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Update: I've read the Wattpad guidelines, and read a recent article they wrote. Long story short, my story meets the guidelines, so I will continue to upload mature chapters on Wattpad, and will also update on Inkitt and AO3 just in case.
Also, I unpublished this book and republished so it may be out of your reading lists, I'm not entirely sure.
I listened to wRoNg by ZAYN ft Kehlani and Grenade by Bruno Mars on loop while writing the Asya and Draco scene—it's in my playlist @rorynotsogilmore on Spotify. (It is their song)
Vote or I'll eat you.
[MATURE CONTENT—TW: VIOLENCE, BLOOD]
✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵
Laughter.
Laughter is the only way I can express myself through the pit in my stomach. I feel like I just had a knife plunged into my me and twisted until I was completely destroyed on the inside.
This can't be real. They're lying again to hide something. Two minutes ago I was Miss. Karkaroff, now I'm being told I'm a Grindelwald?
"Asya, wait." I hear Snape calls out making me stop at the door.
I turn around looking at them, "you both had no right for hiding this from me."
"It was to protect—"
"Protect me?" I storm up to Snape, looking him dead in the eye. "Do you know what you put me through for the last eighteen years? Do you?"
"There is a reason for everything. You have to trust me."
"Trust?" I start laughing again. "You want me to trust you after all of this? You lost that trust a long time ago. From now on you have no say in my life—none."
He shakes his head, "I am your guardian, I have a moral obligation to protect you."
"You can shove that moral obligation up your arse." I don't give a shit if Dumbledore is here, he can burn in Merlin's arsehole for all I care.
"I told you that if I find out you're lying to me again, you won't have a say over my life. I meant it. Your rules no longer apply to me, and I am a legal adult, so I can do as I please."
I turn to Dumbledore, completely disregarding Snapes existence. He's dead to me. "Who gave birth to me?" I keep my voice slow and steady.
He takes his glasses off, looking away for a moment, "I don't think it's the right time now—"
"Now is the perfect time." I'm about to explode.
He hesitates, before responding, not even looking at me, "Camille de Lancre," He finally looks up at me, "your birth mother—she was a very well-known pureblood surrogate mother in France."
