Warning: anxiety attack, plus mentions of death
Ophelia felt less like a person than a collection of tears to be spilt, pain to be caused, a creature to capture, and hurt to feel. Tears fell freely from her eyes as she sat near the cliff's edge, wind whipping around her head and waves crashing against the rocks drowned out the sound of her crying.
She sucked in a shaky breath of air but the oxygen that hit her lungs only burned as though she were already drowning,
Ophelia backed away from the edge of the cliff wary by her own actions. Her white skirt getting stained by the grass and the dirt she was surrounded by,
But she couldn't go on like this. She needed all the hurt, the pain, the heartbreak of being Ophelia Marigold over and done with.
She clasped her flowers in her hands, helplessly drawn to the Daisies, the Rosemary, the Rue, the violets, the Columbine, the pansies, and the fennel, combined with Poppies, Roses, Lavender, and Marigolds,
A rather ugly bouquet if you really looked at it, whoever arranged it must have been going through a mental breakdown when they did.
Ophelia raised herself to her knees and watched how the waves crashed ruthlessly into the rocks, how quick it might all be, no one would even doubt she was gone.
Her heart felt tight as she sat back cross legged on the damp grass, each breath more ragged than the next, each tear chasing the other as though trying to win a race to the edge of her cheek,
Her hands and feet had gone cold, and she could feel hands closing around her throat as shaky fingers buried themselves in locks of honey blonde hair.
Golden eyes shut tight, she had to escape this hell she was living, surely the real fires couldn't be worse than the ones inflicted on her by the people in her life.
Surely the ministry's hold on her keeping her close keeping her locked up in a gilded as opposed to Azkaban couldn't be worse.
The only reason she was here now was because they'd allowed her out for her Birthday.
Her nineteenth birthday. She could laugh at the concept of her youth. Honestly.
Turning eighteen was meant to mean freedom. Independence, forging your own path. The laughter began small,
But it became maddening, hitting the air as harshly as the water hit the rocks below her,
The idea that a dark lord had decided to pick an eighteen year old girl with little magical prowess, and little genius to her name to fund his army was insane. To think that this man,
She laughed harder,
This dark lord, all powerful by the way, had decided to send this young girl to play gold digger with two men. It was the stuff of fiction. Of a madman's ramblings to himself as he searches for money,
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.
Ophelia looked to the potion. To the way the cold glass felt in her nearly frozen hands, before setting it at her side carefully creating a divot in the ground so it wouldn't roll away,
"How should I your true-love know From another one? By his cockle bat and' staff And his sandal shoon." She recited to herself saying the words that had haunted her her whole life, spoken first by her namesake and now by a dishevelled Ophelia on the brink something big,
the laughter replaced by a melodious maddening tongue only brought out by her setting,
"Larded all with sweet flowers;
Which bewept to the grave did not go
With true-love showers." She whispered the words turned sing song as she wove each flower into a glorious crown, "Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make an end on't! By Gis and by Saint Charity, Alack, and fie for shame! Young men will do't if they come to't By Cock, they are to blame. Quoth she, 'Before you tumbled me, You promis'd me to wed.' He answers: 'So would I 'a' done, by yonder sun, An thou hadst not come to my bed.'"
Rain began to fall as her own tears begun to dry against her cheeks replaced instead by an eerie smile and soft words,
"There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies, that's for thoughts." She recited the scene as she remembered it, weaving a new flower into her crown,
" There's fennel for you, and columbines. There's rue for you, and here's some for me. We may call it herb of grace o' Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference! There's a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they wither'd all when my father died. They say he made a good end." she said, before the words turned melodious once more, "For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy."
"And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead; Go to thy deathbed; He never will come again. His beard was as white as snow, All flaxen was his poll. He is gone, he is gone, And we cast away moan. God 'a'mercy on his soul! And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b' wi' you."
She finished the words and reached for the poppies, how in love with Tom Riddle she had been while she was Poppy. How she'd dreamt of him and only him,
Holding her, touching her. How sweet Carl had been made everything better and worse all at the same time.
He hadn't deserved to die. "How should I your true-love know From another one?" She whispered, weaving the poppies into her crown, the pain within easing as she came to terms with her decision, and then-
"No. Don't." Said Carl's voice and the pain struck through her like a bolt of lightning entering and exiting her quickly and hurriedly leaving her shaking in his wake,
"She knows what she has to do to go on." Spoke Ricky, and her mind went foggy, "I understand."
"Mi Amor," said Lolita softly, as Ophelia tried to catch her breath her grip on her crown tightening as she looked to the sky with blurred golden eyes practically seeing the face of the one that she'd loved the most, the woman who'd loved her as every version she'd encountered,
First as Ophelia, then as Poppy, as Rose, then as the final Marigold,
The wind brushed gently against Ophelia's skin like the caress of a lover,
"I believe in you."
