WILDFLOWER, hermione granger.

ooov. oh dear darling

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OOOV. OH DEAR DARLING
five

       A TEAR SLID FROM IVY'S EYE AS SHE LOCKED HERSELF IN HER DORM'S BATHROOM, SILENCED NONVERBALLY. Now her wand lays on the countertop, standing in only her undergarments. Her body was marred by scars that she put a glamour spell on everyday, but the one that stuck out the most was the inky mark on her left arm.

       Her distraught state ruined her already done makeup—granted, it was still an hour before her roommates would be due to wake up—

       Fuck, Ivy remembered the pain. Flashes of his malevolent, red eyes, the cold fingers around her wrist, the vise-like grip around her body as her arm was branded against her own will.

       And god, they made her swallow a potion that she doesn't know what for. The same hands that held her up forced her mouth open for that damned potion.

       The worst thing was, Ivy was only leverage.

       And she couldn't protect her brother. Her twin, her other half, from being forced into their father's place after Lucius Malfoy was thrown in Azkaban.

       Ivy whirled around, and punched the tiled wall, which was the first thing that she saw. She slammed and slammed her fist over and over until she couldn't cry anymore—because here's the thing.

       If Ivy ever cried, she was rewarded by pain. Guess old habits die hard, doesn't it?

       Her knuckles were bruised, busted and bleeding a bit as Ivy turned back to the mirror, numb again. Just another thing she has to hide from Hermione then.

       Ivy ripped off a thick layer of tissue papers, and began taking off her ruined makeup to replace it with another. After all, she does have a perfect reputation to keep up.

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A WEEK LATER AND MUCH TO HERMIONE'S UTTER ANNOYANCE, HARRY CONTINUES FOLLOWING THE INSTRUCTIONS ON THE MYSTERIOUS TEXTBOOK. Ivy was annoyed as well, but for a different reason. She's been scouring the Restricted Section of the library every night, correcting and tampering with her own copy so as to not be tempted by copying everything off of the Half Blood Prince's book.

One Saturday evening, they were in the library since Ivy wasn't keen on going with them to their common room and was still on a personal quest to learn everything there was in the Restricted Section.

"—Or herself," Hermione tells Harry irritably. "It might have been a girl. I think the handwriting looks more like a girl's than a boy's."

"The Half Blood Prince," Harry pointed out. "How many girls have been princes'?"

Hermione merely scowled and twitched her essay on The Principles of Rematerialization away from Ron, who was trying to read it upside down. Ivy looked up from a book about Dark Arts and counters to it with a raised brow, "Excuse your misogynistic arse?"

"You know that's not what I meant," Harry rolled his eyes despite knowing she was only sassing him. He looked at his watch and hurriedly put the old copy of Advanced Potion-Making back into his bag. "It's five to eight, I'd better go, I'll be late for Dumbledore."