Fatal Attraction | D.M. (Soft Rewrite)

Chapter One - Shell Cottage

Ophelia Delacour didn't know what to expect when she first journeyed to Shell Cottage. Blinded by grief and the terrifying prospect of returning to an empty home, it had simply been easier to take flight.

Inevitably, one day, she would have to return to sort through her deceased parents' possessions, if only to quiet her meddling aunts. But for now, she only dreaded the weeks that would be wasted, mediating their quarrels and dodging sly questions concerning the whereabouts of her father's private archives. Trying, hopelessly, to brush aside each of their sour comments, cruelly speculating if she really planned to keep all her mother's prised possessions to herself.

Despite what some of her relatives thought, Ophelia wasn't unwilling to share. She was simply disgusted by how quickly they expected to profit from her loss. A necklace they had always coveted, here. A painting they wanted above their own mantle, there. Like magpies, snatching anything that gleamed just so in the light.

And she would hate every second of it. The pretence, the clipped smiles.

They weren't there to attend to a grieving girl or mourn for themselves. So, while Ophelia's muddled sanity was swaying on a precipice, her heartache all-consuming, she knew it was far safer to stay away, to delay the inevitable until she was ready to face it.

Still, some of her most distant relatives couldn't take the hint. Shamelessly assailing her with countless saccharine letters, pleading to arrange a visit. Their true motivations were so painfully transparent, Ophelia didn't feel guilty for leaving them unanswered. Most, she fed straight to the fire.

If they wanted to cosy up to the wealthy matriarchs of the family or benefit from her parent's supposed fortune, she would play no part in it. Most of them hadn't spoken to her mother or father in decades and had likely only heard about each of their untimely deaths while flagrantly gossiping over tea. They weren't truly family, privy to each heartbreaking detail.

They weren't Fleur.

When her cousin first sent for her, Ophelia didn't hesitate. Fleeing Beauxbaton to seek refuge at Shell Cottage was exactly what she needed. Of course, she felt guilty for imposing. Troubled that with her, she would bring her baggage, her turmoil. Infecting their delightful family home with all her sorrow, so long as she stayed. Yet selfishly, she was glad to spend the worst summer of her life with someone who understood how to hold her while she grieved, who loved her like a sister and would protect Ophelia as her own.

For months, conversation never strayed to talk of what Ophelia would do next. It was only with the new school term looming dangerously close by that she felt any pressure to decide. Mercilessly toying with the decision for a few weeks.

She couldn't stomach the thought of returning to Beauxbaton. Its halls were now bound to her pain. Each corner, from the immaculate gardens to the snug reading rooms that she once paraded around as a peppy teen, were now disfigured by memories of her last school year.

It was there that she returned after her mother's sudden disappearance, and there that she later learnt of her father's death. The place where she was swiftly orphaned.

Losing both parents in the space of a year had been the most gruesome twist of fate. No matter the splendour of her surroundings, she knew her grieving heart would not heal in the midst of all those reminders, those haunting memories of the girl she had once been. Happy, if a little naïve, with a set of adoring parents to write home to.

While the Daily Prophet continued to churn out articles, listing eye-watering reward fees for any information that might lead them to her mother, Ophelia had been packed off back to Beauxbaton.

She could still recall how agonising it felt to be cut off like that, when all she wanted was to be by her father's side. To clutch onto him, to be there for him. To reassure herself, when her anxiety spiralled, that he was still here. Still alive. That he hadn't tragically slipped through her fingers as well.