"I was the more deceived." She whispered as thoughts of Tom began to circle in her mind,
"Ophelia." He's said softly as he looked to her. Standing in Diagon alley, waiting for her ministry issued handler within the dark shop, "Come on," hed said, taking her hand,
But his grip brought a deep red to her vision, stumbling backwards and pulling away, landing on the damp sidewalk staring up at him,
The sun illuminating him from behind only creating a shadow of a man, the shadow of the man he once was,
"Ophelia?"
She shook her head, she wasn't Ophelia Marigold anymore, she could feel herself breathing she just couldn't seem to retain it as the breaths turned to gasps, and he bent down in front of her,
"Hey, its just me," hed said, but that was the problem, it was him, the one who killed people for loving her, the gentle sort of love, not the greedy,
"Get away from me," she whispered, "Forever,"
The words fell on deaf ears as he forced her to her feet, holding her tightly,
"Come on, come inside." Said Tom, searching her eyes for any spark, any warmth of the girl who was meant to love him endlessly and wholly,
"He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
Of his affection to me." She recited again,
"I'll get you tea, and we can talk," he said, rain beginning to drizzle from the sky as he touched her face, "you can run from the ministry and I can hide you away, you'll be free,"
Ophelia shook her head, "That's not free." One cafe to another that was the life of Ophelia Marigold,
"I have an estate to my name," he insisted,
"Yours or your father's?"she said,
"Mine. Now." He said, although he didn't seem to think too hard about the estate at that moment, "We can be together there. We could be happy,"
"Ophelia Marigold is never happy," said Ophelia, and Tom furrowed his eyebrows, "Because everything is taken, always taken, by everyone else, picking away at me until I haven't anything else to give. My love. My love as Ophelia hath run dry," she said,
He'd never heard her speak this way, but, but Tom longed for her in his arms again, he wanted to be held by her, no one else even compared,
She'd slammed the door to his heart open against his will and now he refused to allow her to shut it.
"We can go slow. Start from the beginning again," he spoke softly, "I'll keep everything separate from you,"
"So you want me to What? Be a little birdie in your cage?" She spoke viciously, "A flower in your private gardens? Hidden from the world, yours only yours because god forbid I have an ounce of agency in my own life!" She shouted at him, forcing him off of her,
"Miss Marigold?" Said her handler, watching tears stream from Ophelia's eyes as she looked at the blank faced man across the street,
Ophelia hadn't even realized she'd been crying.
"Is this man bothering you?" He asked,
"Yes. I'd like to return now. Do you have what we need?"
"Yes." He said, no genuine concern only getting her from point A to point B was his job, "Get away from Miss Marigold, sir. She is under the protection of the ministry,"
Tom watched as Ophelia's face contorted in distaste for the proclamation, she was owned by them now. Grindelwald's little escape had only put her right back where she had started,
"Ophelia." He said, but she didn't turn back, "Ophelia!"
She turned away, murmuring her words so no one would hear her,
"He took me by the wrist and held me hard;
Then goes he to the length of all his arm,
And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow,
He falls to such perusal of my face
As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so.
At last, a little shaking of mine arm,
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk
And end his being. That done, he lets me go,
And with his head over his shoulder turn'd
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes,
For out o' doors he went without their help
And to the last bended their light on me." She murmured to herself, as though to calm, but it only lit a spark of incredulity within that would lead to her new plans for her birthday,
"My lord, he hath importun'd me with love
In honourable fashion." Said Ophelia tears escaping her eyes at thoughts of leaving Tom definitively, "And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven."
Holy vows of heaven. That was far more Lolita's place in her heart. The light in the darkness. The joy found in the pain,
Ophelia had loved, really intimately loved three times in her life,
There was James. The idealistic teenage lover. The one who took her dancing and out on a boat in a rainstorm.
There was Tom. The love that hurt the most. He'd taken everything she had to give and given half the amount back, only truly worshipping her if he felt her slipping away. Only truly loving her when he felt he was her only option.
"And with a look so piteous in purport
As if he had been loosed out of hell
To speak of horrors- he comes before me."
Then there was Lolita. The love that was meant to last. With no hurt, no pain, she'd adored and cared for Ophelia through it all, taking to each version of her with fervour, and winning Ophelia's heart so slowly that she hadn't even noticed Lolita's name etched in her soul.
