Fatal Attraction | D.M. (Soft Rewrite)

Chapter Fifty-Nine - Follow My Lead

'Tell me sleepyhead, how would you like your eggs?'

'Poached, please,' Ophelia requested, politely. Watching, without interjecting, as Nott filled her plate with a sequence of delicious fried foods. Before nabbing a basket of different pastries, to crowd into the small space left between her knife and fork.

'How much do you expect me to eat?'

'All of it, sunshine. You need fuel for the day.'

'So bossy,' she grumbled, mildly. Holding an indifferent expression, until Nott glanced up with his round, puppy-eyes grappling for approval. And then she couldn't help grinning like a loon, despite every sleep-deprived muscle in her body begging for a break.

It was early. Way too early. But once her eyes snapped open, she couldn't stop overthinking about her next exam. The anxious itch taking centre stage didn't care that Charms was one of her best subjects. Or that her revision over the past few weeks was more than sufficient for an 'exceeds expectations,' or possibly an 'outstanding,' result, if she kept her fingers-crossed. No it just wants to punish me. To get my ass into gear. As her baseless self-doubt drove her to get out of bed and be productive, so she wouldn't feel guilty for slacking.

But Ophelia didn't really mind an unconventionally early breakfast, if it meant missing Blaise. The man she was avoiding like the plague. And oh boy has he tried to catch my eye, to make conversation, to come my way because he's still clueless. Which isn't satisfying. I want to see him hurting. I want to see the rug pulled out from under him...but I need to prioritise myself.

Right now - while he can blame my absence on stress and revision - I have time to decide how I want to tackle the nasty pair, Pansy included. So that when I'm back from Shell Cottage, I'll know what to do.

'Have you packed?'

'Just about,' Ophelia replied, after a jaw-dropping yawn. Pouring coffee into two empty mugs, before adding a heaped teaspoon of sugar, since Nott liked it sickly sweet. 'I need to sort a few things but otherwise I'm ready.'

'For the late train?'

Ophelia shook her head. 'Bill's organised a portkey to get me home, so I don't have to leave until tomorrow morning.'

'Smart man...' Nott trailed off. Turning up the cuffs of his sleeves and grasping his silverware, during the lull that followed. 'So their place is home to you?'

'Feels like it,' Ophelia considered, before adding, 'it's safe and private, so you don't have to remember to hide much from the muggles. And I love the coast...beautiful in summer, quiet in winter.'

'And your family visit?'

'Not really. I mean, we'll drop by the Weasley's, but usually it's just the three of us...which can't be helped. Most of my family still refuse to cross the French border.'

'Their loss.'

'I guess,' Ophelia shrugged, loosely. 'They resented my parents for moving to England and now they're gone that's one less reason to make the trip.'

'...But you're still here?'

Ophelia shrugged again and Nott understood. The only family she held dear made the effort.

There were other reasons that drew Ophelia to Shell Cottage. Not only was it her sanctuary, during her darkest hours - it was also situated just an hours walk from her parent's gravestone.

Framed in branches of ivy and sat beneath an ancient yew tree - was how Fleur described the place Ophelia would hopefully visit in the future, to leave flowers, to clear away shrubs covering the engraving of their names. But, so far, she'd not been able to make that journey. She'd never lingered, or relayed stories there. She didn't even know what inscription or stone Fleur had chosen in the end. The funeral was a blur, the site a mystery. And so all Ophelia's prayers to her mother and father remained trapped inside her head.