"I'm going to fucking ruin you."
-
The Dark Lord conquers the wizarding world, Harry Potter is dead. Muggleborns are slaughtered. Halfblood's are shoved into imprisonment, conditioned to alter their beliefs and dictated to worship Purebloods.
Y/N Y...
When I was nine years old, I entered a talent show with a random neighborhood boy named Matthew. A muggle— but I knew very little of the wizarding world at that time. He had vibrant auburn hair with curls that sprung softly when he raises his hand to wave to me. After we won first place for our childish magic tricks, we began hanging out once a week. That one time a week turned into, twice a week, then three, then four— until we alternated sleeping over at each others houses.
Summer 95', we are leaned against a great big oak tree, gentle leaves symbolizing the beginning of autumn drifting onto the rich green grass.
This is where he decided to inform me of his feelings towards me.
Shock and, to be fairly honest, disgust blended beneath the chambers of my heart. He was like a brother to me. I realized— the recent tucking of my hair, the holding of the door, the "gentleman" gestures were out of heartfelt affections for me.
Things were never the same with Matthew and I after I denied his request to appeal a relationship. I swore I could never be embedded into a circumstance where I felt a further more awkwardness than that day.
Tonight, I proved myself wrong.
We've been trapped in silence for the past five minutes, situated in the same position we were in after we finished— after he said the eight lettered word. I can barley move, I feel as though the oxygen around me will spear through my skin.
My spine is sunk into the mattress of the bed, my naked body solidifying with a cold frost.
"I didn't say it with the intention of thinking you would say it back." His tone is remorseful, tossing the blanket over my frail body without taking a glance. "Y/N— are you okay?"
"Yeah," I blink and my body is mushy again, no longer frozen in shock. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine— I, um— the phrase just jumped at me. Wait," I pause turning to Vance's worried eyes. "You love me?"
Truth be told, my mother was the last individual to express those words to me. It struck a delicate nerve that powered down the rest of my system. Whilst I had the meaningful words my father wrote for The Quibbler, I had nothing from my mother. Nothing but presenting as the last person who had told me they loved me.
