Wolves Without Teeth ── theodore nott ¹ ( UNDER EDITING )

chapter fifty one

    A hollowness inside her grows like a disease, decaying the once lighter moments she had shared in secret. Winnie Buldstrode stares at herself in the mirror, eyes as plain as autumn leaves, dull and crumpled under the weight of tears she had shed. The fire that burned feverously in her just a year ago had dimmed to a shadow of what it used to be. Blonde hair is stuck to the surface of her cheeks, and there is a tremble in her fingers as she feels a surge of mourning for the girl she once would.

She would've never allowed him to walk away, to leave her behind in her misery and guilt of whatever they had shared.

Winnie would've never allowed Theo Nott to forget her like she was a common thing like the dust upon his coat.

A girl born from anger was one thing. A girl born from heartbreak was death itself.

༺♥༻

         SHE is sick of it all. A million thoughts swirl through her brain as she sits in the Great Hall. None of them are particularly nice, however.

Millie and Theo sit next to each other, heads bowed in a murmur that not even her ears can reach. As they laugh with smiles, it seems Winnie finds the joke is lost upon her. Her reflection rings back towards her from the silver of her teacup. Her face is upside down, but she knows there is puffiness around the amber of her eyes.

Her teeth grit, and she feels a sudden urge to snap, perhaps the very spoon that reveals the poor of reflection.

Winnie, instead, forces her vision to float to her wayward cousin. Watching as the redhead talks quietly to the boy with platinum blond hair, wondering when exactly she became the one on the outside watching.

Winnie finds herself tired of watching.

Her feet carry her away from the Gryffindor table, and towards the snake's pit, where her heart surrenders to a man who instantly looks at her, green eyes void of emotion as Winnie barely glances his way. She desires to. She feels the tug in her stomach that yearns for his hands upon her and his sweet nothings to be hers to take in.

But he is not hers to take; he said as much just the night prior.

Winnie finds comfort in her cousin's eyes, who becomes aware of her presence when Malfoy nudges her. Winnie does well to avoid his eyes, too, the memory of the grip of death upon her shoulders in one that does not fade well.

"Can you come with Hogsmeade with me?" Winnie questions, grimacing at the near plead in her voice as she stares solely at her cousin, whose brown eyebrows frown and glances at the snake beside her. Winnie's law locks, finger twisting the cool silver ring on the surface of her finger. "Please, Lia,' she whispers, voice quieter. She feels Theo's eyes stare into the side of her face. She does not need to look to know where Cordelia's vision flickers to before her cousin nods.

For Cordelia's part, she does not question her erratic behaviour or the way Winnie's eyes does not travel to the boy she has become so close with – perhaps Cordelia already knows the truth that Winnie does not wish to admit.

Cousins that used to not go a day without speaking to each other, walk silently amongst the frosty trails leading to Hogsmeade. Their arms are linked but there is a silence so thick that it makes their tongues fat and swollen with the words that have gone unspoken for so long.

It's nearing Feburary and the outside world is bitter to the touch, Winnie's nose turns cherry tinted and runny as she sniffs, hiding her face in under her Gryffindor scarf. There is a bitter breeze kissing their skin, unforgiving and wicked as it burns her feveriously, It isn't until they find themselves ringing the bell of Three Brromsticks that Winnie breathes in a gasp of warm air. It constricts against her throat, making her skin itch to the temperature change that numbs her.