𝐀. "you've ruined me." theodore spoke, words falling like a silent plea for further devastation, "but i'd give you the rest of me to ruin if you ask, maya. i'd fucking break for you."
and he did.
time after time, theodore nott set himself aflame a...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The sun parted an hour ago, leaving a dark cloak over the once bright sky.
And the train hasn't moved from King Cross' station yet. Maya sat in a compartment, alone, fiddling with the zipper of her bag.
They should be at Hogwarts by now but instead they're still in their compartments with over ten adults, ones who were trying to figure out what was wrong with the train. By this rate, they'll reach the school tomorrow, on September second, instead of today.
Maya didn't know how to feel about going back, about living in that castle again for months to come. They're returning to a place that once brought them so much darkness.
The comfort they usually felt upon returning to Hogwarts was no longer there. Instead it was replaced by hesitation and one thread of dying hope that promised a change of heart.
Some students didn't even come back, finding it worthless, Harry Potter being the first.
All of Maya's emotions sat tangled in her mind, pleading for acknowledgment.
She shifted her posture against the uncomfortable seat, attempting to find a better position, for her muscles ached.
She realized they might be here for a while.
The time was ticking slowly and every time the moon rose higher and the darkness seeped more into the sky, she felt the small space she sat in, closing in on her body.
The train stood perfectly still on the iron rails, showing no signs of movement.
And her best friend wandered off to do something and still hasn't returned.
Maya stared back at her reflection though she could barley see it on the stained glass.
So many different conversations surrounded her, some catching her attention before they fade out of focus yet all she could think of is how much she has to overwork herself.
This year more than any other.
She had a journal plopped on the table but was no longer using it. Her eyes often observed the ink staining the tip of her quill, watching as it turned dry.
For the fifth time today, her hand reached for the pocket of her worn out jacket until she felt a small sack under her touch.
The fear of accidentally misplacing it urged her to repeat the action.
It wasn't full, in fact, the coins barley reached the top. It was a simple reminder that she had to be careful while spending them because they deemed to last the entire year.
