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

chapter nineteen

                  Anger.

There were probably a million ways to treat a source of anger, to cure it and stop it from spreading to every crevice of one's being. Hermione Granger could — and would if asked — list all of them at the top of her head like a flick of her wand. Top answers would have to be, pour yourself a cup of tea and read a book by yourself. Scream into a pillow until your lungs deflate and the anger is long gone. ( Not a favourable one for those who have problems breathing truly. ) Go on a jog, move your muscles and take out all your anger on making sure you run until your body screams in agony. Muggle paint, an action that's supposed to be calming as you try to paint a sunset, Winnie thinks she'll stab someone with her paintbrush the first time someone tells her she does something wrong. Or maybe even talk to someone about why you're angry, get out, leave it in the air and away from yourself so it could no longer vester into a raging fire.

Hermione Granger's number one recommendation would be to absolutely not put yourself through a two hour, soul crushing, lecture with a teacher who looks like a pink toad.

Which was really unfortunate considering Winnie Buldstrode was a crackling fire of anger and was sitting in Umbridge's classroom for her Defence lesson.

The bLONDE sat with her arms wrapped around her torso, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she stared darts at the overly pink women. Her head was prodding right behind her eyes, causing her to shift uncomfortably in her seat and to pinch the bridge of her nose every two seconds. She was irritated, and even that was an understatement. That was the thing about Winnie Buldstrode, when her anger became too much, it turned into a sour taste at the tip of her tongue. Turned into magic flickering at her fingertips, in a sense, she was a ticking bomb waiting to be set off.

Once again, she felt that familiar heat that bubbled behind her skin, frizzing and sizzling like the afternoon after the Hogs Head meeting. Her own emotions mixing with the hollow, bitter betrayal feeling that was snapping in front of Cordelia Flint's heart.

Her skin crawled, itching and ticking with the sense that she knew she was there. Across from her, directly four feet away but out of touch in every sense of the name. Winnie had overgrown the self pity, she had made a mistake, she knew this, but she did what she thought was best, no matter how dangerous it was. The fact her cousin was so against hearing her out, to going as far as pretending she didn't even exist, was enough to make the blonde wish to reach over and strangle Cordelia Flint.

She felt that anger twist and shoot her heart, twist together with pieces of hurt and betrayal. As children, they spent everyday together just about climbing trees and giggling about stories or how the boys looked so weird with their high socks and shorts. It was the sort of bond that vestered inside of them both, they knew each other like they were each other's other halves. They had promised to never leave each once, way before Winnie's parents treated her like dirt, way before Max had died, way before the world became full of the fears they never knew existed.

It was as if even then, they knew the world wouldn't be kind to them.

"Come on Lia, it's not even that high, you can see the world here," Winnie's voice trailed down the bark of the tree, her legs straddling the branch of one of the trees in the Buldstrode yard. Her hands reaching up and grabbing hold of a red apple, holding it in her hands as she looked down at Cordelia. Who's nose twitched, head tilting as if she was considering the risk of falling. Finally, she lifted her foot, hiking up the hem of her dress so she could climb.

Winnie grinned triumphantly, leaning her back against the bark. She took a small bite out of the apple, wrinkling her nose at the sour taste that burst in her mouth, but swallowed and continued to eat it all the same. Finally, Cordelia reached the same branch Winnie sat at, throwing her leg over the tree and holding on tightly as she sat facing her.