"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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THE MORNING ARRIVED WITH GLORIOUS SPLENDOUR. The curtains must have been left opened overnight, as the girls in the beds were woken by the brightness of the day filtering into their room, luring their eyes open and forcing their bodies to awake. After a wild night at the Halloween party, the five of them had collapsed into their sheets as soon as they had gotten back. Three of them out of drunkenness, one out of tiredness and the other because she finally felt complete, on top of the world, untouchable. And for once, had fallen asleep without any potions helping her slumber.
Then she had woken with daylight. No squeaking voices, no pulsating headache, simple day coaxing her to rise. Eyes fluttered lightly open and with a deep sigh of wake, Sherry pushed herself into a seated position against her headboard, stretching her arms out and glancing around the dorm room that was revealed to her by her undrawn curtains around her comfortable blue bed. The rest of the girls were still asleep, but Sherry looked wistfully at her bedside table.
Goggles from last nights costume sat there plainly, looking at her and reminding her greatly of what had transpired the night before. The jersey was folded over the footboard of her bed, neat and unwrinkled because even though they were officially official, he would probably murder her if she caused any damage to it. Though Sherry would never do that, wearing it for the party had filled her with great joy and if she could pull it over her head and wear it every day, she would've done. It would've sickened fifth-year Sherry to be thinking of James Potter this way.
But something had happened. A switch had been flipped, a fire had been ignited, put out and then relit. Amber was correct, as always, that Sherry probably never hated James before the ridiculous prank he had apologised for one thousand times over. That became obvious once Sherry had been burned then healed, her vision clear enough for her to realise that the reason she picked on James so much was because she was extremely attracted to him.
There was absolutely no denying it.
Everybody from Sherry's old life had left her some way or another. Her father was the first, walking out on her in 1965. Unfortunately, her friends had been next, since she hadn't seem them in a year or so, she presumed that they had forgotten about them. Especially Stephanie. Then her own mother had left her abandoned on the Lupin's front porch, an empty promise circling Sherry's storm-ridden brain. After that, it was Matt, who Sherry had tricked herself into loving.
Going into her first year at Ilvermorny, Sherry knew she had lost herself that summer also. Both mentally and physically, 11-year-old Sherry would barely recognise the slim, confident, loveable teenager that she was now. Often Sherry thought back to that time, those dreadful years of being name-called, picked-on, and even though the opposite wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, it was much better than what she had been. Damaged and then repaired. Like a broken doll.
