FLASHBACK TWO
IF I wasn't before, I am extremely grateful for Apparition today.
Reaching the common room of our house was a ride. After ditching the Weasley car at the alley. It ended up disappearing.
Should've just trusted the fact that the car went insane when it ended up in the forbidden forest. I'm still surprised by the fact that we all made it without any severe injuries.
"I'm going to head up to my dorm," Bonnie mumbled as Theodore and Blaise left to grab some honey bread from the scullery. "I need to sleep this night off, goodnight, Eve."
Waving her goodnight as I slid off my thin cardigan. I liked sitting near the fireplace at night in the common room. Something was refreshing about it. Something intriguing about staying up at night.
I liked the night. I like the way my thoughts would unravel. How I had the most uncertain and brightest ideas during the night. The night was uncertain, it held secrets, and memories that stayed alive always.
I preferred night over day. Many people did. I'd rather do everything during the night than the daytime. Mostly why my mother and I would get into arguments was because she hated me staying past twelve, and then that would lead to unnecessary arguments I don't need to think about.
My eyes moved away from Bonnie as I turned around. Malfoy was holding his head as he leaned against the table. It slipped my mind that his arm was bleeding yet he didn't seem to mention it to someone.
"Are you still bleeding?" I asked him as he acknowledged me with subtle movements. Besides the fact that I had a disliking for him. I wouldn't want him bleeding out the rest of the night.
"Why are you always here at times when I am?" He asked as I had myself a second to think. "It's infuriating."
"I don't know," I said as I shrugged my shoulders, "maybe you're down here at times when I feel like coming. Can't always put it on me, can you, Malfoy?"
He shook his head a little as I looked up at him. He had grey eyes. There was this pretty metallic color of grey and it was the prettiest thing I had seen, I will not lie. I had a thing for eyes.
I believe they held the most emotions. I believe they held the answer to everything and you just needed to find it. Eyes were everything beautiful — everything about them was alluring. Whether it was darkness or light.
Darkness was always what I leaned towards.
It felt realistic.
"Just a little," he said, pinching his fingers as he held it up to his eye level. I narrowed my eyes at his movement. He blinked a little slower than usual, he looked paler than usual. "Not much."
I walked over to him with hesitation as I touched his forehead. "You're as cold as ice." I stared at him for a minute longer as I moved his hand. There was fresh blood all over his hand.
If I hadn't mentioned it before. I was terrified of blood.
He leaned forward as my hand pressed against his arm. He was lightheaded. "I'm fine," he said as he covered his arm again. I took a deep breath in and grabbed his arm. "What — "
Pulling out a wooden chair as I allowed him to take a seat. "I'll be back," I told him as I assured him with my eyes. He grabbed my arm as he jerked me back, pulling me towards him as my breath felt cut off.
"I don't need your help," he said, "and I don't want it."
"I'm surprised you didn't give me a whole lecture on why you don't need my help and how you're capable of doing it yourself and the whole notion."
He looked at me, blinking his eyes to wake himself. "I'd rather you not faint on me."
I moved his hand as blood covered my hands. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't panicking with this much blood all over my hands.
How did he even make it from New York to Scotland without fainting? "Why didn't you tell everyone about this? I'm surprised you made it here successfully."
"Not my first time." I looked at him, he's done with it before. Curiosity grew within me as I allowed myself to not think too much of it.
Slightly tearing his shirt as he groaned. "Pretty sure you can purchase another one, Malfoy." It was a small gash as blood pulsates out of it. He was staring at me as I ran my thumb over the cut.
He hissed as I apologized. "It'll only take a second." He looked away as he groaned in annoyance. I rolled my eyes as I muttered a spell that my mother taught me. I didn't need my wand. I was pretty capable of doing magic without it.
When the realization hit him, he turned his head to look at my fingers against his skin. Whispering a spell as the gash slowly closed. My mother taught me to use the spell if I had ever hurt myself, I'd certainly say it was useful.
