TW: talk of death/suicide, depressive thoughts, and obsessive compulsive disorder
Days grew shorter, and as hot cocoa kisses became a regular occurrence, Brigitte couldn't help but feel warm, in spite of herself. Perhaps it was the baubles, or maybe the relief accompanying her distance from the family manor. As much as she enjoyed balls, a cold fear always rose up in her stomach as she reminisced.
She had Lily were on astonishingly good terms, considering she was in love with James Potter, and Lily was falling out of love with James Potter (the very same, one and only).
Dating James Potter had been a blissful dream for about a week.
They had been perfectly cliche, the spotless Hogwarts couple also played as the epitome of true love. James, the prince, sought after his lady, fought dragons and demons from the pits of hell to court his dear maiden.
Everyone neglected to mention that the dragons were of Lily's creation, sent to save her from the tousle-haired idiot who didn't know when to stop.
*********
As Christmas approached, Brigitte felt the pit in her stomach grow exponentially larger. Her mother hasn't sent any letters of clarification since the last, and she was left trying to unravel the comings and goings of the Alarie Manor.
James, on the other hand, seemed to be the one person with legitimate excitement for the holiday. Sirius had been dreading the two-week stay at the Black Manor since he left for Hogwarts in September, and with the winter holidays nearly approaching, he was even close to eager.
Christmas in most pureblood families wasn't a fun family tradition but a lavish one. Most of the Sacred 28 remained unspiritual. There was something contemptible about relying on a god, and one could only presume it challenged their very own god complex.
As the children arrived home, House Elves would be scrubbing away madly, their laborious hours far more than an Elf should handle. To most, Christmas was just another holiday to prove you were richer, smarter, better. You put your children on display, pushing them towards Mozart, introductions performed in French, clean and refined.
Lily had problems of her own, a list in fact, that mainly consisted of Petunia, Tuney, Vernon the Vermin, and her inability to feel serotonin when her lips connected with her boyfriend's.
Now, as she struggled with the gut-wrenching guilt (an unwanted side effect of leading on a boy you now realized you had no feelings for), she wandered absentmindedly into dangerous Slytherin territory.
There is a difference between Slytherin territory and dangerous Slytherin territory. For starters, Slytherins, like most snakes, preferred to be left to their own devices. Not in the bad, evil way necessarily, more in a quiet-mastermind-that's-forced-into-doing-Transfiguration-essays way. Some, however, decided it was time to slither out of the burrow, again, not in as negative as a connotation as you may think. Lily liked slithering about as much as the next person, which was to say she didn't care for it. It was by no means an effective mode of transportation, but it looked cool. At least, in animals. She wasn't sure how she'd react if students dropped down to the floor and started slithering.
She cursed as she appeared, greeted by a familiar slur, and reached for the polished magic stick in her back pocket. Absent was not how she preferred to stroll through the halls. Or at least, not this absent.
Everyone had collided with Lily Evans, or at least witnessed all the times she lingered through the bustling hallways, receiving a nasty behind step that clipped the back of her trainers. It was always something impossibly minuscule; forgetting to say goodbye to Professor Slughorn, leaving the Transfiguration homework in her dorm, waving to an acquaintance a minute too late as they turned, with her now excluded from their line of sight, then the mortifying moment where she dropped her hand as fast as she could.
YOU ARE READING
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 [𝐣.𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫]
Fanfiction☾ ✧ ◆ 𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒗𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒋𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 ◇ ✦ ☽ They never told you that beauty was a double edged sword. Brigitte Alarie has never been more than...