╭────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────╮
For optimal sad times: listen to 'i love you' by Billie Eilish, then read the chapter, then listen to it again.
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐎
January 13th, 1997
Dear Margot,
I̶ ̶d̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶.̶ ̶̶
I̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶t̶a̶l̶k̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶.̶ ̶W̶h̶y̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶
See you soon,
Ophelia
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐃
Ophelia didn't look at me for weeks.
In the mornings, she purposefully walked into the Great Hall late. She scouted to see where I sat and headed to the spot farthest away from mine, sometimes choosing my row on the Slytherin table so that I couldn't look at her directly opposite me.
She arrived equally late to every class, losing points for Slytherin right and left. One day - fourth time in a row - she appeared in McGonagall's class half an hour after the class had started. She got detention.
She remained over an open notebook; the Van Gogh one. I never saw her write a thing. She poured coffee but didn't drink it. Whenever I saw her with the Gryffindors, she was smiling but not with the eyes - just with the lips.
I knew that kissing her was risky. But I never thought it would turn her into a mess.
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐎
January 16th, 1997
Dear Margot,
A̶m̶ ̶I̶ ̶s̶u̶p̶p̶o̶s̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶i̶t̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶t̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶i̶t̶?̶ ̶S̶a̶y̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶a̶c̶t̶u̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶ ̶t̶a̶l̶k̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶.̶ ̶W̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶e̶x̶a̶c̶t̶l̶y̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶I̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶s̶a̶y̶?̶
H̶e̶ ̶d̶o̶e̶s̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶d̶o̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶m̶e̶.̶ ̶H̶o̶w̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶?̶̶
H̶i̶d̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶w̶h̶o̶l̶e̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶.̶
How could I've been stupid enough not to notice?
See you soon,
Ophelia
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐃
One day, during Potions, Professor Slughorn hesitated over Ophelia's Potion. He stuttered, mumbled and looked displeased. It looked hard for him to admit to a mistake; Ophelia was one of his exceptionally gifted students, invited to every Slug party. He couldn't have been so wrong about her.
"Well, miss Blackthorn. I really think you should get back on your feet."
I watched Potter approach her with concern afterwards. He could have said anything to her but the thought of Potter, the prince of Potions as Slughorn called him, helping my Ophelia with her homework made me sick in my stomach.
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐎
January 18th, 1997
Dear Margot,
Today, I didn't get off the bed. Like I used to do back in the summer.
I'm hungry.
See you soon,
Ophelia
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐃
And I wasn't the only one who noticed Ophelia's behaviour. Anyone who knew her coddled her like a baby. I once saw Granger pick a cup of coffee and approach during lunch. She nudged Ophelia, who was snoozing on top of her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook and offered her the cup.
I doubt anyone knew what was wrong with her. Even I didn't know. I think they were used to her being mysterious.
I remembered a time when we both slept no earlier than 4 o'clock in the morning and Ophelia was still up and energetic for classes by 7. I am convinced her sleepiness didn't have to do with the lack of sleep but rather with her unwillingness to push herself through the day.
By this time, I had combed through my memories, all the time she had looked at my lips with longing, all the times her lips had said 'no kiss' but her eyes had said otherwise. I remembered how she looked at me after that kiss under the elm tree and her autumn eyes had shown nothing but bliss and harmony.
No - it couldn't have been the kiss that had bothered her. It was the next worse thing.
Who reacts like this when they hear the words 'I love you'?
No one, I repeated to myself - but then remembered that Ophelia was perhaps the only person I knew who was as repulsed by love as I was and equally as addicted to it.
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐎
January 20th, 1997
Dear Margot,
How many times does this have to happen to me until life judges me punished enough?
See you soon,
Ophelia
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐃
This is the time when Myrtle took pity on me. I didn't have much to do in the endless hours of waiting for night and fatigue to come, so I could push myself in some sleep from which I hoped never to come back. So when I was skipping classes or ditching homework there was no better place to sit and think without anyone noticing my misery than the abandoned lavatory.
"She must have noticed," said Myrtle in a shrill voice and showed to my hands.
