Fatal Attraction | D.M. (Soft Rewrite)

Chapter Three - Hogwarts

The English countryside rolled past as they hurtled down the Muggle motorway. She presumed the vehicle was cloaked in a disillusionment charm, since they received no open-mouthed stares for flouting the speed-limit rules.

Ron had joked that a flying car would have made more sense. The dramatics of their second-year arrival, excitedly relayed by Ron, was not lost on her. However, she couldn't avoid the twinge of loneliness it triggered.

She could only blame herself for pushing her friends away. The letters had stopped coming after a while. They had become so associated with her past, her pain, that she saw no future with them in it. Even though the Weasley's knew about her parents, the fact they had experienced similar loss, bridged a gap. Their pity did not feel so exposing.

While she would have done anything to remove their suffering, it's what linked them.

Ophelia never expected her friends to maintain a one-sided stream of care - which was all she had the strength to offer. She couldn't open herself up to deal with her emotions, let alone support theirs. She would rather have no friends than act as a bad friend. She would rather keep them at a distance.

She never judged them for seeking advice about boys or school work, but her situation reminded them how trivial their worries were. She was a blemish on their fun - on their juvenile drama.

Her mind again – stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself. Merlin's beard! She felt lame and awkward, amongst the group's cheer. They seemed genuinely excited to resume their life at Hogwarts. And why shouldn't they? The Battle was not the conclusion of their existence. They will not be defined by it.

The rest was the Ministry's problem to sort.

~

Ron was happy that the lunch Mrs Weasley had prepared didn't include corned beef sandwiches. Apparently, in the last year she'd devoted more time to her culinary skills. While grieving her magic had taken some time to recover. Thus, without its usual assistance, she had educated herself and reconnected with her passion for cooking. Even Harry confirmed that the improvement was substantial.

Ophelia found herself collecting this type of information. Like pieces of a puzzle that made them all more familiar and accessible to her. I can't be completely friendless, she reasoned.

Ron regarded her fondly. While his affections were held elsewhere, he could appreciate Ophelia's kind presence and her pleasing appearance. But she's family.

Despite the absence of any Veela characteristics, she had her own kind of bewitching beauty. She knew she was not unattractive but had always felt particularly plain beside her cousins. Recently, she had come to terms with her looks and stopped wasting her energy on picking herself apart. Having been continuously reminded how much she resembled her mother, every nasty self-hating word felt like a betrayal of her memory - it felt like hypocrisy when she knew her mother had been a beautiful woman.

Therefore, she resisted the temptation to bleach her black hair or crop it shorter. It felt as though she would be throwing away her already finite connection to her mother. Maybe it's ridiculous.

That thick hair fell past her chest, framing her heart-shaped face. With prominent cheekbones, vivid green eyes, and full lips whose pigment dramatically contrasted her pale complexion.

Living in the warm climate of Beauxbaton, she had often complained about her inability to naturally tan. How useless that concern seemed now. That, she guessed, was where she had changed the most.

Although the nightmares had been reoccurring – only since her father's death had they been as graphic and frequent. Waking from them in the morning left little room for vanity. Nor did their predictability enable her to deal with them any better.