"Mad for thy love?" She asked herself, "My lord, I do not know, But truly I do fear it,"
She'd loved platonically innumerable times. And of course the insane amounts of loyalty she had for her family,
"I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,
Do not as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven,
Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads
And recks not his own rede." She recited thinking of her brother,
If you could even call Henry that at this point, oh how quickly he'd sacrificed her to save his own skin. Ophelia imagined him now with Primrose as they embarked on their new life,
They met because of her, loved because Ophelia had brought Primrose home one summer, lived because Ophelia had sacrificed for them, and now they had added another layer of trauma that was the onion of Ophelia's life,
Then manic laughter filled the air as Ophelia dropped the crown in favour of clapping her hands together,
"Onion of my life," she said between bouts of laughter, shaking her head tears trickling down her cheeks anew, "I like that."
"Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?" She continued her recitation, she'd told so many lies, shrouded by what she believed a lacking of beauty,
Ophelia's wasn't the obvious sort like Lolita's beauty had been. Her looks were above average but it took her time to plot her relationship advancements,
Ophelia's romantic interests throughout her life had never like her immediately.
Lolita's was a slow burn. Ophelia had won her over slowly and entirely,
Ricky's interest had developed after years of friendship.
She had been the one in pursuit of the others. Ophelia had asked Nott out. Ophelia had made it her life's mission to make Tom Riddle smile.
Ophelia had spent time studying both Carl and Andrew becoming exactly who they needed before making her move.
"Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy. O, woe is me
T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see!" She said,
How lucky she had been to be so free before this. Loving parents. Loving family. The prefect boyfriend. Well almost.
Everyone was moving forward in their lives, even Tom in his own twisted way, even Jason,
"She said yes!" Yelled Jason, causing Ophelia to flinch where she stood in the loud house party, only there because Jason had requested it,
"Consent is important, yes," replied Ophelia, sipping her drink,
"No, Gretchen, to marry me, ME! Can you believe it?" He asked,
"The girl must have lost her mind," said Ophelia, and Jason laughed, clapping his hands together,
"I wanted to ask you to be my best man," he said, and Ophelia placed a hand to her heart,
"I'd be honoured," she replied, and then he'd grabbed her hand and begun to yank her towards the outside,
Her breathing picked up, because she didn't like to be touched like that and Jason loosened his grip,
"And this is my bachelor party!" He said, gesturing around them and the crowd cheered,
Time passed and eventually they were drunk in a corner,
"But I'm not a good boy, I'm the opposite, I'm a bad girl," he said, and Ophelia laughed but it was half hearted as her vision started to blur because of the chaos around them,
"No you aren't," said Ophelia, "Hey do you ever think about synonyms?" She asked, the only reason she was out without a handler was because of Jason's father's rank in the ministry,
"Cinnamons?"
"Synonyms."
"That's what I said,"
"Synonyms."
"Cinnamons."
"Synonym,"
"Like on cinnamon rolls."
"No like words with the same meaning,"
"Oh, you mean cinnanyms," said Jason, nodding,
"I think about them, a lot," said Ophelia, smoking a cigarette as she spoke,
"Hmm?"
"Like going to someone's cottage in the forest sounds so jolly but like someone's shack in the woods has me just running for my life," said Ophelia,
"That's not saying much," said Jason, taking Ophelia's cigarette from her and smoking it,
"Fine, how about this one? Forgive me father for I have sinned is the same as forgive me daddy I've been naughty," said Ophelia, and Jason let out a bark of laughter but then Ophelia head wavered even with the support of the wall,
Jason looked at her, concerned,
"You ever think about how water's flavour is its temperature?" She asked,
"Lia?" He said,
"Tom keeps trying to convince me to get in bed with him, but in the words of Val from church, why open your legs when you can open the bible," she said, laughing at her own joke,
"Are you alright?"
"I hate that question. You know? There are over a million words in the English language but I could never string enough together to describe how badly I want to hit everyone who asks me that with a chair,"
"I've changed my mind." Said Jason deciding he was a good boy,
But then Ophelia took a rather long drag of her cigarette through her golden filter and asked,
"Does it work any better?" And he laughed, and then Ophelia turned to him, "Can I tell you something?"
"What?"
"I turn nineteen in a week." She said, "I don't think I'll make it to twenty the way I'm living," she whispered, "I need to ask a favour,"
Ophelia stood rather certainly raising the crown to her head and taking hold of the bottle on the ground, stepping towards the cliffs edge, she lifted her wand, casting spells on the water below,
"Ophelia!" She heard a voice yell but at this point Ophelia couldn't dissern the real from the fake as she lifted the potion vial to her lips, "Ophelia, DON'T!"
She heard the bellowing and looked at the sky, to see Lolita's obscure form give her a gentle nod,
"I'll love you no matter who you are, Mi Amor,"
Her parents watched probably from hell to be honest, but Ophelia was sure they'd charmed the devil, and at least they were together now, at least they shared love,
She heard footsteps behind her but her decision was made as she looked over her shoulder and uttered her final words as Ophelia Marigold on April first 1946,
"Goodbye, Love,"
Tom watched her fall with horrified eyes, and her final words to him on the last line of the letter she'd left,
Honey, I love you that was all she wrote on the back side of the letter, he'd flipped it hoping for more, hoping for a hint she wouldn't do this to herself,
But no.
