Aurora liked to think of her life as one that, unlike seemingly everybody else nowadays, she did not want to re-live.
Sometimes, when she's lying awake at night, she likes to think that the fates, or God or whoever it was that planned out peoples li...
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Aurora stared up at the ceiling; she was lay on her back, a cigarette dangling dangerously between her lips. She let her mind wonder - nobody had bothered her since last night; Ginny and Hermione came up to go to bed, but neither of them uttered more that a quick 'night' to Aurora. Even that word was left hanging awkwardly midair.
It was dark now, around one in the morning. She had kept the lamp on for a bit, but was eventually made to turn it off. So she lay in the dark.
Taking a drag from her cigarette, Aurora sat up. She pulled the duvet cover closer to her quivering body, attempting to ignore how her fingers were still trembling or how the tip of her nose was stinging. In order to smoke, she had to keep her arms outside of the blanket, meaning that she had to be cold. She pretended that she didn't mind, but she did.
The moonlight hadn't changed, still piercing the clouds and tauntingly highlighting Auroras fore arms. It's funny how that works, nature; nature had the ability to destroy everything we know and love, yet it chooses not too. Strange, if Aurora had all that power, than the population would've halved by now - but than again, maybe that's why she didn't have that power. Because she didn't have the morals to use it wisely.
The moonlight tonight was taunting. Dancing intimidatingly through the shadows like a skilled knife thrower, moving closer and closer until it's blasted silver shine highlighted Aurora's scared inner arm - the only place that the scarring wasn't caused by a full moon.
The scars were pink and laced with silver, lying in straight lines that cross-crossed over one another in a disorganised mass of destruction. Aurora traced them lightly with feather like touches, her fingertips cold. She shivered lightly, a tingling sensation buzzing from somewhere further up her arm. She ignored it.
Slowly, as if afraid, Aurora reached into her bag. There, underneath a pair of particularly ugly socks, was a glittering piece of metal. A pocket knife; shining pleasantly and glowing in the moonlight; it was beautiful, and appealed to Aurora like armour to a Knight.
Perfect.
"Up!" Molly Weasley shouted, banging pots and pans from the pantry downstairs. "Up!"
Aurora sat up, pulling the sheets over her head. Besides her, Ginny groaned and attempted to bury her head further into her pillow, but missed and went toppling to the floor. Hermione was already up and making her bed. Strange, strange girl.
"Coming!" Hermione shouted joyfully. Aurora blinked dazedly, looking at Hermione as if she had suddenly sprouted a set of antlers and a tail. "What?" The bushy haired girl inquired, fluffing her pillows and arranging them so that they sat neatly at the head of the bed.
"'Mione..." Ginny yawned from where she was still sat on the floor. "How're you sooo cheerful... it's four in the fuckin' morning-"
