"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 EIGHTEEN
I SHOULD NOT HAVE RETURNED to Ilvermorny, not when there were demons screeching in my ears and the taste of blood like cold iron on my tongue.
It was the dead of the night, the sky outside was tainted with the sound of harsh winds and the soft troubled howls of the dementors still circling the castle from a distance. I hid myself, upon arriving. I had masked the scent of my magic and I had snickered afterwards. If I could disguise my presence from them this easily, I could wreak havoc on the world if I wanted to and the lifeless wisps outside would be none the wiser. What was wrong with the wizarding government security? Had not heuristic wizards and witches walked the Earth before, what then had they used to keep them in check?
The dementors were incapable of getting to me, they were worthless and I don't think I've ever seen them as this waste of energy and space as I do now. I don't think I've ever seen them as this excuse in the name of magical prison security. Were the authorities really even trying? Mass prison breakages, rumors of a dark wizard's resurrection, and the simple existence of a heuristic me. The wizarding world security was clueless and pathetic.
It hadn't escaped my notice that if the true depth of my powers was revealed, I would be spending my life caged under government observation—a life spent like a hamster in a muggle's small cage. I was thankful in that regard to my family—my great uncle—for he kept my powers hidden before I even realized what they were. He gave me the opportunity to live a free life—at least in accordance with his own definition of free.
I reversed the enchantment of my presence, redrawing the self erasement rune I had used and spinning it to revert it's affects. Slowly as I watched, the signs of my life began appearing in the moon washed Ilvermorny dorm room that presently I stood in. My form appeared in the picture on the side table, a laughing girl beside Bridgette Monet, with dark hair and sparkling silver eyes—reappearing with whatever that she was worth.
Bridgette's bed was empty, and I should've noticed it as I had come. I should've seen that she was not there, that she was awake, and standing in the shadows of the dark room. I should've seen her eyes glinting in the dark, watching me come in and intrude in on Ilvermorny's memories, forcefully planting myself where I had erased my feet.
