"You look like a marble statue. You always do. You become the pinnacle of human beauty in anger, joy, and... grief."
Tarra Williams never thought that asking a little boy to play would change her life...
I would recommend listening to the song for this chapter. It's a bop.
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Tarra didn't know what a mudblood was and it was nowhere in her schoolbooks. She spent all night searching for it. Now the sun glared through the window and her parents stomped around the house. She huffed and threw her charms book aside. She knew it wouldn't be in there but her sleep-deprived self turned to it in desperation.
She pulled herself off the floor and went to the mirror.
She couldn't say she looked worse than usual. Knots tangled her hair, skin peeled from her sunburnt nose, and a bit of dirt clung to her chin, but her eyes did gleam with determination if that counted for anything.
She turned away from the mirror and marched down the stairs.
She'd show that handsome boy looks do not matter.
She went straight into the kitchen.
She'd show him that she wasn't a mudblood... whatever that was.
She reached the cookie jar and tore off the lid.
She'd show him-
"Tarra!"
Tarra looked up.
Her mother tapped her foot against the floors. She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows.
Tarra slid the lid back on and put the jar back on top of the fridge.
"Sorry, mum."
Her mother smiled and took Tarra's face into her hands. She kissed her forehead and said,
"It's alright, darling-" She pulled away and clapped her hands - "Now what do you say about having a girls morning? Mary's got this shift at the bakery and you aren't normally up this early so we got plenty of time before you go saving goals and playing in the street."
Tarra sighed and nodded her head.
Girls' morning was just her mother's way of saying, "oh dear! If we don't do something about your hair it will actually become a nest." Tarra still found it rather fun because her mother let her try out her makeup and wear her high heels.
By nine in the morning, Tarra clunked around the house in three-inch black heels and her makeup looked like something from the 60s with her eyelids filled with white eyeshadow and mascara thick enough you would think her eyelashes were fake. She had deemed only the brightest colors good enough for her outfit, leaving it a mess of purple skirt, yellow top, and flowery cardigan. Oh, and her mother tamed her hair and plaited it nicely.
All in all, it could be said, Blaise Zabini and his cruel words and his cruel behavior left Tarra, during the day at least. They would not return to her waking thoughts for quite sometime... or perhaps it was only two weeks. Time, after all, is relative, and that two weeks felt like an eternity for Blaise Zabini.
