"I write her a letter
just a few short lines,
and suffer death
a thousand times."
Asteria O'Connor, sole heir of a prestigious wizarding family,
has other plans when the self-proclaimed Marauders decide to
torment her and her housemates.
It's abo...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
warning: bodily marks
aster
Fuck me.
My head pounds dangerously, forcing for me to scrunch my eyes shut again after the feeble attempt of prying them open. After collecting myself, I sit up, wincing throughout. I hold my head in my hands until the drums in my brain decide to stop band practice for a few moments. Opening my eyes slowly, I look around the wrecked common room.
The place is completely destroyed. Luckily, it can all be fixed with the wave of a wand. Half empty drinking cups are everywhere, furniture is definitely not where it should be, an extremely angered painting of Salazar Slytherin has somehow managed to become a food tray and slumbering students are strewn all over the place; on sofas, leaning against walls, under rugs. Somehow, the scene looks quite beautiful with the green light coming in through the windows.
At the thought of what lays just behind the tinted glass, my stomach lurches nastily and I find the nearest thing possible to upturn my stomach contents into.
I can clean the Quidditch cup of 1932 later.
With heavy and cautious steps, I slowly make my way towards my dorm. A searing pain pierces through my head and I have to hold onto the wall for support. After a couple deep breaths I continue my long and painful journey.
What the fuck did I drink last night?
Opening the door slowly so as not to wake my dorm mates, I quietly scurry to the bathroom, ignoring how there are people in beds that certainly don't belong there. I slip the dress over my head after locking the door, trying to not make too much noise.
I stand under the lukewarm water for a while with my eyes closed, just revelling in the soothingness of the water softening the tension in my body. My muscles are still aching from the match yesterday. I carefully step over the side of the bath, making sure not to slip on any puddles that may have formed over the course of my shower. The glass is all fogged up so I wipe my hand across the cold surface.
I stumble backwards in disbelief, a sharp gasp escaping my lips.
Please no.
Denying every part of my brain screaming at me to somehow forget what I've seen, I walk quickly forwards and clear the rest of the glass. Standing before me is my reflection, except it's not me.
No. It can't be me.
Deep purple and yellow bruises scatter my entire body; my legs, hips, chest, arms, shoulders, neck, face, you name it. I have small scratches and gashes everywhere. The person standing before me looks weak and frightened. I glance down at myself and try to come to terms with the fact that the mirror isn't lying.