Tom was numb. He couldn't feel anything at all, he glanced at the letter, and Ophelia couldn't feel nothing small,
He should have known better than to try to pull her in when he was younger. But he couldn't feel any remorse,
And he believed Ophelia couldn't feel anything back.
He clutched that honey scented letter her form in that white dress wearing a crown of flowers would be etched into his brain for all of eternity,
He wanted to cry but the emotions wouldn't come. He knew she'd be here of all places. Where she'd wanted to get married. Tom sat on the ground, touching the one set of flowers that weren't added to the crown atop her head,
The Marigolds.
She was done with her life as Ophelia Marigold anyways,
Tom wanted to curse her name to yell at her for having done this to him, but he was a fool in love. He looked to the heavens for guidance, he clutched that damned Marigold she'd left behind in his hand,
She was gone. And he wouldn't love after her, he'd known as much from the their first split.
He shut his eyes, the pain of losing her for good beginning to set in, the white hot pain in his heart. He couldn't save her. He couldn't do anything.
"Ophelia," he whispered, turning the Marigold over in his hand, "You said you'd never." Love had been what killed her, Tom made a mental note to kill Andrew,
Cause you know, he had to get around to it eventually and well, Tom just hated that guy.
He would never see her smile again. He thought back to the summer he'd first dreamt of them here, only they were getting married. He had been the one awaiting her at the end of the aisle, and she the one holding the bouquet of Marigolds,
Instead came her end as Ophelia at his fault. At his stupid bloody fault, tears began to escape Tom's eyes,
He'd never wanted this. Never wanted love, but once he'd had it, felt her love for him, the craving only grew, like an addiction, and now he was without her,
But loving someone is assuming that the work of loving someone is worth the pain of losing them, and he wouldn't trade a single moment he'd shared with Ophelia for the world, if he could he would turn back time,
Walk up to her in fourth year before another boy had even looked her way and asked her out. He would kiss her during rounds in fifth year, and relive his sixth with her hands over his as they played the slapping game, then in seventh they would never spend the night apart.
A small sob escaped him as he crushed the marigold in his hand, because that had been what he'd done to her wasn't it? He'd held on too tightly, and now, he couldn't even bear to look over the edge of the cliff,
Although he really should have.
He wanted her back. If he had just been a little quicker, a little faster in getting here, she would be in his arms right now instead of in those cold unforgiving waters,
"Honey." He muttered at he thought of her, sweet taste of honey, of goodness pouring from her eyes, until there was little left in her soul,
"I love you," that's all she wrote,
Oh, Ophelia, she would be on his mind like a drug, Oh, Ophelia he was just a fool who'd fallen in love.
Heaven help a fool who falls in love
DONT BE MAD AT ME IT TOOK A LOT OUT OF ME EMOTIONALLY TO WRITE THIS CHAPTER IN A WAY THAT WOULDNT OUTRIGHT TRIGGER PEOPLE SO YES THERE ARE MULTIPLE VERSIONS
SO did something a lil different. There's still another chapter,
The final one is coming up, and I see you shiver with
Antica-
Pation
(Lil rocky horror reference to lighten the mood)
Tried to show the strain her mental health has on all her relationships, and how even being in protective custody is like a big oof,
I based everything around Ophelia's descent in Hamlet cause I studied it for like five minutes in the tenth grade and now i is expert,
Next part is gonna be a doozy,
Hope you enjoyed this one, and Um, I wrote a really wholesome Regulus Fanfic if you need a cleansing breath,
Sorry if this one wasn't as funny, I just sorta felt like it would mess up the vibe, you know? She's sort of awkwardly trying to be herself for a while with Jason but it's too hard,
Also mysterious favour Oop.
I can't believe there's only one more chapter, honestly this book is like my quarantine baby and now it's all grown up like awww, can't believe this all started because I was scared to draw hands for my verbally abusive art teacher
Also finished cardboard sculpture a while ago and pretty girl's instagram handle is a reference to love Simon so we're on the right track, 👍 I will share it now
For I feel I must make up for any emotional pain I caused you.
There she is, and yes, the hollow one projects a star sign, because I share it with: Jesus, Lin-Manuel Miranda, and Voldemort.
So, you know, very important people.
One more chapter and then I'll do like a big thank you for reading with a bunch of aesthetics and little moments and stuff, and fun facts like the fact that my dumbass got way too attached to this fictional relationship and I named their goddamn kids that they have in an alternative universe.
Such a fucking dumbass.
Also do these authors notes undermine my writing or can I keep using them as free therapy?
Hope you enjoyed