Wolves Without Teeth ── theodore nott ¹ ( UNDER EDITING )

chapter seven

𝕴t was later that night when Winnie Buldtrode found herself buried away behind the doors of the library. Strands of hair framed her round face, wisps tickling her cheeks as she stared at her ruined homework with strained thoughts. The evening hiding away at Hogs Head had left her drained. Too many unprotected emotions swirling around in the room had caused her to grow lightheaded, with sweat beading her eyebrow from the strength she pulled to block them out.

It was becoming increasingly harder to do so, stronger emotions such as anger, frustration, sorrow or persistent sadness touched her magical core like licking flames. Heat would burn in her chest and she would feel nothing but bitter emotions, making her fingers twitch and her thoughts to be consumed with a need to help.

But helping strained her, made her sore and aching with the decay of emotions she traded for them to be more pleased.

She supposed not helping was worse, straining herself so her magic rippled and burst inside of her chest. Winnie had done well hiding it all evening as the bitter wind nipped at her cheeks and bones; she smiled and spoke when she should. Every part of it was a tremendous act she perfected with a quick upturn of her pink lips, but it left her weak and vulnerable at the end of the day. Pouring all her magical core into protecting herself from others, left her mind open. Now, she didn't have the strength to push everything away.

There was a fallen shiver of fear that followed her home. It twitched between her shoulder blades, pushing down relentlessly until it sunk into her bloodstream. Pumping venomously with a satisfied smirk, all Winnie felt was fear now. The fear of thousands took home in her heart, and she desperately wished she could shut it all off. Voldermorts' return would trickle emotions wide and far, it was only a matter of time before that fear escalated, but Winnie Bulstrode had thought she had a handle on this. She felt she had control.

Control was a virtue she could no longer hold; having aided in Cordelia's grief earlier that morning, she opened a vessel that poured out into her chest and mind at an increasingly heightened pace. The empath magic running through her veins was more potent as she grew weaker, unable to stop it or twist the dial down.

The blonde slammed her potions textbook shut, unable to concentrate on the difference between a gilly weed and a furbish lousewort. She pinched the bridge of her nose, haven't eaten nearly all day since breakfast, and the consequences were surely catching up to her. Her stomach rumbled with distaste as her fingers shook, causing her to clench them together into a fist.

Really, all the blonde female wished to do was sleep. She yearned for her familiar twin-sized bed, a crimson feathered pillow behind her head and blankets pulled up to tickle her chin. Her body ached and sagged like she had exerted herself far too much for far too long, and she supposed, in a way, she had.

Winnie realized she would have to get a handle on this new empath situation as quickly as possible. Though she had no idea how to do just that, considering empaths were notably unique in the wizarding world, and the only person she knew that was one was ... well, dead.

Twisting the silver ring on her finger, she stared down at it. Feeling the smooth surface slide against her pointer finger quickly, it had been far too big for her when she first received it. She had worn it as a necklace for her first few years before she found a spell last year that allowed her to alter the ring size to always fit her finger. Since then, the object has not left her finger. It kept her grounded in a way she could not understand.

It was her grandfather's ring, gifted to her before she left Hogwarts. It was intended to always make her feel at home, but now, it made her feel like she and this ring was the only one aware of her curse. Tearing her eyes away, she huffed a heavy sigh before gathering her belongings, stuffing them in her leather bag and getting up from her scratched table.