pureblood.

f o r t y - t h r e e

I look at myself in the mirror and see my broken reflection. My face blushed, my makeup smudged, my hair a mess, my skin bruised and my eyes glazed over.

Passion is a dangerous power. I think to myself as I grab the metal hair brush from the dresser. I pull out the green pin from my hair which released the two pieces of hair that frame my face. I brush my hair out of the bed head state that he had made it. There's no knots, it's just looked like I've gotten out of bed after a long sleep.

I walk over to my bag and pull out the change of knickers that I had brought for tomorrow. I hold them up and think to myself. I need these for tomorrow, should I go commando for dinner? I press my lips together at the thought.

I then walk over to the wardrobe again and flick through all the old dresses that I could wear tonight, that would fit me. The first I see is a purple dress that is tight and would show off my shape. I pull it out and it's extremely low cut, it would show the bruises on my chest. I put it back and look at the second dress, it's black and modest with a somewhat high neckline. The sleeves are long but not lace so that I could wear a bandage on my arm. The idea of anyone else seeing this bloody mess is terrifying. The dress is short but it's better than than the purple one.

I take it out of the wardrobe and toss it onto the bed, laying it out so that I can imaging how it would look. The dress is satin and the sleeves flare at the ends. The dress cinches in at the waist with a tie detail at the front, giving it shape.

I wonder back to the dresser and attempt to fix my smudged eyeliner with my fingers. I'm unsuccessful, if anything I make it worse. Black marks surround my under eye and lid. I open the draw to the dresser and hope that there's something in there that would remove my makeup. The draw contains jewellery that I have never seen before. Emerald earrings, silver hair pins, tangled necklaces, and a ring.

The ring is silver and bulky. On it's face, three stags, two facing each other and one above them. It's reminds me of the Slytherin crest hanging from the ceiling of the Great Hall. My mother would never wear something like this, her hands are too dainty and as are mine. I inspect the ring further and inside it's engraved Greengrass.

I catch sight of my watch, it's nearly quarter past seven and I've only managed to brush my hair. Shit!

Grab my bag of makeup and try and fix my appearance, turning the smudged black eyeliner into a smokey eye look. And I put on the same deep red lipstick I had worn last night. I look good, I think to myself before I stumble back over to the bed to retrieve the dress.

It fits like it was made for me, the fabric hugging my curves and making my stomach look flat. The length isn't too long on my petite frame, which is a shock as most dressed nearly reach my knees, the end of the satin hits me at the lower part of my thigh. I tie the front of the dress and walk over to the mirror. My reflection is no longer broken, it's powerful.

I realise that I have no shoes, no acceptable shoes with me anyways. Walking back to the open wardrobe I hope that me and my mother have the same shoe size. I can't recall her ever telling me her shoe size. It's a random thing to know about a person but something that one commonly knows about somebody they live with. I knew my grandmothers, size two, she had the most abnormally small feet. She would sometimes even wear children's shoes. I laugh at the memory of her walking around the house showing off her new purple glittery wellington boots. She had bought them at one of the street markets, she said that they would be good for a long walk in the rain.

I admire the only shoes that are sat neatly at the bottom of the wardrobe, a pair of black strapped heels. The heel is high but not high enough for me to break my neck in them walking down the stairs. There's no lettering or numbers in the soles of the shoe. I slip them onto my bare feet and they fit.

We never looked much alike me and my mother, our sizes may be the same but we are far from it. Her eyes are green like mine but the shape of her eyes make her look as if she's squinting all the time. We are the same dress size but she has always had a much bigger chest than I have, I practically look like a boy standing next to her. We are the same height but I always had longer legs than hers. I definitely get most of my features from my incompetent father, as Draco would say. The wide rounded eyes, the few odd freckles on my cheeks, my weirdly small ears. Everyone said I looked like my father, and I resent it.

Before I fasten the shoes I look outside the open window. How the rain floods the courtyard, making tiny rivers running over the pebbles on the ground. The violence of the wind thrusting the water onto the windows, splattering them with clear paint. The silhouette of the moon hiding behind the thick black clouds. The black roses crying tears of happiness as the storm hydrates them, nourishes them. The sudden flash of lightning smashing the sky. She would have loved dancing in this rain with those ridiculous purple wellies. Fuck I miss her.

I grab my wand from the bed and tuck it in the knot of my dress, holding it in place. I can now feel my heart racing. My blood pumping through my terrified body. Being chosen means that I no longer have a choice, that I am no longer free. But why do I feel so alive?

I take a deep breath and walk out of the room. As I close the doors behind me, the slam creates a rippling echo down the long corridor. The corridor are now lit by candles floating off the sides of the walls. I'm able to see enough to know where I'm going but not enough to not be afraid of the shadows which lerk the halls. I glance to my left and these the house elf from earlier, crying underneath the glow of the candle light. She startles me making me jump.

"Bloody hell, you made me jump." I say with a laugh.

The elf just looks back at me with tears in her eyes. Her ears flop to the sides of her face like a dog that had done something wrong. She looked terrified of me. "I'm sorry ma'am." She finally plucks up the courage to say before wiping her eyes.

"Don't be sorry." I say with a smile. "Do you know where I need to do for dinner?" I ask her.

She stares at me, looks deep into my eyes and then lifts her arm and points down the stairs. She doesn't take her eyes off of me. I walk past her and her gaze doesn't shift, those weeping eyes fixed on me, like I'm the reason she is crying.