"I write her a letter
just a few short lines,
and suffer death
a thousand times."
Asteria O'Connor, sole heir of a prestigious wizarding family,
has other plans when the self-proclaimed Marauders decide to
torment her and her housemates.
It's abo...
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aster
I trail my fingertips along the deep green walls as I make my way carelessly through hallways, desperately trying to fill time and cease my bordem. I've been willing for the clocks to spin as if they were time turners, so that this Summer can finally be over.
Sadly, time never obeys. It either go too fast or too slow, and can never seem to get it right.
I pass numerous empty rooms that have never even been opened. Only two people actually inhabit this large household. The only reason for it's size is to impress others. That's all I've ever known; impressing others.
My bare feet make light squeaking noises as they descend the long staircase leading to the main room. I plop myself down on one of the many extremely uncomfortable armchairs facing the marble fireplace and blindly grab a random book from the table beside me. I've probably read the book an abundance of times before but hey, why not once more.
Apparently the chairs in this room are only meant for decoration, not actual sitting as I'm already feeling a literal pain in my arse. The house has always been like this; only made to impress father's acquaintances when they visit for meetings.
I aimlessly flick through the book, barely taking in any information and then snap it closed. I look up lazily at the portrait above the mantlepiece. It's a painting of my father and his two parents. Albert and Catherine O'Connor, both standing with a hand placed on their son's shoulders. All three have the same look; constipated.
The two men in the photograph look exactly the same, only twenty five years of ageing in the difference. Their silver grey hair is perfectly slicked back and their eyes are a terrifying shade of green. The woman however, has slightly greying light brown hair, pinned in an up-do to show off her pointed features that could make a grown man whimper with fear. The deathly pale skin covering each of their features makes them look like ghosts, although sadly, they're all still alive. They give me disapproving looks and then begin to whisper to each other, no doubt about how much of a disappointment I am to the O'Connor family name.
Nowhere in this mansion, will you find a picture of me or my mother, Evelyn. Father didn't even unpack the family photos when we moved here eight years ago after her death. I know that he blames me.
As he should.
It also doesn't help that I look exactly like her; same hair, skin tone and captivating eyes. Ever since she died, he's turned cold and unloving. Not that we were a perfect family before.
Salazar, what pureblood Slytherin family ever is?
But we did have our moments and good times. After she died my father turned to the dark arts and became involved with You-Know-Who. I can hardly remember now what it was like to feel loved.
