𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓖𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 || 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲

Chapter 8 - Resignation

Ophelia had always told herself she would not be one of those girls in the novels she read, who cried themselves to sleep at night over the actions of a man. But alas, here she found herself, weeping into her pillow as the shock settled into her body of what had just transpired, and what she had narrowly avoided.

            Eventually the whimpering girl fell asleep from exhaustion: emotional and physical. Her breaths were like uneven whispers as she fidgeted in her bed, rolling side to side, her head lulling about. Her nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed as she dreamt dreams that she would forget the instant she opened her eyes.

            The morning came, warm sunlight basking through her small window, it caught her crystal suncatcher, casting gleams of sparkling light across the cramped room, making it feel instantly much larger and more inviting. But Ophelia was not in the room for such beautiful sights. She scowled as she peeked through heavy eyelids and turned over to face the wall, she buried her head under the duvet, closing her eyes again.

            "Miss Oakham, Miss Oakham," A small voice accompanied by a tiny knock. "It is Dobby Miss; Mistress would like to speak with Miss in the dining room over breakfast."

            Ophelia groaned inwardly, her stomach twisting into knots at the sheer thought of leaving her room.

            "Tell your Mistress I am regretfully sick," Ophelia's hoarse voice called out as she lifted her head for a moment and awaited Dobby's reply.

            "I will Miss. Can Dobby get anything for Miss, drink? Medicine?" The tiny voice asked.

            "No, its quite alright Dobby... I just... I just need some rest is all, thank you." Ophelia stuttered as she lay her head back down upon her goose-feather pillow. Dobby did not reply, or if he did, the girl did not hear him, for she was already drifting off into another sleepy state.

***

            "What do you mean sick?" Narcissa snapped at the house elf, who's name she could not remember.

            "Miss told Dobby she is sick, and is resting," Dobby whimpered as he cowered beneath Narcissa's stern gaze.

            "I see." She pursed her lips together, "very well, get out of my sight then." The woman shooed the house elf away with her hand, a disgusted look on her face.

            "I hope Miss Oakham is alright..." Draco said as he chewed his croissant. His mother had brought them from the most renowned bakery in Paris, only the best for her little boy. "She was quite upset yesterday."

            "Upset why?" Narcissa asked, raising a thin curious eyebrow.

            "I err... I scared her, she didn't like it... and father shouted at her for something... but it wasn't even her fault..." Draco told his mother as he hesitantly took another bite of his pastry.

            "Your father has been in a foul mood of late... do you happen to know why he has destroyed his office? And why our family portrait lays in tatters?" She asked with disgust, of course she didn't expect the eight-year-old to know, but perhaps he had heard whispers, or seen some of his 'visitors'.

            As expected, the boy shook his head no, he had seen the state of the portrait, a long rip tore through the smiling painted family, and a broken whiskey bottle lay scattered and shattered on the floor beneath.

            "No? Did he have any visitors last night?" She asked, her voice had a sharp edge to it, almost daring her son to tell her the truth.

            "Just Professor Snape, the one with the black hair, they went to fathers' office when I went to bed..." The boy told her with his mouth half full of jam filled pastry.