Bruises ~ In editing

~6~

Flashback to detention

"Cassiopeia? Do you know now that what you've done is wrong, and I expect it not to happen again?" McGonagall says, looking over at me.

I nod, setting down my quill, "Yes ma'am. I'm sorry for being late."

She sighs, "You know Cassiopeia, you may be top of your class, but over the years you've gotten quite lazy when it comes to attendance."

"Lazy?!" I think, my chest boiling in annoyance, "If only you knew Professor..."

I think of all the times I've shown up to class, my body wrecked with pain. I think of all the times I've lie awake at night, crying for hours, wanting the world to stop. I think of every time I stare at a tall building and have an urge to throw myself off of it.

I shake my head as I stare down at my hands.

"I'm trying my best Professor McGonagall, but sometimes, things happen out of our control and then we're left to pick up the pieces. When a glass shatters, you can never find all the shards and put them back together the same. So sometimes, Professor, things slip through the cracks."

I feel her staring intently at me as I continue, "Sometimes, some glasses are dropped more than others, and you lose more and more pieces along the way. I guess the quality of a glass comes from how many times it was dropped. But, you know, cracks give a glass character, although, then they're not very good at being a glass, are they?"

When I finally look up, McGonagall is crying.

I feel panic, my breath shallowing, "I-I didn't mean to upset you Professor, I-"

"No no," she says, wiping her eyes, "Don't mind me, I'm just a blubbering old woman."

I laugh softly and she laughs too, and for a second, I think of how much I love being in Gryffindor.

"I don't know how you do it Cassiopeia," she says, looking at me, "How you've been through all you've been through and are so wise from it. I remember hearing the news of your parents deaths."

Age 10

"Mum, please, where are we going? I don't understand."

"In time, you'll understand what's going on. I promise, alright? This is all for the best."

I walk with my mother over to the enchanted car, getting into the back seat.

My parents are arguing about something, but I can't tell what is being said. All I can hear and see is them arguing, their hands moving, exaggerating their words.

In my father's hands, a book. Black leather backing with no title on it.

I turn the circular handle to roll my window down slightly, only enough to hear what's being said.

"We ought to take it to Dumbledore, Temperance. This thing is full of dark magic."

I hear my mother scoff, "We're not in grade school anymore Parvel. We need to take it to the damn Ministry!"

"I don't trust the lot of them, Temp. This book is too dangerous, and it's only a matter of time until-"

I look over to my father who is a tall, well built man with light brown hair and eyes blue as ice like mine. And then, he's looking back at me as he flicks his hand, my window slamming back up.

I try to roll it down again, but my handle is jammed and I groan, crossing my arms as I sit back in my seat.

I think of that book, trying to figure out what it could be as my parents come and get in the car, looking back at me.