𝑮𝑹𝑬𝑬𝑲 𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬𝑫𝒀 [𝑺𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑼𝑺 𝑩𝑳𝑨𝑪𝑲]

vi.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

JASON: I'd rather they'd never been born to me

Than have lived to see you destroy them this
day

- Medea, Euripedes

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

Phaedra realized quickly that the room would give her anything she needed. It was merely the first haven she found. Her brains rattled in her skull as she slammed into both sides of the doorway like a pathetic game of ping-pong as she used one sleeve to smother her sobs and the other to wipe her tears, switching back and forth between each eye. It was a dimly lit broom closet, and the Slytherin curled her knees to her chest underneath the bottom shelf, relishing the way it forced her to bow her head and fold around herself. She wondered if, the shelf was only just a bit lower, Phaedra could fold in on herself until she disappeared.

Her thoughts were no longer her own; she had long since lost control and instead wedged herself tighter into the corner of the closet, her own wails beginning to sound foreign to her ears. She forced her eyes to stare at the wall opposite her, preferring the eventual dry-burn to the intrusive thoughts every time she closed her eyes. Lucius's pale, lifeless skin; the bruises that littered Sirius' body - she knew they would haunt her forever. Her thoughts were racing far too quickly in the hurricane-winds for her to grasp onto, or because was slowly becoming more light-headed the more Lucius' face popped into her head; or even worse, the small tattoo she had seen on his arm.

She shook her head, but that did nothing to shake the thoughts. She buried her face in the small divot created by her two knees resting together, nestling closer in a childish instinct to become smaller, to hide herself away. She didn't care that her fingernails began to scrape up and down her legs, meeting resistance at first with her black hosiery before quickly piercing through, leaving distinct white lines on her calves. Maybe it was a good thing the skin on her knees was too taunt for her teeth to snap at, because she wouldn't have bite-marks later, but in the moment it only made Phaedra cry harder. She needed to do something - anything - to make the images behind her closed lids go away. Her thoughts were Athena, bashing on Zeus' skull with her sword and shield, armed for war. But a war against her own self would only hurt Phaedra worse.

She figured out the room would give her whatever she needed when her tears slowly began to slow - not because of any comfort someone had given her, or even she had given to herself. Time was the only factor in drying her lashes, the skin around her eyes still tight. Her head hurt - maybe it was because she had, too, slammed her head into the wall behind her in an effort to make the thoughts stop.

She pulled herself out from under the shelf, and she noticed a small brass goblet just above where she had been crying. Maybe it was selfishness, but she desperately needed water (if only to fuel more tears), and someone had left theirs. Phaedra gulped the cool liquid, though when she placed the cup back on the shelf, her throat felt the same. And that was when the cup refilled. Phaedra drank three more glasses of water, wondered just why Hogwarts had a magical water-shelf, and pulled herself to her feet. She brushed off her robes and straightened her tie, tying her slick hair into a ponytail. She looked down at her legs - her stockings had been shredded. She didn't even remember scratching her fingernails against her leg, but small beads of blood dotted her calves. She kicked off her shoes and took them off, balling them up and throwing them carelessly over her shoulder. A pair of neat black hosiery appeared on the shelf. She took it cautiously, pulling them on and promising herself she'd note where this room was. As Phaedra gently opened the door and peeked out to ensure no one would see her exit the broom closet, she swore to herself that nothing like that would ever happen again. But just like every time, Phaedra broke that promise.