Tracing over the scar again as I repeated the spell once more. Running the tips of my fingers over his soft skin as his blood inked through the lines on my hand. I looked at him to find him looking at me with curiosity. That's how I'd look at someone when I had a series of questions unanswered.
"Ferula." It was the spell for wrapping bandages around the place of injury as it strapped tightly like a splint. I looked up at him as he stared at his arm, tilting his head as his eyebrows rose.
"I could've done that," he mumbled half unconsciously, "but you let me sit here and allow you to torture me."
I smiled slightly. "I believe you're trying to say thank you, Malfoy." He shook his head as he attempted to stand up. His hand was on my shoulder but when his body gave no energy it pulled me down.
I looked at him as my body grew rigid. I didn't particularly like what had just happened. "I could've done it myself," he said as he poked his finger against my collarbone, "you are infuriating."
His grip tightened on my arm as I tried to adjust my arm to his fingers pressing onto my skin. "To someone who finds me so infuriating," I said as he looked at his hand wrapped around my arm, "you're sure holding onto me very tightly."
He let go as soon as the words came out of my mouth. I pulled back and tried to wipe off the contact of his skin off my arm. Every time I did something nice for him, he had to be like this.
I turned around as I grabbed my cardigan, putting it on my body as I walked past him. "Try not to fall on the stairs," I said as I stopped on my tracks, "or do fall on the stairs since you're so stubborn. I don't care."
And with that, I left him in the common room.
Secrets never really stay secrets is one thing I've learned. It always comes out no matter what. Laying in my bed as I stared at my ceiling. The dorm was dark as silence crept in.
I couldn't sleep as I moved to the other side of the bed. Tapping my fingers against the pillow as I drew lines on the outlines of it. Some nights I would pass out immediately and then there were nights when all I could do was stay up and rethink my entire life.
I hated myself for it sometimes. It felt like I was my biggest enemy. I overthink everything so precisely as if it was a test, and one wrong move and it's all over for me. Some decisions I've made out of spite — some at the moment because it felt right, and some because that's where my head led me to.
My mother has always told me that I wasn't capable of doing some things. I hated her for making me feel that way. Worthless? That's how I felt. I hated it. I hated feeling unhelpful, not worthy, and not attractive.
She told me a woman's power was in her beauty. If you weren't beautiful, you had no allure to what power tasted like. I've been given that lecture since I was twelve. Beauty, beauty, beauty. That's all it was about.
Freshly manicured nails, to the perfect blown-out hair. Red lipstick — I hated lipstick, I couldn't stand to put it on. I loved everything else about putting on makeup. From mascara to eyeliner, to a layer of gloss. But lipstick was something I stayed away from.
Not the point. Beauty is everything in my family. If you weren't beautiful, you didn't seem worthy to a man. But what about the attractiveness to their personality, to the sound of their laugh, the way they looked at you, their thoughts about you, and the way they would've done anything for you.
Being attractive is important. I'll say that. I like pretty faces — but they made it seem like it was the only important thing. I'm pretty happy with the way I look right now. I'm happy with it, but I know she'd find ways to fix the small errors.
Growing up I stared at the mirror often. I wanted to be perfect for her. So I was. I scored high in all my academic classes. When I was involved with Quidditch, I was an insanely good keeper, it was my favorite thing.
I wanted to be perfect for her, like a doll.
Until the realization hit that it would never be enough, no matter what I did. No matter how hard I tried, or hard I pushed myself. It just wasn't meeting her standards.
I think part of me was more upset at the fact that my siblings didn't even have to try to seem perfect in her eyes and yet she loved them endlessly. What could be wrong with me? What was something they had that I didn't? I felt unworthy of her love.
I wish that feeling upon no one. The feeling of not being enough for your parents no matter how hard you try. No matter what lengths you go to. No matter what you do for them, it's just not good enough.
It's like you're breaking yourself apart in every way. To prove to them you're all together when you aren't. You're picking yourself up and gluing yourself back together every day like a piece of shredded paper.
Take a plate, and now break it. Then apologize to it for breaking it. Did you realize that purposely breaking a plate and then apologizing wouldn't put it back together? That is how I felt.
