❞ 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐫
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Margaret 'Maggie' Potter, unlike her older brother and every single girl in school, despises the cocky, self-absorbed Sirius Black.
Sirius Black himself has never been very fond of t...
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MARGARET had always refused to accept any standard short of perfection. Since she was barely a child she had used her time to excel her every move, bettering all her achievements.
She had never known why she was the way she was, neither her parents nor James had given her the responsibility to bear the burden of being a complete perfectionist.
But she just was.
Margaret had always been so afraid of error that she had mastered everything in her life, or at least tried. She hated to admit it but maybe it was this that had forced her to keep out from testing out new things. She just couldn't deal with not being perfect at them.
Maybe, that was the sole reason why her body ached for the feeling she had isolated herself from five years ago. The feeling that would arise in the pit of her stomach as soon as her hands held the delicate figure of the violin, when her movements and caresses with the bow made it sing elegantly.
To everyone, Margaret Potter was simply perfect, organized, and put together. No mistakes.
The truth? It was all completely fake, unreal.
Margaret Potter had been broken inside for a long time, twisted and so unlike the pure and excellent figure she had always put out to be for prying eyes.
Margaret had spent long years of her life seeking a bit of peace to settle in her mind. An exile from the billion thoughts that would eat her head out, talk and cry inside. She had tried everything, from forcing herself to have fun to excusing herself from activities. None worked.
It was the one thing she had failed irrevocably at.
Cyrah had handed Margaret a set of blue silky pajamas as the blue-eyed witch dried her head from the warm droplets that accumulated at the tip of her hair strands.
Margaret's eyes were puffed out and her breathing was shortened, but a pinkish blush had come back to her cheeks and her eyes had seemed to recover a hue of blue from the grieving greyness that had conquered them for the past days.
Margaret dressed her body in the delicate fabric that felt soft against her skin and Cyrah helped her out the door.
It was time to face reality.
As she stepped out of her bedroom, her breath caught in her throat. She stood for a moment in the middle of the hallway, her lips parted just slightly, Cyrah on her side was watching her intensely as her eyes bore to an inexistent point in the distance looking rather astonished.
