Ophelia [a.m]

𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖋 𝖔𝖋 𝖛𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖚𝖊

I was an idiot.

  Plain and simple. I had never known when to quit, when I had pushed too far, when I was being ignorant, selfish, or cruel. All my life I had been raised in wealth, I was the heir of a massive fortune and with that came the scrutiny of my father.

Actaeus never knew when to quit, so neither did I.

  And Merlin, I was awful to you.

  Thinking about it made me sick to my stomach as I'd watch you walk by with your cherry red lips forming a smile as you helped a third year with his homework.

I watched you as long as I dared, ignoring the world pounding on the door, the war begging to be let in and infect my mind with worry.

You kept it out of my head, though.

  The kindness that bloomed out of your skin used to disgust me. Deep down I knew I never deserved it, so ridicule and venom would slip off my tongue every time you had said hello.

  Even the first time we met, I was floored.

  Hello, Abraxas. It's so very nice to meet you, you said with that twinkling glimmer and your soft hand held out. And all I did was snarl at you like the wounded animal I am.

  But you never relented, you were stubborn that way and admittedly I liked the attention I was getting from you. Sure, everyone's eyes were on me, they always were. But all you did was smile, you never asked me for anything and you never offered anything.

  For the first three years our only exchanges were hellos, though my side was typically mute, staring down my nose at you in disgust.

  I could never bring myself to say the word to you.

  It would crawl up my tongue like a spider, it's legs tickling my throat and the poison awaited to drip out and to spin its webs around you with the derogatory term for blood.

  For filth.

  But you were the purest thing alive.

  The summer before fourth year is when I caved, but I didn't shed the shadows that clung to my skin like tar.

  It was reckless, on your behalf, honestly what were you thinking? My father had hit me with his cane, nothing new, I was used to the familiar sting of silver against my shoulder.

  And then you waltzed along, the fury of the heavens in your eyes and your chestnut brown hair swirled like the breeze in a storm as you glared up at Actaeus and told him off.

  You shouted at my father, in public, and I couldn't help the flicker of endearment that ignited in my chest.

  I never said thank you, though.

  I yelled at you afterwards.

  Not meaning a single word but it sounded like I did. I made you believe I did. Your beautiful eyes became pools and ichor slid down your flushed cheeks.

  I was only trying to help, you said in a faint whisper.

  That exchange weighed heavy in my chest all the way up until Christmas and Slughorn's party reared its head.