I felt like a broken plate, but instead of her mending me — I was mending myself every day to stitch the pieces back in place and was hopelessly failing at it. Then I realized I was putting myself back together in the most hurtful ways ever.
You can't stitch a plate back together, can you?
Failure. I was so afraid of failure.
Especially in her eyes. It terrified me.
It terrified me so much that I began reading to calm everything inside me. Relating to the characters in the words written inside the book brought me peace.
It was an understanding that I wasn't alone, and I loved it. I raved about it, but she hated that too.
Secrets, there were so many that I held in my heart and I wondered if they would come out soon. If I'd share them with someone and they would understand.
Last night was the worst night to go out as I took a seat in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Staring at Professor Umbridge in front of me as she lectured us about the no usage of dark spells. Why am I in this class then?
"You're all still children," she mumbled, walking around in a pink skirt. "There is no need for such dark spells to be used. You'll have plenty of time to learn it after you graduate from Hogwarts."
I held my groan in as she walked past me. My eyes watched her every movement from the way her hands moved to the way she held her wand. I wonder if she knows all the dark spells required for any basic wizard to know.
There was something that wasn't right about her. She seemed all pink and caring, but there was something about that seemed not right. Something wasn't adding the correct way.
"Won't we need to use defense spells for when we need to protect ourselves?" Hermione said, she raised her hand so slightly it was barely in the air.
She was pretty impressive for a muggle-born witch. She was the perfect example of if you're capable of doing it, you can no matter what.
"Why would you need to defend yourself?" Professor Umbridge asked as she looked towards her, I blinked between them. "You're just children, you don't need to defend yourself from anything."
"Wasn't Potter attacked by You-Know-Who in the Triwizard Tournament?" Ronald said as she tilted her head in anger. "Wouldn't knowing more defensive spells help us in defending ourselves? Cedric Diggory could've been — "
"What happened to Cedric Diggory was purely an accident," she abruptly cut him off as I slightly winced at the name. Cedric Diggory was my first kiss, not the point — moving on. "He knew what he was getting himself into, what happened was an accident."
"It was not an accident." This time it was Harry. No one believed what had happened to him in the maze. There were a lot of rumors that he was lying to protect himself, and the fact that he could've been the one to murder Cedric Diggory to win — which sounded absurd. "I was there."
Umbridge seemed to grow more frustrated as the conversation went by. The Gryffindors weren't letting this one go. And I was enjoying it. "It was an accident, Potter."
"It was not." Harry grew more frustrated as his palms were flat against the desk. "Voldemort is back — "
"Watch your tongue, young man — "
" — he is back. I saw it from my own eyes. I was there, I saw everyone." His eyes glanced towards Malfoy for a split second as it fed my growing curiosity. "I saw it. Voldemort murdered Cedric Diggory in cold blood. So we need — "
"That is enough — "
" — defensive spells to protect ourselves!"
"Detention, Mr. Potter."
The class grew with whispers as they all stared at Professor Umbridge and her growing anger. Why wouldn't she believe him if he was telling the truth? Why won't she let us learn just a few basic spells? Pathetic.
"That's pathetic." I thought I had whispered it to myself until Professor Umbridge had looked towards me.
"Is there something you'd like to share with the rest of the classroom, Ms. Young?"
I looked at her for a second longer as my thoughts were racing on whether to say something or ignore it. But letting her win wasn't my specialty. "I find it pathetic that you won't let us learn defense spells to protect ourselves. How is that in any shape or form harmful to us? If it's anything — it's helpful."
"Anything else you would like to add?"
"Actually yes." I smiled as Harry's eyes sparkled at me. "I find it quite absurd that a small-minded woman like you is our Professor. You chose to believe the rumors and your irrelevant opinion rather than someone who has experienced darkness in front of him. I would say it's quite pathetic — "
"Detention," she said, "see you in my office with Mr. Potter later tonight, Ms. Young." She smiled as she turned around. I glared at her with the urge to throw a spell her way but didn't. I turned my head to find Malfoy glancing my way, a second — I looked at him for a second as my head moved toward Bonnie.
