"Trust me, you shouldn't want anyone like me on your back."
"Maybe I don't want anyone like you on my back," His eyes darkened as he stepped closer, confining me tighter into barely any space as my back pressed against the wall.
"Maybe I want you. U...
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CHAPTER 3
THE TWO DAYS BEFORE our departure seemed to have gone by in a flurried daze. It felt as though time had sped up, cogs of clocks all over twisting so rapidly that I felt that perhaps someone had put a hurrying charm upon them. A charm upon the moon, the clouds, the sun, and time itself.
I turned my wand in my hand. A beech wood with a dragon core 12 1/2", it was streaked with a dark green and silvery hue against the dark wood. A thin trail of the moss color lined with silver that wound up all over the wand to its tip, as though the wood had dissolved in that color before it became the wand. I looked at it, my dark eyes pinned to the thing in slight indifference. When was the last time I had used it outside of class? I had forgotten how it felt like clutched in my palm, forgotten the way I had depended and doted on it up until my fourth year at Beauxbatons. After that, I didn't personally ever need it anymore.
The sun was setting outside, and as I watched from my dorm balcony, peering from the Ombrelune Tower, I felt bathed in the streaks of the dying sun. My exposed skin glowed orange, my dark hair outlined with the fire color. The death of the sun wasn't warm, as if its hotness had disintegrated with its life, like that of mortals. But unlike the mortals, the sun would always rise back up again.
Putting my wand aside and raising my right hand, I flicked my fingers, catching the dying orange rays of the sun on my tips. Parts of the streaks tore away and came into my hand, wrapping themselves around my fingers like small snakes born of light. I carried them away into my dorm. There, I sent the stolen light streaks into the air above, and the rays started molding. I watched, hesitant and intent in equal measure. But it proved for naught, the light did what I expected.
It turned and molded itself into the symbol, hanging in the mid air in my dorm. The symbol of the deathly hallows. A triangle carrying a circle, divided by a straight line in the middle. My face twisted in anger, and frustration impaled through me like an arrow. I let out a scream, and grabbed a porcelain vase, throwing it at the orange symbol. The vase went clean through, and as the sign vanquished like smoke, the vase shattered against the wall behind, pieces scattering themselves across the ground.
It throbbed then, the same sign that had vanquished, but not entirely. It throbbed and a vicious pain stabbed at me. Hissing, I walked over to my vanity and pulled down the neckline of my sky blue uniform. There it sat, as it had always sat, the same symbol etched into my skin at my shoulder, no bigger than the size of my thumbnail. It was dark and bold, an ink unmerciful. The skin surrounding it was red and flaring, and I wanted to scratch it off, so bad. I wanted to carve it away, despite how deep the knife had to go to fully dig it out. But I knew I couldn't. This was my mark, and erasing it will only cause it to reappear— in other forms, in other ways.
Suddenly, my ears caught the bearings of distant footsteps thudding close each second outside. Quickly, I fixed my uniform and my eyes darted to the shattered pieces of the vase. I lifted them up, a single right hand guiding each piece to rise altogether high in the air, and then I swept them all away as they vanished in puffs of mists. The door opened then, and Bridgette made her way in.
