Epitome || H. Potter

EPITOME 00

Astrid was poison. She didn't bully people, she didn't have to do anything to make you feel lesser. She didn't talk bad about people behind their backs, she wasn't fake. She was very upfront, very forward. Often, she didn't even speak to her victims. The look was enough She fit right in with her band of followers, which included most of Slytherin. Even the older students trembled before her. She could ruin your life without even saying a word. She was a fairly good student too, so the teachers could never get mad at her for anything.

And it wasn't just the fact that she used people and then threw them away. It wasn't just because she seemed to have a personal vendetta against anyone who wasn't trailing behind her like a love sick puppy. It was the fact that she seemed to draw some sort of sick pleasure from it. But really, you couldn't blame Astrid for who she was. Her mother had been exactly the same when she was young, and Mrs. Matthews most certainly in control of the household. Mr. Matthews had long since learned to leave his wife be, and do as he was told. He was just another follower.

Just another thing to add to the list of Astrid Matthews was the fact that she was an eighth veela, and very good at using her charm and good looks to manipulate the situations even more than she already could. She played the field quite throughly. She never thought highly of the boys she used and tossed to the side, but that's just how she was born and raised. It was her bread and butter.

Astrid Matthews hated a lot of people, but no one hated her more than Harry Potter and the Golden Trio. It was a hate that seemed to go so deep, deeper than a chasm to the other side of the world. It was endless, infinite. But Astrid couldn't say she despised it. In fact, part of her liked having them despise her so much. It felt human, right. It told the tiny bit of remorse, pain, regret that she wasn't doing what was right and that there was another option.

It told the venomous mark burned onto her arm that there was an other option. It told the scars on her heart that there was an escape. Her savior was standing right in front of her, and he didn't even know it.