She whispered that was insanely attractive, to me as I shook my head. Staring at the useless Defense Against the Dark Arts book in front of me as I groaned. My mother is not going to like this one. Oh well.
There was a weird feeling about not being enough for someone. The repeated feeling of feeling less no matter how much you put in. It's like you're watering a dead plant and no matter how much you'd like to stop, you can't.
It makes you feel pathetic at some points. When looking at yourself in the mirror as you try to decipher the thoughts that are running in circles like a carousel. I felt like I was in one and there was no pause and it kept going and I had no choice but to stay on.
Love is such a beautiful notion, did you ever think about it? The way you'd do anything for them, the way you'd sit in the room purposely trying to find ways to make what you have is real. I wanted a love that was between the pages of those books I read.
The letters that mended to words, and formed sentences. Those sentences had meanings, the emotions between the spaces of the words. That had feelings stamped on every corner of the page.
You read, and you think to yourself. I know how this feels. I understand. Some part of you takes a deep breath in as you don't feel so alone. You feel better because you know you're not alone.
Being alone is such an uncanny feeling. It feels like you're invisible to the entire world. It's like you're screaming and begging but no one can hear you. Every part of you feels so weighted that you don't feel like getting up or even moving. It feels bittersweet.
I don't know how I felt about love. I think part of me was in denial, and the other wanted it so much. I wanted to feel their skin against mine. To have the tips of their fingers traced against my curves, to kiss their lips, to soak up everything about them.
And then there was the other part. I hated it. I hated the romantic gestures, not liking the idea of sharing my feelings — hated opening up. I think part of what I hated was their reaction to my words. What would they think of me? Would they still love me?
Was I enough?
It was all in my head, it'll go away eventually.
Knocking on the door as I stepped inside. It was a bright pink room. There were sounds of kittens meowing, rolling on the ground of the frames as it brought a small smile to my face. I liked cats.
But that smile wiped away as soon as I saw Professor Umbridge. She was pouring a teaspoon of sugar into her tea as she mixed it. My eyes narrowed at her smile and unrealistic kindness. Soon I realized that I wasn't alone in the room as Harry came into view.
"Now that you're both here," she said sweetly as she moved away from her seat, "I'd like to speak about the recent disruption in the classroom."
Watching her straighten the pencil on her desk as she proceeded to move calmly towards the window. "You've been told there is a certain dark wizard at large again," she spoke as she stared away from us. "That is of course not true, dear."
Harry uncomfortably stood next to me as I tried to look everywhere but at them. She was wearing a fluffy pink cardigan of the night and a black velvet bow on the top of her head. "As the Senior Undersecretary at the Ministry of Magic, the number one rule we should always follow is, we mustn't tell lies."
My eyes moved to Harry who already looked tired of this conversation, he looked towards me as I gave a faint smile. He was social in an awkward way at some points. I had gathered that over the years.
I looked away as my eyes found the picture of
Cornelius Fudge framed on top of her desk.
"Have a seat, please," she said to the both of us as I slid off my bag and took a seat as Harry followed. "You're going to be doing a couple of lines for me today."
She wants us to write an essay on how we shouldn't tell the truth? Easy enough. The quicker it's done, the sooner I'll be out of here. Proceeding to take my quill out of my bag as she interrupted.
"You're not going to be using your quill, you're going to be using a rather special quill of mine." She picked up two quills from her desk as she walked over to us, placing them on our desks.
There was a piece of parchment on the desk, with an hourglass sand timer on the side. I picked it up as it slightly burned me at the touch. There was something about me and magic, I haven't told a lot of people about it because I don't know myself.
I can feel magic, and you're probably thinking to yourself right now, but every wizard and witch can? Yes, that's true, but the way I felt magic was different, it felt like I absorbed it, I could feel its emotions and its roots.
The quill didn't feel right but I let it not get to me as Professor Umbridge walked past us. "Now, I want you to write, I must not tell lies."
