Vengeance; hp universe

chapter the eighth: canon games

To be honest, I hadn't had more than a wink of sleep since my arrival at the manor, a fact I will attribute to the absolute nonsense I've had to deal with to make sure everything is in order for school next year.

I stand up from the desk, stretching out my back as I look over one of my revenge plans, ink smeared and quill cracked from the pure anger that seeped through to my words. I set the paper down on the stack with the rest of them, and then wince at my splitting headache. "Ugh..." I groan under my breath, and let out a yawn. Mipsy knocks on the door, dropping off another mug and giving me a disapproving look, but she doesn't utter a word.

I go through the motions of eating, mind still on the audacity that the Weasleys had. Buying Ron snacks and other items when at Hogsmeade was no longer an option— buying people things had become my love language, my way to show that I cared; I had enough, after all. But now, with friends lying to my face, demanding things... no more special edition books for Hermione, no more candy for Ron on the train, no more special items for Ginny...

God, how stupid was I?

I sit in the library, gathering up papers and wondering if every moment we shared was fake: laughing by the fire, Hermione scribbling over my essay and editing with a sigh- but with a smile playing on her lips... flicking paper footballs across desks, gossiping in the Great Hall and laughing—

A clattering sound, and I step away from the desk. Chest moving heavily, I look down at the upturned tray, food all over the carpet and soda spilling... Just like your father, so quick to temper...

Suddenly, I feel drained. I can't stand up anymore, I can't even muster up the energy to feel angry. I've always been quick to anger, always been quick to ball up my fists and rile someone up so I can claim self defense, but never quite numb. It scares me enough that I set down the coffee mug and stare impassively at the silverware scattered across the rug.

Always quick to anger.

I walk silently to the guest room I'd claimed as my own— and was greeted by boxes covering the desk and chair, the armchair in the corner... my boxes from Madam Malkin finally came, which meant that Mipsy went down to pay, even though I was supposed to.

I sit down on the floor, picking up the boxes and opening them, scanning over the contents with a critical eye. Potter heir, Potter heir, Potter heir—

Standing up, I hang up a few dresses in the closet. Fancy things, for the upper class parties, for the banquets and other events I would either be hosting or attending. I pause in my movements, wondering if I should send out the official regards in the sense of me taking over the family name and everything of the sort— and decide not to, just because I would have to send it to everyone, and everyone includes the Malfoys. I don't know how much they know, but their connection to my father is a hinderance as of now, so nobody really needs to know I've stepped up and taken over my familial mantles.

When the clothes are all put away, I finally feel as if I can breathe, and I flop back on the bed, suddenly exhausted.

I practically knock out, and watch a rather disturbing scene through someone else's eyes. Someone walking down a cramped and dirty hall, furniture and wallpaper in disarray. it looked as if it was an expensive house, a pearl of a community, but it had fallen apart: a house without residents... except for the mysterious person I was walking as.

Rattling of pipes in walls, scurrying sounds that made me shiver... the place was vile, grimy in a million different ways, and the person walking stops in the hall, turning around slowly. It feels as if a horror movie, and I almost wish I had popcorn. As the man turns, I catch his reflection in a grimy mirror; as if a groundskeeper, probably the only one still left to live on the grounds of whatever family lived there prior.