A/n: Trigger warning for mentions of self harm, abuse, and hair pulling.
"You're a fourteen year old girl! Without my permission you are not allowed to date." My mother said.
"I'm almost fifteen, dating happens." I said, and sat down on my bed.
"Not unless I decided who it is with. Who was it?" She asked, angry rising within her voice.
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"Barty, why choose me?" I said. He was sitting in a chair opposite me.
"Why not choose you?" He flattered, "You are truly one of the most-"
"Beautiful girls in the world," I finished, "Is it that or is it something else?"
"What else is there?" He asked, turning his straw from his butter-beer.
"My family? They're fame? My blood? My name?" I stated.
"You think I like you so I can worm my way into your family?"
"That's what everyone does." I said.
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"You think he'd like you enough to not date you just for your name?" Mother scoffed.
"I never believed him." I said, truthfully.
"Where did he take you?" She asked, her arms crossed tightly.
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"Why take me here?" I asked.
"Have you ever been here? The three broomsticks?" He asked, handing me a cauldron cake.
"No." I admitted.
"That's why I brought you here."
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"He truly sounds so sweet," My mother whined, "Look at you, young, in love."
"I'm not in love." I said.
"Oh, well why not?" She smiled with hatred, "It's truly the most amazing thing on earth."
"Because i've seen what it's done to you and father." I said, and stood up.
"It would be a miracle if you ever had a love that isn't like mine and your fathers."
"A miracle that I will find, because I am not a two faced bitch." I said, and slammed the door.
"YOU WILL NOT SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT." She said, and she whispered a spell to unlock the door.
I froze, I meant what I had said, but I didn't mean to say it.
"You are lucky I am not a total bitch to you," She said. "I will teach you a lesson school is not worthy of teaching."
She cursed, swore, hexed, jinxed. Again, and again. Over and over. For days and for days. She made the walls silent, so no one would hear.
I screamed, swore, wrinkled, spat, and bled. Again and again. Over and over. For days and for days. In silence.
That summer was one of the worst summers of my life. I started doing things I was forbidden to do. I started bleeding, and scratching. I started pulling, and sinking.
My skin was cracked around my fingers and on my wrists. My hair was dead on my head and my face. I was so young, and so scared, and so hurt that I decided to hurt myself for something. And I found relief in it.
I never spoke to Barty again.