There was an awkward silence between all of us as Harry spoke, "how many times?"
"Well let's say, as long as it takes for the message to sink in." She turned around as she hummed looking out the window as if this was amusing for her.
"Professor, you haven't given us any ink," I said as she smiled.
"Oh, you won't need any ink, dear."
Turning around as Harry gave me a look as if he was just as confused as I was. I was trying my best not to think of it much as he began writing down on the parchment.
I was looking down at the parchment as I twirled the quill in my hand.
He had his hand in a fist as he wrote down the words. Looking down as I started writing down the words. I must not tell lies. Would a hundred times be enough for her? A thousand? I could easily spell this quill to do it for me.
I felt my hand burn as I turned it. Keeping myself from groaning as the words scribbled slowly and in the most painful way imaginable onto the back of my hand.
Professor Umbridge didn't hear anything as she looked out the window. "Harry," I whispered, he looked at me and he fisted his hand. "It's spelled."
"I think I realized that by now," he mouthed to me as my brows furrowed. Muttering a healing cast on his hand from afar as he watched the redness lessen on the back of his hand.
He was a curious person. He always was since he first entered Hogwarts along with us. Creeping into places where you didn't belong. Asking about things that you shouldn't meddle in, and then being caught.
He was confused as to how I was capable of doing that as he purposely groaned to get the Professor's attention. She turned around, with a big smile on her face, "yes?"
He looked up at her as I pretended to trace over my previous words already written down. "Nothing," he said. Is it against the rules to hex a Professor or not?
"That's right because you know deep down you deserved to be punished for speaking about things that aren't true," she said as her eyes wandered to mine, "and disrupting my class, isn't that right, Ms. Young?"
I looked up at her as I felt angry. It was against the rules to punish a student like this. It was unethical.
"Go on," she said as she allowed us to continue writing.
Flipping through the pages of Potions book as I searched for answers to help out with the assignment. Writing down the answers as I silently sat and did my homework by the fireplace.
"Do you think Theodore is going to throw a party just to annoy Professor Umbridge?" Bonnie asked as I looked up at her. She was sitting on the couch, her head hanging off the seat as her legs were on the backrest.
"I don't know, he usually does every year at the beginning of the year and the end." I was focused on my Potions assignment as I tried not to be too distracted by the conversation.
"I don't know about the beginning of the year, but the party at the end of the year is my favorite. We're going to have so much fun. We're going to drink, and we'll drink. You and I," she said as she pointed at me, "are going to get drunk."
"The end of the year isn't even here yet you're thinking about getting drunk instead of preparing for your OWLs."
"George mentioned when they were done with their fifth year in Hogwarts, it was a blast. Considering you're done with all the OWLs." She smiled.
"Well if you're putting it that way then yes I can't wait to get drunk at the end of the fifth-year party." She smiled, even more, when I agreed.
Going towards the culinary as the need to drink water was urgent. The smell of freshly made waffles was spreading throughout the common room as I was curious.
I of course loved waffles with honey. Especially blueberry ones, they tasted amazing and were filled with unforgettable memories.
Walking inside as I saw the back of his head. His platinum blonde hair was freshly combed as he stood in a regular black shirt and trousers. Flipping the waffle with the spatula as I quietly observed.
I would've never taken for him to cook anything by his own hands. Magic was very useful when it came to cooking, it was easier, quicker, and much faster.
He flipped them onto the plate, putting whip cream on it. Whip cream is disgusting. I was offended by his choice of topping as he turned around to catch me looking directly at me. He was completely unfazed as he sat down.
I was confused, to say the least. Pouring myself a glass of water as my eyes were on him. He made a piece of the waffle with a knife as he put it in his mouth — looking over at the Daily Prophet.
"I feel like I should start charging you for the number of times you look at me, I'd be a nice side hustle, don't you think?" He asked, looking up at me as I rolled my eyes.
"It's not every day you would see you making waffles in the culinary with your own hands, forgive me if I was taken by shock." He made something I was in love with and it irked me that he liked it as well.
