to the panel, fingers drumming over the door button in a silent prayer for them to close in time.

But fate was not on my side.

"Good morning, Black. Looking radiant," I greeted Narcissa, just as she slid her hand between the doors to prevent them from closing. My face was the very image of innocence.

She, in turn, arched an eyebrow and tilted her head, mimicking the cunning of a feline.

Our schedules, unfortunately, coincided, dooming me to encounter this plague with bogeyman tendencies as soon as I arrive and leave work.

In recent days, however, I had adopted a facade of cordiality.

Not that Narcissa was worthy of such deference, but there are times when necessity compels forced politeness, especially when at the mercy of someone who can screw you over ─ and not in the good sense of the word.

Besides, I made a promise to Andy. Being raised by Gryffindors was a curse. I tend to keep my promises.

I would try to be kind.