𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 | 𝐡. 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝟗𝟓 - 𝐩𝐢𝐧-𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧

"𝙉𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙪𝙥
Never gonna let you downnnnn
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you." Belted Ophelia as she sort of wiggled on the spot to the song, all of her joints hurt when she did but if she could cause one ounce of the misery that they gave her then it was a job well done, she was interrupted by a sharp rapping on the bars of her cell.

"Be quiet!" Snapped the guard, "Can't hear myself think for your incessant screeching!"

"Won't be too much trouble there I imagine - you've got a PhD in Philosophy of the Pea-Brained." Bit back Ophelia, the cell door swung open and there was a blinding white pop as he struck her across the cheek, she winced as she felt the cut reopen - "Ow... I mean, come on... there must be a seminar you guys attend, "where to hit girls in the face 101— okay, point proven, did you have to go for my gut though?"

"You should learn some manners."

"And you should learn basic dental hygiene - I can see food that expired before I was born stuck between your teeth." Said Ophelia before her sentence was cut short by his hand clasping around her throat to crush her windpipe she strained to reach her throat but couldn't move an inch due to the restraints cutting into her wrists and ankles — her eyes glazed purple nonetheless as he snickered at her.

"Is that supposed to intimidate me?" He snarled gripping his face close to hers as she maintained eye contact with him. "You're pathetic."

"Not as pathetic as I'm about to make you Dolohov." She responded in his mind, "Imperare Memoria." He released her throat instantly and crumpled to the floor, whimpering and shaking as she forced her spell upon him.

He started to scream as she forced him to relive his worst memories, she was seeing them too — it was much more intense than Ophelia had anticipated, harsher and quite vivid — it was exactly as they remembered them, and if they had forgotten some of the details with age they were polished and presented to them with ease.

She should've felt guilty.
But she didn't.

"How's that one?" Said Ophelia, "Got that from Dementors... took me a hot minute to figure out the logistics of it, but I got it to work quite effectively and without a wand too!"

"Please... stop." He whimpered pathetically as he crawled to her feet, "Please... I beg you, he'll kill me."

"And what makes you think I won't." Said Ophelia coldly, her purple eyes were as cold as the deepest water in an arctic pool, "I'm not about to make things comfortable for you."

Then, she heard a door open somewhere beyond her line of vision followed by bounding hurried footsteps as four men ran into her line of sight - they raised their wands, she felt the spell hit her chest as she was temporarily stunned.

She slumped downwards against her chains while Dolohov was dragged out of her cell and into an infirmary.

She laughed lowly.
"Wow, overkill much... four against one, you must feel so proud of yourselves right now." She said with a snicker as they began to speak in hushed tones outside of her cell, each one of them looking at her through their masks with wide fearful eyes, the look they gave her stirred something in her.

Who had she become?
When did people become frightened of her?

She was so far from the days of hot chocolate by her father's knees as she read books — she was far from the girl who would observe rather than intervene.

Was she still the girl Harry fell in love with? Was she ever the person she had presented herself to be or was she some imposter doing an impression of who she was?