𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 | 𝐡. 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝟕𝟓 - 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝙍𝙚𝙨𝙤𝙡𝙫𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙊𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙖 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙩.

Staring at her broken reflection in the unshattered mirror was the biggest wake-up call she needed to just how much resolve she had, she was being held together by rubber bands and paper stitches yet still she looked as solid and unbreakable as a diamond. Staring at her own eyes she waited until she saw the heartbroken tears fade away until the cold brown was all that was left, she looked hauntingly like her father did before the full moon came. Closing her eyes fiercely she felt the tears return as she recalled the countless nights she had spent sitting on the edge of his bed as he rolled back and forth in bed, hearing his bones snap back in place after the transformation and his stifled cries of agony.

Every time she looked up at the sky, seeing the different phases in the moon, she could see the different phases of her father's health deteriorating until he wasn't able to move to make himself a cup of tea let alone tuck her into bed at night, but he did so anyway. He kept going through his pain.

Just as she did.

Cigarette between her teeth she inhaled sharply as she pulled the bandages from the back of her hand, another round with Umbridge had left her left hand with a slight tremor, only noticeable when she was anxious or by those close enough to her, but she wasn't about to let that happen any time soon. She was used to this dull aching pain now, the gentle throb of her desperate skin, she'd gotten used to changing them on her own now with one hand.

That way, no one could tell on her for going to the Hospital Wing.

Sighing, she tapped the ash off of the end of her cigarette and sank down against the bathroom wall, her eyes falling on her discarded watch, 3am.

She huffed lightly, finding something humorous in the fact she had barely gotten three hours sleep in the past 24 hours, she didn't know which part was funny and as exhausted as she was, she didn't care to find out.

Perhaps it was the regular loss of blood that was making her so exhausted, the lack of oxidised blood made her feel lightheaded constantly, terrible headaches that would cause her to lose her appetite that had her aching all over yet she moved around like she wasn't in pain at all, she knew it was only a matter of time until she pushed herself too far, but for now, she would act like she was fine.

Dragging out the large portfolio from her bag, she turned the page to her newest edition to her impeachment against Fudge, she found evidence that he had been using funds that was meant to go towards underprivileged wizarding families that were struggling to rebuild after Voldemort made their lives virtually unliveable during the first war, and he put it into a full remodelling of the Ministers Box. A week ago, she tried to send a copy of this manifesto of sorts to the Wizengamot but found that her owl had returned with ruffled feathers and a crooked wing, her portfolio was still intact however and after she helped nurse the owl back to health she decided she had to wait until the trip to Hogsmede on Valentine's day to post it. At least that way, she could guarantee that it was out of Umbridge's jurisdiction.

But now she was anxiously re-reading her own work, wondering if perhaps she ought to have reworded it to be less aggressive, more polite, less harsh... but even then she doubted if that would nullify how serious the truth was. She had worked herself to the bone to make her points as clear and precise as they needed to be, using the correct sources and citing where she found them, dates and all.

The work she had put into this made her case for Sirius look like primary school homework and she was feeling the weight of it on her conscience, the doubts, the second-guessing it had brought her anxiety to new heights and now she was scared of the fall.