"No," I said at once. "No! It couldn't have been the blood - it couldn't! She wouldn't have left if she saw the blood. Ophelia would have stayed; she would try to help. No; I scared her. It was risky enough that I kissed her - why did I have to say I love her?" I said and let my head hit the tiles behind me almost painfully.
"If she runs away the moment you say you love her, maybe she isn't who you want after all."
Myrtle would say such discouraging things and then fly away. One would think she'd enjoy commiserating in mortal desolation. After all, she didn't have many chances to talk to any of us and our paltry tragedies could be a spectacle, a halt to her infinity. Yet she usually left me too early, as if this bathroom couldn't hold any more misery in it.
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐎
January 22nd, 1997
I miss you, Margot. You don't know how much.
I'll lose him just like I lost you, Margot. It's just the same. Knowing it makes it twice as painful.
I want to close my eyes and open them when the world has ended.
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐃
I somehow had expected the Gryffindors to throw themselves in a crusade to cheer her up. They were the saviours, the shining knights. Weasley ran around with a broomstick, offering flights. Potter insisted on beers at the Three Broomsticks. Gryffindors were known for such acts of service.
But when a Slytherin began to be afraid for Ophelia's wellbeing, it came as a complete surprise.
"What the hell did you do to her?" said Maya.
She was curled up in Blaise's side, as they were both waiting for me to disappear from the dorm and head to my cold spot on the Slytherin Common room couch for the night. Somehow it had been obvious that I wouldn't spend the night with Ophelia like we used to do back in December, a time that seemed so idyllic to me now, although at the time it had seemed chaotic and sinful.
"She doesn't even get off the bed if she doesn't have to. I tried to copy her Charms essay the other day but she still hadn't gone past the introduction. She forgot to feed the cat yesterday."
I imagined Alaska poking Ophelia whenever she was hungry, while Ophelia cursed me even in her sleep.
"I didn't do anything bad, okay?" I said, looking down. I meant it to my core. Everyone told me what an emotionless stick I was - I tried to be less of that. What was so bad about it?
"I mean, I feel like your idea of what's good and bad is a bit fucked up."
I rolled my eyes and decided to get a smoke before sleep. These days were insufferable. I was ready to leave before my curiosity got the better of me.
"Did she say anything about me?"
"Not a word," answered Maya and shrugged.
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐎
January 27th, 1997
Dear Margot,
I̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶b̶l̶a̶m̶e̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶.̶ I shouldn't be blaming him so much.
H̶e̶ ̶s̶a̶i̶d̶,̶ ̶'̶I̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶'̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶I̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶s̶a̶y̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶b̶a̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶C̶a̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶b̶e̶l̶i̶e̶v̶e̶ ̶i̶t̶?̶
I̶'̶m̶ ̶t̶i̶r̶e̶d̶,̶ ̶M̶a̶r̶g̶o̶t̶;̶ ̶I̶'̶m̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶t̶i̶r̶e̶d̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶ ̶e̶n̶d̶e̶d̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶l̶e̶f̶t̶.̶ ̶W̶h̶y̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶I̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶g̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶r̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶?̶ ̶W̶h̶y̶ ̶a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶?̶
Fuck this life.
See you soon,
Ophelia
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐃
When I say that Ophelia didn't look at me for weeks, I mean it in the fullest of senses. Even when I broke and confronted her, she didn't raise her eyes to look at me.
Until then, she had masterfully avoided lousing around in the Common Room, and although I felt this was a deliberate choice correlated to our situation, she couldn't escape it forever.
The Common Room was empty. It was late on a Thursday night and everyone had turned in. Yet I had examined the comings and goings in and out of the living room and had not seen her so far. A month ago, I would have already started falling on a rabbit hole of jealousy because there were only so many options for what Ophelia may be doing and I remembered not so long ago, when she used to sleep in the Gryffindor Common Room for nights on end.
When I saw her coming down the stairs, my palms started rapidly sweating, much like they did back when we had barely exchanged a word outside the Gallery. She wasn't holding any books - so she wasn't in the library until late. This further induced my suspicions.
"Ophelia-"
She walked straight ahead. No eyes were turned on me.
"I want to talk to you." It sounded like a demand.
"I don't."
