𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 | 𝐡. 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝟓𝟏 - 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙠𝙨.

It had been three weeks. One week and Ophelia was at her wit's end. Two weeks, Ophelia was plotting how to escape, and at the three week mark, she was ready to commit arson.

Her dad didn't come for her, it took her till the second week to realise he wasn't.

Rooftop cigarettes were her only semblance after a day of being hit randomly for no reason other than her grandmother could, in between bites of inedible flavourless food she would read, transcribe and translate the books that Snape had given her, he'd slipped her a book that was meant to become her own Grimoire, it was bound in black leather and had etchings carved into it, when she was given it, she had felt rather awkward accepting it as a gift, as though there were invisible strings attached to it. But he reminded her that she needed a place to write down her findings and what she found useful.

So that's where she was now, sat cross-legged on the floor in her mother's bedroom with the door locked, cigarette between her lips as she would occasionally tap the ash off into her grandmother's favourite tea-cup which she had managed to duplicate and replace in the forbidden china cabinet and Mary was none the wiser to the trickery.

Ophelia had been doing a lot of spiteful things towards Mary since she'd been hitting her on the back of her arms for no reason other than she could, so she got her own back in petty things.

She had swirled her grandmother's toothbrush in the toilet water, around the rim and right on the edge of the U bend before returning it.

Swapping half her suncream out for mayonnaise.

Spitting in her tea after she had whacked Ophelia's thighs with a ruler.

Putting soap in her toothpaste.

There were a multitude of things, but summed it up to getting inspiration from her marauder blood.

But now, it was bedtime for Mary, it was midnight and Ophelia was still reading up on astral projecting and she decided she had to try again, even if last time was disastrous, she had to.

"fuck it." she said, putting out her cigarette as she crossed her legs again.

Closing her eyes, she let her mind fall to an ease thoughtless and light, as she lifted out of her body, yet she was still tethered to it.

Now she was standing beside herself, noticing how small she really was.

"Damn, Harry wasn't joking when he said I'm tiny, how do I even reach anything at all?"

"Yeah, sorry, you inherit that from me I'm afraid." said Gwen, smiling tearily as Ophelia whirled around to see her mother standing there with open arms, Ophelia's eye's grew wide with tears as she ran into her mother's arms, it was nothing like any other hug she'd ever had, as it wasn't their bodies touching it was their souls in a great fusion of heat built up between them as she cradled her daughter.

Ophelia looked up at her mum, and she looked exactly how she did all those years ago, the youth in her eyes still plain to see to anyone, she had long blonde hair that was curled into ringlets naturally at the ends, just like Ophelia's and her lips had the same shape to them, Ophelia started to cry as she realised this was her mum, it wasn't a disembodied voice... it was her mum.

"But you've grown so well, my darling... you're... beautiful..."

"Bit concieted don't you think G?" said a male voice behind them, "Since she looks exactly like you."

"Oh bugger off James, I'm talking with my daughter." Said Gwen, kissing the top of Ophelia's head.

"Well I want to talk to my Goddaughter, thank you very much." Said James, putting his hands on hips, as Ophelia looked over her mother shoulder to see Lily and James waiting nearby. They looked young too, Lily's hair was a redish ginger and it was soft and straight, while James looked like an older version of Harry but with brown eyes... the hair was the same, even down to the nose, she noticed that James and her mother were shoeless and grinning, while Lily opened up her arms for Lily and James to give her a long-waited hug too before sending her back to her mother.