"𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞."
Sherry Opal does not like England. She was born and raised in America, more specifically in Massachusetts where Ilvermorny, her school was located. Her mother had threaten...
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SILENCE.
Pure, tense, awkward silence filled with unadulterated loathing. The air felt thick, suffocating. like it's large hands were gripping and grabbing at Sherry's neck and choking her with it's burden and taunt. The sharpest knife couldn't even slice through the tension that had been created within this office, this office that stirred up unbridled rage within Sherry; once a place where she could relax, let loose and feel complete. Now a place where only bad moods loomed and negativity shadowed.
Sherry did everything in her power to avoid being there that Friday night, even going as far as to try and use a charm to stick her feet to the floor. That, unfortunately, did not work as Dumbledore had entered the room, looked at her stuck feet as she smiled sweetly at him before he grabbed a hold of her arm and suddenly she was in his office, angry all over again.
She could've thrown every single thing off of his shelves and smashed all of his glass cabinets but she didn't because she would never again let James Potter see her so vulnerable and that very boy was sat in the chair at the chess table, bag clutched close to him and blue eyes staring in the place where she stood.
Every moment she willed herself not to look at him was every moment where she felt her skin crawl, goosebumps rise and hairs on the back of her neck raise. She wanted to tell him to stop, but she didn't want to talk to him.
Dumbledore had given one of his little speeches about leaving and being back soon before he left, Sherry walked over to her usual comfy chair and collapsed onto it, tucking her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Maybe she could sleep for the whole two hours, feel them go by quickly where she wouldn't have to acknowledge the fact where she was only a couple of feet away from Potter.
Her brain didn't grant her the luxury of sleep that evening. It decided to think, long and hard, about Potter and his actions and his face and his words and his apologies. Ones that Sherry would not accept. She spent at least half an hour with her mind whirring around in endless circled of It was Sirius, he apologised, it was Sirius, but he did nothing to stop him, it was Sirius, and Potter apologised, it was Sirius, but he let it happen.
Again and again and again the prospect of forgiveness was lost on her. Does he deserve it? No. Does Sherry want to give it to him? Not necessarily. If she forgives him, will it fill a hole in her shattered heart? Possibly. Does she miss their hateful banter? Absolutely. Sherry just stared, confused and tortured, at the missing square in Dumbledore's window. Still there, still a reminder of what used to be.
"Sherry?"
She closed her eyes, peace interrupted. The tears in her eyes weren't even noticeable until she accidentally squeezed one out of her eyes when she had shut them. Hurriedly, she wiped it away. Potter seeing that would've ended her, the pity in his eyes, the apology that would come, the endless words out of his mouth, she didn't think she was in the mood for it.
