When Ophelia returned home sometime in the early morning, she'd had time to sober up and felt very embarrassed of her night visit to Professor Snape. She locked herself in her room and collapsed onto the floor, biting the ends of the sleeves on her shirt in frustration.
The night kept replaying in her mind, her attacker probably wasn't sober either, but it didn't make a difference to her. Knowing that he'd do it again to someone else and someone else after that, was like a knife being pressed into her head. She tried so hard to focus, but it was like running through water, her head just didn't work.
She needed a distraction, searching desperately through her room, trying to find something to bring her back to reality. And then she froze, she had definitely found something. Her hands shook as she picked it up from her bed, where it lay so innocently.
"Ophelia,
I'm not really sure why I'm writing this letter. I think the main reason is that I need closure. I need to know why you left me. I understand that you were hurting, I understand that you had to move. I know how helplessly you begged God to bring Peter back to you. But why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you give me a chance to be there for you?
We could have done the long distance thing, we would have survived it. And even if we didn't, you know I would have come with you. You know I would have dropped everything, I would have thrown away my entire life just to be with you.
What I have realized is that you never loved me, not like I loved you. And realizing that late, cost me a lot. You are just an ordinary girl who I thought was going to be someone special., but you were destined to break my heart. I am just a number on your list.
Maybe one day you will feel guilt for what you did, but until then, consider me a stranger, one more victim of your actions."
Tears were streaming down her face, the letter wasn't signed but she knew who it was from. She had thought Vincent was the love of her life, they had been friends since they were ten years old. On her fifteenth birthday, he had begged her to marry him. She had, of course, turned him down, but when he asked again her next birthday, she promised him they would get married on the day she turned eighteen. But her brother's death made her break that promise.
Ophelia hadn't told Vincent about her move to England, or any of her friends, for that matter. Her friends were also Peter's friends, and she couldn't look any of them in the eyes without the guilt of what she'd done consuming her. Daniel was the only one who got a goodbye, because he was the only one who knew, he was the only one who could understand.
Ophelia thought about the day she met Vincent. She had tackled him for stealing her bike. They went crashing to the ground, almost got run down by a garbage truck. If she thinks about it she can still smell the cloud of concrete gas and the burning of the tires. She had him pinned to the ground. In his defence, it looked just like his bike, same brand, but he had a bell on the handlebars.
Vincent was always the smart one, the one who outshone them all. In any room he was in he'd be the brightest light, the one everyone turned to admire. He walked as if he knew he was a god. When she closed her eyes she could still see his smile, the big, crooked one that always seemed to be reserved just for her, like she was something special.
Getting married had seemed like such a great idea at the time, back when they were just two spotty teens throwing aeroplanes at the back of class.
Her eyes stung as the sun went up outside her window, she was in a half dream state. When Ophelia was a very small child, she wasn't allowed to care about things, so she believed that she didn't care about anything. But she did care, she cared about Peter, she cared about Vincent, she cared about her parents and Ana, and most importantly, even if she didn't know it at the time, she cared about herself.
𖠇
Walking into the kitchen the next day, Ophelia didn't know what hurt the most; her head, or her heart. She was in the middle of making lunch when she started to feel uneasy. Her parents were out for the day, yet, she felt like somebody was watching her.
"Care to explain what happened last night?" His voice pierced through her core, making her jump.
"Jesus fucking christ," she breathed. "Do you always sneak up on people like that?"
She turned around to find that he was only inches away from her, his chest almost touching hers. It reminded her of the night in the pantry, and a fire started in her mind.
"How many times do I have to tell you," he said quietly, his words brushing her face, "close off your mind."
"How many times do I have to tell you," she scoffed, "stop reading my fucking mind."
"Miss Delisle," he said with a smirk on his face, "a lady does not curse."
"Oh, get fucked," she said and turned her back to him and continued with her cooking.
"I would love to, however," he paused to look over her shoulder, "we have our lesson."
Ophelia glanced at him in the corner of her eye, "what lesson?"
Snape backed away as she drained the pasta and put it on her plate.
"Your father has decided to cancel potions, as you'll learn it at Hogwarts," he said and put his hands behind his back.
"So, what are you going to teach me instead?" She asked before filling her mouth with pasta.
"It seems like it would be a good idea for you to learn Occlumency," he smirked.
Ophelia rolled her eyes and walked out to the patio, the sun was shining and it was a perfect day to be hungover. Snape followed her and watched as she sat down.
"What?" She frowned at him, taking another bite.
"It is time," he drawled, the spell that they both seemed to have been under was gone, "for our lesson."
"Well, not now, obviously," she scoffed, "I'm eating."
The line between Snape's eyebrows deepened, and she knew he was about to snap.
"I have been incredibly patient with you, Miss Delisle," he growled. "Now, you will tell me exactly what happened last night, and you will attend our lessons," his voice was getting lower by the seconds, "it might have come across as if you have a choice, my mistake if it did-"
"No," she stood up to face him like a bully, "your mistake was thinking that you're even the slightest bit entitled to whatever happens in my life."
"I became entitled when you came knocking on my door in the middle of the night," he stared down at her and he knew he'd won, she could see it in the glint in his eyes.
She really had no defence for that, she owed him.
"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "But you don't get to read my mind anymore," she said and touched his chest with her finger.
"Let me teach you and I won't be able to."
She sighed and sat down again, stabbing the pasta with her fork.
"You know what happened last night," she shrugged, "that boy followed me and I mistook your house for this one."
Snape leaned over the table and put his hands on either side of her plate, "do you think me a fool, Miss Delisle?"
"Of course not, professor," she smiled.
"You were drunk out of your mind," he seethed, "and I don't know what you took last night, but you will never take it again."
Ophelia scoffed, "you're not my damn father."
She took her plate and went back into the house. Snape followed her, fuming.
"No, I am certainly not," he spat, "but I think I have quite a good guess on how he would react, if he were to find out."
"The threat of my father feels a bit old now, don't you think?" Ophelia put her plate into the sink and rolled her eyes.
"Trust me, Miss Delisle," Snape said quietly, taking one step closer to her, "I have other threats." He narrowed his eyes in hers and leaned down to slowly whisper in her ear, "don't make me use them."
Now, that's hot.
Snape's whole body went rigid, his steady composure evaporated and his brain stuttered for a moment. He really needed to teach the girl to keep her thoughts private. The funny thing was, she didn't really seem to care.
"Let's. go." He growled, grabbed her by her wrist and forced her out of the house.