She wasn't willing to stop walking and it seemed violent on my behalf to hold her back but there I was - my last resort; I stepped in front of her and as she tried to avoid me, I held her in place. It didn't show but she had more strength than one would expect, so much that I was taken aback when she pushed me.
"Wait!" I burst out.
"See, there isn't much to say."
It broke my heart to see her so insolent.
Ophelia closed her eyes, waiting for all of it to be over.
"I know I shouldn't have done it. I know that. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. I crossed a line." My apology sounded less like one in reality.
"What are you talking about, Draco?"
In this case, I would have seen her autumn eyes and instantly known what she was thinking, what had bothered her. But now I had no clue.
I stuttered many times until I got the words out.
"The kiss."
And I said this with certainty, as if I knew for a fact that this had been the deal-breaker, even though she has kissed me back and smiled at me afterwards. A good lie is welcome to ease the pain in times like these.
She shook her head.
"I don't care about that-"
"Then - then -"
"Please move aside. Let's not wake the whole Slytherin House up."
Taking a leap of faith, I spoke again.
"I take it back."
"What?"
"I take it back. I didn't mean it."
She stood motionless now. The marble of her neck, the agate in her eyes, the ivory on her skin; all stood unbending.
"Nothing has to change. I didn't mean to say I love you."
Her lips parted but no sound or breath came out. Her eyes, still stuck on some random point on my shirt in avoidance, blinked.
"I could care less about your feelings."
And after this lie - because it sounded like a lie - I got desperate. It wasn't the kiss, it wasn't the three words - and I was beginning to worry it was indeed the third, more unspeakable thing.
"Ophelia - what - what happened? What did I do? My Ophelia, why are you leaving again? What happened this time? What the hell did I do?"
I placed my hands near her cheeks and tried to smooth the roughness with my thumb.
"It turns out I didn't know you at all. And I am not up for another ride," said Ophelia.
"I don't know what that means."
She didn't want to explain. She shook her head slowly again.
"I didn't know you at all," she repeated.
At this point, I felt myself on the verge of tears. And the more I saw how dry Ophelia's eyes were, the more I wanted to scream at her face and cry. How could she be so composed, so calm, so cruel?
Hardly with any excuse, she gave one last push, which out of sheer unwillingness I didn't prevent.
Like all times when Ophelia left, the world remained empty, the fallout of her explosion leaving the residue on my skin, my brain, my soul.
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐎
January 30th, 1997
I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶.̶
̷I̷ ̷l̷o̷v̷e̷ ̷h̷i̷m̷
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐃
It became very apparent that it was my blood that has repulsed her.
The cuts under the bandages were healed and replaced by deeper ones.
You never expect someone to find out about such ugly things but you reserve the confidence that should a loved one such as Ophelia come face to face with the truth, you will be met with nothing but love and apprehension.
Of all the reactions Ophelia could have had to my bloody scars, this was the last one I expected. I more anticipated it when the other scar, the left one, would be revealed.
No. The ugliest scars on my body were not the ones given to me by force. The ugliest scars were the ones I had given to myself.
⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼
𝐎
February 8th, 1997
Dear Margot,
I'll try to get on with my life.
For some days now, I wake up early and stretch. Sometimes I go out for a run. But mostly, I stretch. I still have my splits.
When I get into first position, I don't know what to do next. We always had Mrs Petrova to show us an exercise or guide us. Do you ever feel that? I bet not. You were in the Academy!
Anyway, even if I knew where to start, I don't have any proper music. I do have Don Quixote, Cinderella and Swan Lake in cassettes but it would be terribly uncomfortable to dance with earphones on. Not to mention, I simply don't have any room for all that in my dorm.
I̶ ̶f̶e̶e̶l̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶d̶a̶n̶c̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶s̶o̶m̶e̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶r̶e̶d̶e̶e̶m̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶g̶e̶t̶ ̶m̶y̶s̶e̶l̶f̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶t̶a̶r̶t̶ ̶a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶.̶̶
I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶.̶I can only imagine what he thinks about me. I know how it must have seemed that I left him just as things were beginning to look good for us but I had to. You understand that, right?
Let him think I'm a coward. Let him think I don't love him. I can't get hurt like this again. Not like this.
See you soon,
Ophelia
╰────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────╯