"Why is it such a surprise to you that I'm capable of preparing my food? It's an easy task."
"Okay," I said, "never said you couldn't, just said I never thought I'd ever see it." I moved towards him as he put the Daily Prophet up, completely silencing my presence.
Waving my hand as a fork appeared in my hand, I took a small piece of his cooked waffles as I put it in my mouth. I'd say it wasn't that bad, it was good. Okay, it was quite delicious. "This doesn't taste that bad."
He didn't move a muscle but then he suddenly brought the Daily Prophet down as he looked at me with a fork in my hand as I swallowed the piece. He didn't look upset, nor did he look like someone's ego who was boosted — but just anger.
"I don't know how many times I'd have to explain this, personally hoping just once, but don't ever, and I surely mean it, Young. Don't ever do that again."
It was his over-dramatic reaction that had thrown me off. "Or what?"
He leaned forward, holding the Daily Prophet as I gripped the fork in my hand. "Get your own waffles."
"Arsehole." It was like a whisper, we did it often but this time he gripped my hand, as the fork dropped from my hands. I looked up to him as he pulled me towards him.
"I don't like you, and it's already infuriating enough that you're unfortunately in the same house as me, don't make it any worse."
What have I ever done to him?
"As if I'm giggling with pure joy to be anywhere near you. I guess we're both paying for our sins for having to breathe the same air as each other, hmm?"
He gripped my hand tighter as the tips of his fingers pressed against the back of my hand. It hurt worse because that is where the writings of that pathetic quill were engraved.
I winced slightly as his mouth opened to throw another insult. His eyes looked down at my hand as he turned to look over it. It was mostly healed, some part of it. But dark magic requires a little more time than regular.
"Who did this to you?" He asked as his grip lessened on my hand.
"Don't pretend to care, it's creepy." I pulled my hand away as I took a step back.
"I don't." He pushed his hands into his pockets.
"Good." I rubbed the back of my hand. "Wouldn't recommend writing with a quill Professor Umbridge gives," I added, "the healing process isn't comforting at all."
"I'd recommend not opening your mouth during the lesson, or else you wouldn't have to go through that. For sticking up for that Saint Potter, the Mudbloods friend." He turned to fold the Daily Prophet as he placed it on the table.
"There it is," I scoffed, "I don't know why you're so obsessed with what blood, or what parents they have. They're capable wizards and witches."
"Doesn't change the fact that she's still a Mudblood." He pulled out his wand from his pocket as he whispered a spell to clear out the table.
"The other day you made it seem like you couldn't care less about someone's blood status, and here you are switching personalities." I folded my arms across my chest as I stared at him.
"Whether I do," he said as he took a step forward, twirling his wand between his fingers, "or not," he pressed the tip of his wand against my collarbone, "it's none of your business since it doesn't concern you."
He looked down at me as anger fumes through my veins. "It does concern me, considering she's my friend."
"Then you're just as filthy as her," he said slowly as he leaned down, his wand digging deeper against my skin. "Pathetic."
Moving his wand away from my collarbone as I shoved him back, pushing him against the chair. "I don't know what's more pathetic, believing in such status to make yourselves feel superior to them or to cover up her inner insecurities?"
He narrowed his eyes at me as his breathing grew heavier. "I have nothing to be insecure about, especially from that Mud— "
"But you are," I said, "does it bother you that you're behind her in Potions? That she has excelled you in a subject that is your father's favorite?"
"You don't know what you're talking about." His back pressed against the edge of the table.
"But I do." He leaned back as I leaned forward, my hand on top of the table as we looked at each other.
"Aren't you behind me in Potions?" He tried to turn this around on me.
"The difference between us is that I don't care about status and the fact I can perfectly own up to the fact that I suck at Potions sometimes."
This was my first time owning up to the fact that Potions wasn't a subject I was good at. I'd like to pretend I was, but I wasn't.
"Maybe if you weren't such a self pretentious douche bag sometimes, you could've been likable."
I leaned back, grabbing the glass of water as I returned to Bonnie.
—