Oh, Ophelia | Tom Riddle

Act 4 Scene 7

Then that same girl, the one he imprisons in a cage with bars worse than steal, with guards worse than dementors, he takes a tentative liking to,

To the point that he, even as she rides across from him to his prison, one of her own design, tells her her way out, tells her all he knows, all he can about the only way to go on with her existence after all this,

Somehow showing her more kindness than the people that supposedly loved her, the invitation to the baby shower was particularly painful,

Breath picking up as she saw the pale pink invitation. Turning it over in her hands, recognizing Primrose's handwriting. Unsure of what to do.

Ophelia's eyes darted around the cafeteria of the ministry, looking for her, looking for the emotional threat of torment the girl now brought to her,

She broke the seal carefully, wanting to curse Henry for the audacity of using the Sun insignia, as she pulled out the invitation, covering her mouth and standing up abruptly, causing a few people to glance her way, before leaving in a hurry and hiding herself in an alcove in the hall before the department of mysteries,

She read Primrose's writing. How she and Henry were welcoming a baby into the world. Ophelia wanted to puke. In fact she did puke.

The gut wrenching letter caused Ophelia to upchuck in the remote corner of the ministry. A cold sweat broke out over Ophelia's body as she turned the card over to read her brother's writing,

How they could mend bridges, how they could go back to the way things were.

It's bloody easy to preach forgiveness when yours isn't the half of the bridge that got burnt,

Ophelia vanished the vomit before the shakes took over pressing herself against the wall and concentrating on something small,

Something she could handle, like a cup of tea. Then she heard the pop of apparition and it was no use, she couldn't move,

Paralyzed with fear as she heard footsteps coming towards her, her hands practically vibrating, her heart tight and she felt so heavy, like why should she even be standing right now?

She pressed herself against the wall the man didn't even notice her as he walked passed, and Ophelia sank to the floor, the sudden gravity on her too strong to resist,

She looked at the letter, and she burned it. Using the lighter in her pocket. Planning a letter to little foetus when she was old enough to understand its contents.

It felt like someone had cut Ophelia open and left her to die. And each passer by merely put salt in the wound.

She didn't know how to act anymore. Her words felt cold leaving her lips, and her laughter had turned to ice, and she didn't want to be Ophelia Marigold anymore. Anyone else would do really.

She would even keep her first name. Maybe Ophelia Burlington. Ophelia Lita. She rather liked that name.

She imagined it for a moment. Being anyone but her. Living a normal life. Sure she'd need therapy, but who didn't these days?

The war was over and she was just one of the many soldiers emerging with shell shock. Small noises, the voices of her abusers, and the imprisonment of the ministry were what was keeping her from moving forward she supposed,

Ophelia dug through the pocket of her skirt. Grindelwald has given her a potion. She'd recognized it quickly,

A feather or leaf might easily disintegrate in it. No poison, no malintent. Merely an escape hatch from her life as Ophelia Marigold.